Beast Hunter's logs

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The following is based on Creations and/or Creation Club content.

The Beast Hunter's logs are seven holotapes in the Fallout 4 Creations content "Tale of the Beast Hunter". They are recorded by the Beast Hunter.

Locations[]

Logs 1 and 7 are in the Beast Hunter's hideout.
- One upstairs on a dresser in the entrance area.
- One in the basement, only reachable through the Nahant sewers.
Logs 2 through 6 are in the Nahant sewers (see local map)

Transcripts[]

Beast Hunter's Log 1[]

The Battle of Hoover Dam, Nevada, 2277. My name is Troy Mortin^[1] of the New California Republic Rangers, and this is my story. We were getting hammered by endless waves of the Legion at Hoover Dam, and as a last resort, we lured them to Boulder City. You see, before the battle started, we rigged enough explosives to level the entire town, making it one giant death trap. As we fell back to the town, half of the NCR troops with us were cut down by Legionnaires, leaving only myself and my Ranger buddy, Jackson, to reach the detonator cache. Jackson had taken a bullet to the leg in the retreat, so I had to carry him to the building containing the detonators. From the second floor, we watched in horror as the Legion's red-feathered helmets emerged from the highway. They were out for blood. Before I could turn around, Jackson had already grabbed one of the detonator switches and told me to get out of here. He was going to stay behind and blow the buildings as they charged in. With his one working leg, he practically kicked me out the window. Before I could run to the edge of town, the earth-shattering explosion rippled through my body. And within an instant, Boulder City was reduced to Smoulder City. An entire Legion warband was wiped out, along with my friend. Months later, I was called in by General Lee Oliver. They wanted to hold a parade in honor of the heroes who survived the battle. But I was no hero. Jackson Kreger was. And the best he got was his name etched on a stone memorial, only to be lost in a sea of others. I told them they could shove their parade up their ass, and I quit the NCR the next morning. Some would call me a deserter. But I've seen how they treat their fallen. And I wanted no part in their coming war.

Beast Hunter's Log 2[]

No more rationed meals, no more cushy cot, no more orders. I haven't felt this alive in years. Never forget that Rangers are natural survivalists. I can hack it on my own. Free of the NCR, I'll have to find a new purpose. I'm sure whatever I do will involve moving people past the border walls of New Vegas. Or enforcing tax laws on the poor souls of this hellscape. There is a promise of civilization to the east, near the DC area. Sounds like a wasteland mirage spun by a Ghoul, but it's the best chance I've got. Well, logging off for now. I'll keep heading east through the plains.

Beast Hunter's Log 3[]

I've made it to the plains and found a small settlement. The locals haven't seen a Ranger before. They've let me stick around and earn a few caps. As long as I clean up the mutant wildlife: Bloatflies, Molerats, Radroaches. There are so many things out here that want to suck your eyes out of their sockets. It's good work, though. It reminds me of when Jackson and I would take turns shooting Geckos while on watch at Western Valley. Feels like a lifetime ago. Logging off for now.

Beast Hunter's Log 4[]

I've made it further east. Turns out killing mutants gets you the nickname 'Beast Hunter' out here in the Wasteland. I kinda like it. This new settlement wouldn't let me in unless I dealt with what the locals call 'Martha,' and they pointed me toward a nearby cave. I agreed to the job, but what they failed to mention was that 'Martha' was a freaking eight-foot-tall Yao Guai. Before I could reach my holster and get a shot off, the bastard lunged the length of the cave and knocked me down. With one swipe, she clawed my helmet, smashing the lens and sending glass shards into my eye. She started to bite down, trying to crush my helmet open like a walnut. I somehow managed to grab my skinning knife strapped to my thigh and gutted her right there. It took several hours for me to crawl back to the village, where they finally took me in. They were grateful and offered to patch me up. 'We're not doctors, but we can weld anything,' they said, bolting an eye patch onto my Ranger helmet. Sadly, my Ranger coat was ripped to shreds, and as a reward, they offered me a jacket. It wasn't just any jacket, though: it was a Lucky 38 Club jacket. I guess they used to hand these out to exclusive casino members before the bombs fell. The elder of the village said they traded it for three bags of powder from a merchant a while back. And since I'm from the Mojave, he figured I'd appreciate it more than most.

Beast Hunter's Log 5[]

My goal of reaching the eastern border states is coming to an end. I've climbed the mutant food chain to the point where I'm slaying Deathclaws as a profession. I guess I've fully embraced the 'Beast Hunter' title. I started this journey almost six years ago, and serving in the NCR has become a distant memory. The memories of my Ranger buddy, Jackson, will always be with me. On my journey to DC, I came across a Brahmin trader who warned me against crossing into the Commonwealth. Saying they're filled with rival factions and ferocious beasts. Then, he took one look at the Deathclaw hide hanging from my shoulder and figured I could take care of myself. From looking at the trade routes this merchant gave me, DC looks to be a hotbed of bandits and slavers, and there are reports that the Enclave has been seen there. If I go any further south, I'd be in Appalachia, and with rumors of tribes fighting over live nuke sites, I'd better stay clear. That leaves Boston, I guess. I'm heading there to rest my head. Logging off for now.

Beast Hunter's Log 6[]

I've reached the state of Boston, and I've already seen a heavy presence of the Brotherhood of Steel here, with news of a larger force arriving soon. That's bad for me. They'd likely hunt me down and interrogate me for days if they found out about my past with the NCR. And just by luck, I found a bunker on the east side of town. The bunker's door was barred on the other side, and the only way in was through a nearby sewer. That also turned out to be a Deathclaw nest. Though most people would have run back out the grate at the sight of Deathclaw eggs, my occupation has steadied my nerves for this exact scenario. I'm going in. There's a wasteland legend of someone who raised a Deathclaw from birth and was able to tame it. Hmm... Maybe it's worth a shot. I'll try to raise one myself. Signing off. If this is indeed my last log, it didn't work.

Beast Hunter's Log 7[]

My home away from home. My own corner of New Vegas. I've reached the end of the world by coming to Boston. There are no further treks for me to endure or wars to fight. I've spent the last few months putting this shelter together, raiding surrounding buildings to create my final resting place. I call The Bar. It's a fitting place to reflect on past adventures, I'd say. It's not home unless it's worth defending, and boy, have I wired this place with traps. And not to mention Bessy, my pet Deathclaw I've raised since she was a hatchling. Yes, I'm just as shocked as you are that it actually worked. Once and a while I'll hunt food for her to keep her from hunting it for herself. Otherwise another caravan trader will go missing. Again.. Not good if you're trying to stay undetected. To anyone that wants to take this bunker away from me prepare for war. And if some lucky son of a bitch manages to put me down once and for all and take this place for themselves, drink up. The next round's on me. Troy Mortin of the NCR Rangers, signing out.