About this image

Been working on this on and off for a few months. It's going to be quite a large mod once finished, debating doing it in "Phases" instead of all at once though. It's one of those things where I can only read so many lore wiki articles before I get fatigued.  I'm really focusing on being extremely lore friendly, while also taking creative liberties when it's dealing with things like "the only source for this info is the fallout bible, or the Prima Guide. I've got 400 hours in this game, but there's still much I don't know.

The goal is to create a mod that seamlessly integrates books written after the great bombs fell, in the same vein as a Skyrim or other TES games. I like to write stuff, this is low stakes practice for me, more interesting than fan fiction, world building is enjoyable. It's interesting to think about what types of festivals NoVac might have, or what sorts of Propaganda might be found in the NCRCF. There aren't many book menu mods, this seems like the most logical use-case for it. The New Vegas Library Project is dealing with real world works, this doesn't consider it when writing the "books" (I have plans to add some IRL works, but the entire works, or works that have been pieced together "scrap" style, living books so to speak [an example is a version of "The Raven" but many lines and stanzas are missing, replaced by wastelander writings, or they aren't in order, scraped from ruined books]) but it also won't conflict with it.


An excerpt from "The Last Ride"
When the bombs fell. But hell, we were made for fighting. A dying world ain't nothing more than a new battleground. We holed up, kept our bellies full, and survived. Our bikes, our babies, they survived too, hidden from the bombs' fiery kiss.
But living in the world's rotten carcass... well, that's a whole different beast.
Gas, once as common as a whore, became more precious than water. Parts to keep our beauties purring turned rarer than a clean ghoul. We scavenged, we raided, we traded, but it was like pissing in the wind.
Then the Last Ride came.
Our babies were barely breathing. Half of 'em were rusted hunks of junk, their shine dulled, their roar silenced. We had to make a choice: bleed 'em dry slowly, or go out in a damn blaze of glory.
Guess which one we chose.