Fallout New Vegas

Fallout New Vegas is out and it has kept me very busy. It's far too early for a in-depth review, but from where I am standing, it is at least as good as Fallout 3. Also, the first good mods are out. FOOK has made a return, as have Blackwolf's backpacks - both are heartily recommended. As a small redress for my long absence, I present to you the ballad of Digger Omar - the adventures of my FNV character, which I plan to present here on a weekly basis.

The Ballad of Digger Omar, First Canto

Digger Omar worked for Mojave Express
That much you should know before I digress

The face of a demon, the beard of a prophet,
The hands of a strangler, much feared in his outfit

He kept a bloody sharp kukri in a blood caked sheath
And his soul was as black as the back of his teeth

Now Omar, he worked for Mojave Express
And one day he met with bad luck in excess

Four men came to kill poor old Omar
And, cautiously, wisely, shot him from afar

Down went Omar, for ages he went down
Down to the hot place, in fire to drown

But Satan got scared when he looked from his throne
“By my grannies’ eyes, he’s not one to stay prone”

“He’s the worst, this Omar, this evil old digger,
He’ll rule hell in short time, this much I figure.”

And thus Satan, the pussy, thought it was fit
To inflict Omar on the living, at least for a bit

Up from hell went Omar, up always up
til he woke on a bed, as weak as a pup

There sat an old coot who called himself Mitch
Who put Omar back together stitch for stitch

Who took the digger for some tests and some screenings
And discovered with dismay Omar’s violent leanings

“You are strong, you are swift, you are hardy,
Neither fast in the brain-box, nor overly tardy”

“Too ugly and uncouth to be a town greeter,
that much I see with my old vigour-meter”

“Now let’s take a glance at your psychical health.”
And Doc Mitch diagnosed: melee weapons, stealth.

With a shiver he returned the digger’s gear
The armor, the kukri, one cut-off ear

Some coin, an old shotgun, a handful of shells
a bottle of poison for spear tips and wells

“I patched you” said Mitch “and I now ask a favor.”
“And to some this favor might have a strange flavor.”

“Goodsprings is peaceful and no place for grief.”
“And thus I just ask you, dear digger, to leave.”

The digger, he grinned, with teeth black as ice,
with a soul like a grave, no man to play nice.

“I like you, old doc, and I’ll do you this favor.
I’m not ungrateful to one who’s my savior.”

“Just a small, tiny thing, before I must fade,”
“My gear is all there, but I miss my old spade.”

A tear in his eye, with trembling finger,
Mitch indexed the shop to the grim harbinger.

Omar went in and the air grew a bit colder.
Omar went out with his spade on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Doc Mitch, for restoring my vim.”
“If someone should ask: I’m going to Primm.”

A regretful doctor, a shop cleared of things,
That’s how Omar left the town of Goodsprings.