War, war never changes. The end of the world occurred pretty much as we had predicted: too many humans, not enough space or resources to go around. The details are trivial and pointless, the reasons, as always, purely human ones.
The earth was nearly wiped clean of life, a great cleansing. An atomic spark struck by human hands, quickly raged out of control. Spears of nuclear fire rained from the skies. Continents were swallowed in flames, and fell beneath the boiling oceans. Humanity was almost extinguished, their spirits becoming part of the background radiation that blanketed the earth. A quiet darkness fell across the planet, lasting many years. Few survived the devastation; some were lucky enough to reach safety, taking shelter in great underground vaults. When the great darkness passed these vaults opened and the inhabitants emerged to begin their lives again. One of the northern tribes say they were decedents from one such vault: they say that their founder and ancestor, one known as the Vault Dweller, once saved the world from a great evil. This evil arose in the far south; it corrupted all it touched, twisting men inside, turning them in to beasts. Only through his bravery was the evil destroyed, but when he returned to the home he fought so hard to protect he was cast out. Exiled. Confronting that which they feared he had became something else in their eyes and no longer their champion. He strode far to the north 'til he came to the great canyons.
There he founded a small village, Arroyo. It is now home, your home. But the scars from the war have not yet healed, and the earth has not forgotten.
--------
Ähhh... fragt nicht, warum ich das in der Zwischenablage hatte. Ich weiss es auch nicht mehr genau.
(Wer weiss woher es kommt bekommt einen Keks
)
