New World Blues: a Fallout RP (MT) (Mostly Closed)

[Far Harbor]

late in the summer of 2282, Harborer Recon Marines made first contact with the New San Andreas Republic, beginning relations between the two nations. more info can be found in my factbooks.

if you want to join, tg me. ill probably say no, but it cant hurt to try!
this rp is partially based on the Fallout series of video games.

i sure hope this is sufficient OP.

[New San Andreas Republic]

Ripley, Northern Territories, New San Andreas Republic - July 7th, 2282

The wheels of the Brahmin caravan could have been heard from quite a while away. They were a regular sound in this part of the NSAR, the somewhat more rural areas of the north of what had once been the states of San Andreas and Oregon. However, what was particular about these Brahmin caravans is that the words 'NSAR ARMY' had been stencil'd on their sides, and in them rode NSAR soldiers holding rifles and NSAR officers speaking into walkie-talkies. They were pulling into the small town of Ripley, one of the most Northern-reaching towns in the NSAR's territory. Pre-War, it had been a largely forgotten ghost town, with a few trailer parks and small-town stores that existed largely on life support. After the Great War, however, it had bucked the trend of most and instead developed into something greater, as the NSAR's northern expansion had led to it being the focal point of NSAR concerns in the unexplored Pacific Northwest wastes.

The Brahmin caravans were arriving back in Ripley from a scouting run, a standard NSAR practice in which unexplored and unoccupied areas around its borders would be ventured into in the interests of scavenging supplies and resources, the potential finding of useful technologies and identification of possible troublesome groups in the future. Their expedition had taken them on this particular occasion to an abandoned Pre-War military base in southern Oregon, directly struck by a Chinese nuke all those years ago. As the party of NSAR soldiers and officers scoured the ruins, they found little of any real value. Most of it had been already picked over throughout the centuries through enterprising prospectors, and what was left was nothing that hadn't been seen before. In the end, they left largely empty-handed, save for some potentially useful military files found in supply cabinets and a couple of cases of Sprunk soda they'd decided the troops could be treated with as consolation for their wasted time.

The NSAR army caravans largely came to a stop near the local military base in Ripley, which was a ramshackly collection of tents and metal sheds as was typical in the more rural/frontier NSAR military bases. One of the first off was Lieutenant Andrew Duval, an NSAR NCO who was native to the northern areas of San Andreas, his family originally having come from San Fierro. He had spent a childhood exploring redwood forests on family hunting trips into the wilderness, and had considered himself lucky to been largely spared deployment into the Senora as the war against Caligula's Legion had turned into the meat grinder it was. His duties were varied nowadays, but out of the many he had, he had always considered scouting missions the most tedious. And needlessly dangerous, as it was sometimes happen to be.

"Alright, I want everybody to gather around me. Everybody, in front of me, now. Front and center. C'mon."

Lt. Duval had spoken the command somewhat sharply, but with a patient and somewhat informal tone he was known for amongst his men. As they gathered around, he inspected them one-by-one. They walked up to him slowly, their distinctive NSAR armor meaning the faded image of the two-headed beaver filled his vision. As he cleared his throat and prepared to speak, he suddenly noticed something aberrant. Something that wasn't on the person of one of his troops that should have been. Immediately, his facial expression morphed into one of irritation and he began.

"McMillan, where is your radio unit?"

Pvt. McMillan stopped in his tracks and immediately the private's head darted to over his back. With one hand holding his Carbine Rifle, his free hand reached frantically behind his back for the radio unit that was indeed no longer there. Panicked and struck with the earful he was about to get from Duval, he stammered out an answer.

"I... I-I don't know, Sir. I think... I might have left it."

[Far Harbor]

Meanwhile, in Ripley,

Pvt. Robert McClain of the Far Harbor Recon Marines viewed the town through the scope of his rifle.

"it's a town, moderately sized. I can't see many obviously military personnel, but there are some Quonsets over on the east side of town", he said to his sergeant.

"I expect we should be able to pacify the locals relatively easily." the sergeant scowled. "I told you, McClain, we are not pacifying a town of farmers and Brahmin caravans."

"But sir-"

" I do not care what that merc group you used to run with did, we do NOT kill civilians!"

"Sir-"

"Shut up, McClain!"

"Sir, there's a-"

"i said SHUT UP, MCCLAIN! I WILL HAVE YOU EJECTED FROM MY SQUAD IF YOU CANT FOLLOW ORDERS!"

"Sir, we've been spotted."

"What?"

McClain pointed over at a farmer running toward the town.

"Oh shit", said the Sergeant.

[New San Andreas Republic]

Ripley, Northern Territories, New San Andreas Republic - July 7th, 2282

Joseph "Pops" O'Malley's boots scuffed and scattered the dirt as he desperately ran as fast as they would carry him. He had been tending to his Brahmin, about to feed his favorite 'Maggie', when he had seen them. Strange, odd-looking men who were armed and did not look friendly. Luckily for him (and for his weak old heart), it seems the strange men had not spotted him. O'Malley did not know much of the Wastes: he had lived almost his entire life in some kind of NSAR territory, farming having been a relatively sedantary occupation. He had recently been part of a program the NSAR had devised to improve farming techniques, by transfering more successful farmers to the farms of those less so in order to teach them a thing or two. With incentives like government payments, and additional Brahmin, it was a no-brainer. Despite his lack of Wastes knowledge however, he knew these were no raiders. Raiders were usually scrawny and veiny, they were usually Chem-addicts who could no more fire a rifle a straight as they could spell. But these men, in their uniforms and with their matching guns... they were professionals.

O'Malley reached the outer reaches of Ripley and as he passed the hand-painted 'Welcome to Ripley' sign, he stopped and took a much needed breath, his hands resting on his knees. His white-bearded face darted upwards and scanned the area for any NSAR military personnel. There should have been some, at least somewhere. Ripley wasn't just a farming town - the NSAR military had recently found great use for it, and it had seemed everyday to him that some soldier boys had stopped into the farm he was working on for a chat with the locals and a few donated crop yields/Brahmin milk bottles for the long journeys ahead. And now, no matter what, they HAD to be warned. Who knows what these mysterious men in uniform had planned for the town? Maybe they were worse than the Legion - though his limited rural mind struggled to comprehend a greater horror than crucifixion and widespread enslavement. If he didn't warn folk quick, there could be a bloodbath on their hands - and assuming the old-timer survived by some miracle, he couldn't imagine the blood on his hands being something worth livin' with.

Ah. He spotted some. Some NSAR soldiers gathered around a water pump, evidently trying to figure out why it was pumping out such a weak stream. They were quite at ease, in the hot afternoon sun, their rifle lyings on the floor and many having taken a decent amount of their armor off to cool down. One of them even sipped on a bottle of Sprunk Sarsaparilla. They didn't seem to realize than any second now, their chat and inspection would be interrupted by a wild, panicking old-timer.

"BOYS! BOYYYYS!"

O'Malley waved his arms and shouted as loud as his old lungs would allow as he broke into another run towards them. Immediately, the conversation of the soldiers stopped as they all darted their heads towards the sound, a confused look and a raised eyebrow on each of their sweaty foreheads. Almost immediately sensing how panicked the old-timer was, they instinctively began to reach for their firearms.

"SOLDIERS! THERE'S ENEMY SOLDIERS WITH GUNS, OVER YONDER THAT WAY!"

O'Malley pointed in a direction behind him as he finally came to a stop.

"What do you mean, O'Malley? Enemy soldiers...? You mean Raiders? Fiends?"

O'Malley darted up close, surprisingly quickly for an old farmer, and grabbed one of the soldiers by the shirt and began to yell in his face.

"NO! NO, SOMETHIN DIFFERENT ENTIRE-LY! BOYS WITH GUNS AND UNIFORMS... CEPT ONE'S I HAVEN'T SEEN BEFORE!"

The soldier he had grabbed, Jensen, recoiled back from the Old Man's whiskey-breath and the feeling of his old cobweb-beard brushing against him, and immediately tried to do his best duty as a Corporal and spur his squad into action.

"Alright, calm down, O'Malley, please!.... Right, Rodriquez ... Adams, you both follow O'Malley and scout out what he's seeing. Make sure you keep your radio on you and make sure it's working. I'm gonna radio the Lieutenant about this."

[Far Harbor]

McClain's squad hid quietly in the bushes surrounding Ripley.

"Nice job, idiots", Lieutenant Dale Thompson whispered. " theyre sending out a search party."

"its not my fault the sergeant couldnt see a farmer who was FORTY FEET AWAY!", rebuked McClain.

"both of you, hush up." said their sergeant. "we need to come up with a plan."


"I think we turn ourselves in", said Thompson. " there's no point in hiding any longer."

"I second that", said McClain.

"well, then, it's settled. leave your packs and rifles here. we'll be going in unarmed."

the townsfolk of Ripley whispered amongst themselves. who were these strange men? where did they come from? suddenly, a voice bellowed out from the bushes. "DON'T SHOOT! WE COME IN PEACE!" the three armored men stepped out of their cover and raised their hands. "we come from Far Harbor, a nation to the north."

"what the hell is a Far-Harbor?" asked one of the townsfolk.

"a country to the north. perhaps you know it as Alaska?"

[New San Andreas Republic]

Ripley, Northern Territories, New San Andreas Republic - July 7th, 2282

"Alaska? I ain't never heard of no Alaska. That on the coast aways?"

The confused man who has asked what a Far-Harbor was clearly had no clue what they were talking about, but that wasn't surprising. While the more developed areas of the NSAR like Los Santos had decent educational systems, up in the more rural areas of the frontiers it was more the norm for folk to be homeschooled by their families and that typically led to their understanding of geography to be challenged at best. As the three armored men looked at each other, wondering how to best explain the specifics of post-apocalyptic North American geography to a farmer who was new to it, the sound of sprinting footsteps and yelling from around the corner grew louder and louder. Old Man O'Malley's voice could still be heard as Rodriquez and Adams emerged, still yelling hysterically like the old coot often did.

"I swear I done seen them over this way here!"

The eyes of the two NSAR soldiers darted around, only to land on the crowd of confused Ripley townfolk who had gathered. Immediately, the three armored men in strange uniforms caught their attention and they quickly realized that something far out of the norm was actually happening, and they'd have to act like it. Quickly checking their magazines, reinserting them into their rifles and pulling the charging handles, they immediately run towards the crowd with their rifles drawn. As soon as the townfolk heard the sounds of their approaching footsteps, they quickly dispersed, and the men in both uniforms - NSAR and Far-Harbor- locked eyes for the first time.

"You boys there - stop! Put those hands up, and keep them up!"

Rodriquez barked the orders, and the three men (having seemingly either arrived with no weapons or disarmed themselves at some point, he did not know which) seemingly had no choice but to comply. There was a palpable silence of unease and insecurity as the NSAR men kept their rifles aimed. This was a new situation for the Republic, an encounter with a potentially dangerous group never witnessed before, and neither of these two lowly NSAR grunts had ever imagined they'd be the ones responsible for it. Thinking on his feet, and unsure of what procedure demanded he do next, Rodriquez turned his head to Adams and told him what he thought the best idea of it what to do next was.

"Adams - pat them both down, see if they've got anything hidden I can't see."

Adams nodded, lowering his rifle and slinging it around him. He approached the men slowly and unsurely, making repeated glances back at his squadmate to see if his rifle was still trained on the men. It was, and so he continued until he reached them.

[Far Harbor]

the NSAR troops searched the men as the townsfolk looked on, finding nothing but their combat knives, flasks, and spare ammo.

McClain asked dryly, "are you quite done? i'd like to not be searched all day, if its not too much trouble."

Rodriquez motioned for Adams to stop. "i dont know who you folks think you are, but you're tresspassing on NSAR property. explain yourselves."

Thompson tensed. "i'll have you know that this area is the property of Far Harbor, not whatever this NSAR nonsense is. we're part of a government mission sending Marines out into the wastes to search for more settlements."

Rodriquez scoffed. "or, you're mercs looking for a town to plunder. why should i trust you?"

McClain coughed. "because your rookie over there didn't take all my guns."

[Far Harbor]

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