aka Thoreandan

  • I live in Didenhil, Glendara, Dalentarth, the Faelands of Amalur
  • My occupation is Gaersmith - crafting enchanted weapons and armor from raw materials.
  • 2bcont

    Monday, 05.13.82, 4:00PM

    April 26, 2015 by 2bcont

    Today I was standing outside the North Gate to The Strip, just watching people come and go. As each approached the Securitrons and presented their credentials, I tried to imagine what purpose they would have for entering. Most, no doubt, would be intent on frittering away their caps at the casinos. Gambling, booze, and sex being what attracts most people to The Strip. Occasionally I'd see an NCR officer pass through, no doubt on their way to their embassy, but most of the enlisted men had the same glint in their eyes as those around them not in uniform.

    I wonder what those people would think if they knew why I am intending to enter The Strip soon myself? Much of my time lately is spent preparing for my confrontation with Benny. I've got mys…

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  • 2bcont

    Musings on my past (I)

    April 25, 2015 by 2bcont

    Having no memory whatsoever of who I was before awaking in Goodsprings is quite disconcerting. Although Doc Mitchell went "rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out", as he would say, "that don't mean them bullets didn't leave you nuttier than a Bighorner dropping." I seem to be none the worse for the experience though. But then, I have nothing to compare my current situation to anyway, as I can't remember what I was like before being shot in the head.

    On comparison to those I've met on my travels so far, I'd say I'm fairly average physically, but mentally I'm way above the average. Now, I don't know if that's as a result of Benny's crude brain surgery, (as the Doc would say, "Maybe them bullets done your brain so…

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  • 2bcont

    It's been a while since I took those first tentative steps out of Doc Mitchell's house in Goodsprings. As I stepped from the gloom of the clinic out into the blazing Nevada sun, a dull throbbing headache crept from behind my eyes and wrapped itself tightly around my forehead. It has been my constant companion since being shot in the head, relieved only temporarily by the occassional Med-X.

    The near-fatal injury I suffered has left me with little memory of my life prior. The name I gave to the Doc was the first that sprang to mind, and it may not even be my own, but the name of someone I once knew, or had just heard about. I go by the name Albert Cole for now, until someone can tell me with some certainty who I am.

    Since the good Doc patched …

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