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Killed something new today. Some kinda canine, with black fur and a white mask, standing on two legs. Travel in pretty big packs, too.
I’m not exactly sure how I got here. It’s a deciduous forest, with plants and animals I’ve never seen before. The trees seem to be stuck in perpetual autumn, even though it’s supposed to be the middle of winter right now, and this damn heat feels like summer. But I’ve walked enough of the wasteland that I’m not really worried about it. I’ve been hearing trains on tracks nearby, and I’ve seen smoke trails from some sort of camps. Wherever I am, I’m not that far from civilization. Even if I wasn’t, I packed for a long trip. I shouldn’t need to talk to any locals until I run out of bullets or meds.
Not that today has been generous on either of those. Fighting off that pack was like clearing out a deathclaw nest, and I can still hear more of them howling nearby. Might have to take dinner cold tonight, and I’ll have to wrap up my thoughts while I still have sunlight. Don’t want to fight more of those things.
Actually, I probably oughtta name them so I’m not just writing “those things” and hoping to remember what things they were later. Not like naming’s ever been my strong suit, though - Pops asked what my name was, and my first thought was seriously “Pablo?”
Actually, that reminds me of a funny story from back when I was still crossing America. I was at a bar in the midwest - out of the way place, mostly catered to well-traveled folks - and I was looking to sell off a pelt. Didn’t even know what I’d killed, just knew it had tough skin and coarse fur, and some folks might pay for that. I asked some local what it was, and they called it a “deathclaw.” Sparked a debate that lasted until dawn. Not one person in that watering hole could agree on what a deathclaw was, from the straight-horned brown ones I knew in Cali to the curved-horned green ones in the ruins of old Boston. Hell, the one I’d killed wasn’t even a lizard. Only thing anybody could agree on was that it was tough as nails, had sharp claws, and walked on two feet.
Actually, come to think of it, these things fit the bill pretty well. I guess in honor of that old argument, I’ll call these things “Autumn Deathclaws.”
~~~~~~
Killed something new again. More black fur and white masks, although this one was a good deal bigger. A good deal tougher, too, although maybe not quite as fast. It was some kinda supersized yao guai.
I don’t really know where I am, so I’ve just been following the train tracks to their source. It was that or their destination, and I was swiftly discouraged from trying that when I realized that one of those smoke trails was coming from further down the line. Guess those other trails must’ve been raiders. Shame to see folks just getting back to locomotion, and there’s already train robberies. Still, you do what you gotta do out here.
Not really sure what I’m gonna name that black yao guai thing from earlier. I’ve got a few ideas, though. From what I heard, by the time I left Cali, the folks up at Shady Sands had started flying a flag with a two-headed bear on it. Could try something with that. That, or one of its behaviors. I’ve noticed some of the trees around here are stripped of bark. At first, I thought it was just those things trying to scratch themselves the way any other bear would, but that was when I noticed the scrapes were deep enough that the trees were oozing sap. I tasted some of it. Pretty sweet. Pops used to tell me how before the war, people would tap the sap from trees and drink it. Called it something like ‘maypul.’ I guess for now I’ll call the sap sippers Maypuls. If something better strikes me later, I’ll update this entry.
Update: Asked a local what they’re called, and he told me “Ursas”. Seems a little unimaginative to just call it a bear in another language. Something like that deserves a little more elbow grease, I think. I’m gonna stick with calling ‘em maypuls.
~~~~~~
That was one big bird. I think its wingspan was about twice the size of a mirelurk queen.
Finally found the train’s source. I’ve decided to skirt it for now, though. That’s a lot of armed guards with guns, and I’m not hurting for bullets or meds much, especially since I’ve realized the meat on those black things ain’t worth killing ‘em for when there’s plenty of perfectly good rabbit, squirrel, and deer about. Only thing to hunt them for is sport and their masks. I’ve been saving the latter - society looks a good deal more developed here, and I don’t think bottlecaps are gonna cut it for my purchases.
Actually, those masks are getting to be quite a pattern. That big bird earlier had one, too. I still can’t quite figure out their deal. They feel like they’re made of bone, but they’re cold to the touch, and they weren’t a part of the skull. Some kind of exoskeleton, maybe? It seems manufactured, but given I’ve had to peel them off to find no skin beneath, I’m willing to say they’re part of these creature’s bodies. Some kind of keratin, most likely, like fingernails. Maybe these creatures were created with a modified strand of FEV? For now, I’ve decided to call them Masks.
Known Masks:
Autumn Deathclaws - Wolf-like bipeds with incredible strength and speed. Travel in packs, like to howl. Easy to tell when they’re nearby, but open combat with a pack is a hassle.
Maypuls - Bear-like. Mostly quadrupedal, though capable of fighting on two legs. A veritable mountain of muscle, but not particularly mobile, capping out at about 30 mph. I can outrun one, if it comes to it.
-Birds- Thunderbirds - Some kinda giant crow. Can’t speak to how hard it is to kill yet, but it’s easy to tell when one’s approaching by the sound of its wings and the amount of air it’s pushing.
Just realized I forgot to name the bird earlier. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve earned the right to name it. I didn’t kill one yet, just watched it fly by. Pops wouldn’t like me naming something I haven’t killed yet - would say it’s unbecoming of a hunter, poser talk and the like. Still, until I can get that thing’s drumbeat wings out of my head, I’ll probably have a lot to say about it, and a name’s a good tool for that. Thought the thing was a stormcloud when I first saw it, so… I guess “Thunderbird” will do
Update: Finally caught one of the things perching. Took a shot at its domepiece with Levi, but it wasn’t enough to put the thing down in one shot. Thing chased me relentlessly after that, and I had to break into the explosive rounds just to put it down. It was also able to launch its feathers at me, which were fairly sharp and extremely heavy. I can’t let Pops find out about these things. He’d either end up bird food, or hunt them to extinction for the thrill of it. Still, at least thunderbird meat is palatable, being just poultry. Made some thunderbird jerky and dipped it in some of that maypul sap. That’s a hell of a meal.
~~~~~~
Didn’t like that one. It was too… human. Not human, not really, a lot closer to me. Still, I expect the masks to claw and bite, not grab and punch. And punch he did. Can’t even remember the last time I had a concussion - although admittedly, the concussion might be to blame for that.
I also learned that drugs don’t work so good on Masks. Maybe they’re resistant, or even immune, but Terry’s sedatives didn’t do a damn thing. Of course, knowing what a juggernaut that thing was, maybe they didn’t even break his skin.
Nope. Just went back to check, the needle pierced through. I guess Terry’s been relegated to humans only.
Forest got normal at some point. Forgot to mention that. Leaves are just plain old green now. It’s nice to have camo again. Pops always said camo was for wusses, but he also liked charging mirelurk queens, so he may be a few bullets short of a full mag.
Speaking of a few bullets short, I better find somewhere to restock soon. That Mask took a good chunk of my meds.
Oh, yeah, naming. Grabbers. Whatever. I’m tired, I’ll try again at dawn.
Update: Slept on the name, didn’t really like it. It’s a little presumptuous to say that nothing else is gonna grab me. Given the way that thing swung through the trees, I feel “forrester” is more apt.
~~~~~~
Found a town. Getting inside was a pretty tense affair - folks must not get a lot of super mutants out here. A whole lot of “what is that thing?” and “I come in peace” and “it talks?” Nothing that unusual, and folks settled down pretty fast once they realized I could talk, shoot, and wasn’t here to stay.
Pawned off the masks for a good chunk of scratch, and my suspicions were confirmed. Technology is much better off here than it is back home. Hence why this passage is in ink - saw a sturdy-looking pen and decided to splurge a little. Do the kinda things Pops might.
I find myself missing his crooked smile lately. His reckless determination, the way he’d ask where your sense of adventure was if you suggested a boat was a better option than wading through the sludge. His insistence on calling the Dixie Wasteland by old state names. His insistence on calling a man three times his size his “boy”
OK, I lied. That last one still pisses me off. But he sure knew how to turn travel into an adventure. Without him it’s just… a chore.
I saw a map while I was in town earlier. To the northwest, there’s a continent, uninhabited by any of the four “kingdoms.” I doubt there’s anything to find out there, but it’s the kinda thing Pops would insist on checking out regardless. Might as well check it out so if he ever comes this way I can tell him there’s nothing there.
Not like he’d believe me. He’d go himself and still find something to be impressed by. Sentimental old ghoul.
God, I really do miss him, huh?
~~~~~~
Forest’s gone. It’s all desert now. I don’t really have a name for the Masks I’ve seen out here. Never seen a creature quite like that - four legs, long neck, humped back, acid spit. Just gonna call them Humpbacks. Not particularly dangerous, even in a group, as long you stay outside the range of that acid spit. Best to approach from high ground.
I’ve been trying to keep the ocean within a hundred miles of me at least. That can be a little tricky going through the desert, but so far I’ve managed to follow it pretty well. I’m hoping to charter a boat at the first port town I see. Hopefully I find another Thunderbird soon. Food can be scarce in deserts, and I sure do miss that jerky.
~~~~~~
Turns out I’m nowhere near being able to charter a ship. Anyone I talked to said that island’s too far and too dangerous. Farbeit from me to contradict the experts. I’ve been told I could take a boat up the coast and cross at the straits, or ride a train to Vacuo and head north to Ladlesport, then cross The Cauldron there. Pops always said it’s about the journey, though, and I’ve already hoofed it this far. I’ll keep walking along the train tracks, see where that gets me.
~~~~~~
Now ain’t this a sight for sore eyes. Killing giant scorpions in the middle of the desert. Takes me back to Cali.
Back at that bar in the midwest, I learned that deathclaws weren’t the only prolific group of wasteland pest. Some of them, like molerats and radroaches, had spread pretty much everywhere just by virtue of spreading like rats and roaches. Others, though, such as deathclaws, bloatflies, and radscorpions, were a collection of unrelated creatures being conflated for each other. I’ve heard of blue radscorpions, orange radscorpions, black radscorpions, white radscorpions. Hell, if I hadn’t been dealing with masks this whole time, I’d have assumed this thing was just another one of them.
A very large one, mind you. Most of the bugs I kill aren’t the size of an armored vehicle. That’s more Pops’s poison. Its carapace was tough, but Levi made quick work of it once I started aiming for joints. The meat tastes just as rank as the rest of the masks - though, boiled in seawater, I might be able to stomach it. What I wouldn’t give to go see Mama Dos again and have another bowl of that gumbo. Really savor it this time, too.
~~~~~~
Came across an odd place. Seemed almost like a military outpost, but there wasn’t any uniform. Kids in all sorts of crazy uniforms, running live fire combat drills with some of the most mind-boggling weapons I’ve ever seen. Who designs a gun with that many moving parts in the desert, anyways? You gonna clean the sand out of all of those crevices?
One of the instructors noticed my watching and broke away from the group to confront me. When I introduced myself as a big game hunter, he seemed rather impressed. He was significantly less impressed when he found out I was a private contractor. Said the place was a “Huntsman Academy”, by the name of Shade or some such. After seeing the masks, I guess I understand why a place like that might drill kids so hard.
When I explained to him that I was lost, he seemed… I don’t know. Remorseful, maybe? Human faces can be hard to read. He asked if I’d like to lend him some of my trophies for a demonstration for his class in exchange for a night of sleep in a bed and a warm meal. I was tempted to turn him down for the sake of my pride - and my safety - but the prospect of a shower and a washing machine is too good to pass up right now. So, for the first time since I got here, I’m writing this message under a roof. I’ll admit, it’s… comfortable. Some machine keeps my room cold, and though the bed is too small to comfortably accommodate me, the mattress is soft. It just keeps reminding me of my king back at the lodge, though. Drywall is no substitute for good old-fashioned wood, and the room feels empty without all the rugs and mantelpieces. This sterile, claustrophobic little box is far from being home.
~~~~~~
Lesson’s over. The professor asked me to join for the class and share my experience. I told him I didn’t think those kids would learn anything with a green giant around to gawk at, but the man was insistent. It went alright, though he insisted that I call the masks Grimm, the radscorpions Deathstalkers, etc. I guess those are just the name that academia recognizes these things by.
The professor is a nice man, but he’s not that great a teacher. He let his class get pretty distracted, and ask a lot of off-topic questions. It didn’t really help that I’d only had brief encounters with most of these creatures. Although, the knowledge on Vale’s grimm was appreciated - wherever Vale is.
Goodbyes were brief, and it was something of a relief to hit the road again. Always nice not having to field so man stares, even if it means you’re in the middle of the desert.
Desert turned to forest again before nightfall, though. I’m getting close, I can tell.
~~~~~~
Crossing the sea has been havoc. Crossing the land, even more so.
Masks. Too many to count, too many new ones to name. It seems they’re all that remains here, the rest of the land bearing no life at all. There’s too many from too many angles to avoid them all. I’ve had to fight, and I’ve had to pick my fights well. Remy died on me yesterday, firing his last round into some twisted horse jockey’s mouth. Chrissy’s ratta tat tat has gummed up the mechanics, and he’s started jamming up on me. At this point, Levi’s the only one I can really rely on.
At this point, the only things keeping me going are my pride as a hunter, and a lack of anything better to do. I’ll keep going until tomorrow at least. Hopefully I’ll see something interesting out here.
~~~~~~
The last thing I’d ever expected to see out there was a woman. Hell, more than that, she was a lady, classy and dolled up in a dress. Her face was porcelain white, her eyes black as pitch, voids punctuated by red irises. Her face was framed in black veins, and her hair was white as bone. She stood in this wasteland looking as serene as a lily.
I tried watching her from a distance, curious, when something strange happened. She turned to look right at me. It should’ve been too dark for her to catch the glint of my scope. I should’ve been too far away for her to look me in the eyes. And then… God, my hand’s shaking just thinking about it.
She just… smirked, and pointed at her forehead. Daring me to do it. To squeeze it. To splatter her brains against the stone.
I froze. For the life of me, I must’ve been there for days, unable to move. By the time I finally came to, all I could think to do is run. All the while, she just stood there, staring at me. I never saw her blink once. The only reason I got away was because she let me.
I remember Pops used to tell me stories from the Bible, about a serpent that struck down mankind in their infancy, an eternal evil forever stalking humanity. A Devil. I think today, I just met her. I pray I never see her again.