Caravan of dust

Alright, back to work.
I greet the sun with a new sense of purpose and optimism. At this rate good ol’ Joe will have his caps after just a few more trips and with them he’ll have permission to enter the Vegas Strip! A small voice in my head whispers that perhaps it’d have been easier to just walk back to Novac and sell off a little of the substantial stockpile of crap I have stored there – but that little voice can shut it’s whore mouth – I didn’t get to where I am today by listening to my brain!
I got to where I am today because I’m awesome.

Back to the mines...

Back to the office.

I set out again and experience has taught me not to bother with places that have almost certainly been picked clean. I push through the city until I see open land – in the distance I see a small farm. Ooo! I wonder if they’ll want to trade?

Friends, right? We all want to be friends?

Friends, right? We all want to be friends?

Not only is the farm abandoned and the farmhouse inaccessible, but this area is also apparently home to some rabid Brahmin which immediately attack me.
Now considering what I’ve been through, cattle hardly seem like a massive threat, but I wasn’t really expecting a stampede and I’m more then a little taken aback.

Beware the battle cattle!

Beware the battle cattle!

Beware the battle cattle — but don't fear the battle cattle!

Beware the battle cattle — but don't fear the battle cattle!

I know when fate is sending me a message – any day that starts with rabid Brahmin is only going to get worse. I head back to my abode in Freeside and spend the rest of the day sulking.

"It was a bovine ambush! Why won't you believe me?"

"It was a bovine ambush! Why won't you believe me?"

I set out again the next morning… sure, yesterday was a net loss considering I had to pay for food and water to survive, but at least I was ambushed by cows only that one time. So I win, sort of.
I set out again feeling somewhat less than optimistic.

Armed patrols - never around when you need them. But when you're minding your own business...

Armed patrols - never around when you need them. But when you're minding your own business...

A surprise in every bite? You should never use your teeth.

A surprise in every bite?
You should never use your teeth.

We're on a road to nowhere.

We're on a road to nowhere.

Following the roads around the city I stumble upon a number of dead bodies lying around a camp fire. Whatever had killed them hadn’t bothered to steal anything from its victims, but before I risk touching anything I figure I should try to find out what had happened.
The answer is lying down at the bottom of the dry river-bed, where a dead pack Brahmin is lying – obviously this was a trade caravan that was ambushed…
But there is no explanation as to why, and while the pack animal was picked clean the traders’ bodies weren’t touched.

"He had no pants on when I found him, your honour. Honest."

"He had no pants on when I found him, your honour. Honest."

What happened to these brave souls I may never know – but I will remember them.
I will remember them when the sun rises and caresses the Mojave in which they traveled. I will remember them as the starlight flickers about the desert in which they slept. I will remember them every time I look at the pile of caps I get from selling their belongings to the highest bidder after stripping them all down to their stained white underwear. Vault-Tec watch over you, one and all.

I’m about to abscond with my scavenged plunder when I notice some ash piles off to the side. Poking through those I find more gear. Looks like someone has been using energy weapons. I should skedaddle out of here before this all blows up in my face… perhaps literally.

When Cow tipping goes wrong

When Cow tipping goes wrong

I choose not to tell Veronica where this latest pile of swag was obtained. Best not to worry her about it.
Frankly it’s not ideal to be back in the ‘looting corpses of the unfortunate’ business rather then the ‘prospecting’ business. But what am I supposed to do when fate hands me dead traders on a platter?

"I found it. What?"

"I... errr.... I found it.
What?"

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5 Responses to “Caravan of dust”

  1. maccesfield Says:

    nice liturgy

  2. Quinton Beck Says:

    “Vault-Tech watch over you”-I could see that being something an actual vault dweller might say. Another fine entry!

  3. Malcolm Rivera Says:

    Cool story bro. (no joke)

  4. Honour? It’s Honor!

    We’re in America God Damn It…. er… sort of…

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