Howdy, I've made some popular mods for Fallout New Vegas, and maybe this one will be popular too. Or not. I don't know. What I do know is that I can't voice every single character myself, so here's a casting call sheet. Hooray.
Content warning: This mod contains some severely naughty language, some explicit sexual dialogue (not pornographic), and some adult themes. The characters that utilize this sort of dialogue will be marked, just for sanity's sake.
Requirements: Good mic quality. Also, when sending me audio, please keep it all contained in as few files as possible. One ten-minute WAV file is infinitely more manageable than 25 individual audio clips. Some improvisation is allowed, and I'm willing to accept feedback. If you send me an angry PM lambasting me for asking you to voice a line that you feel is out of character, I'll appreciate your passion for my stupid project, and you can be my new bestest friend.
Charlie is a professional assassin. Deeply traumatized by a tremendously awful childhood, she is emotionally dead, cynical, amoral, and also entirely non-malicious and non-judgmental. She is extremely articulate and well-spoken, with a penchant for philosophical reflection.
She is small in stature, and should have a relatively young(ish), soft voice. She also doesn't emote very much. She does *not* speak in a bland monotone, she merely maintains a very stoic affectation. She doesn't yell in anger; she grumbles under her breath. She doesn't loudly express joy; she cracks a faint smile. Reference material can be provided, with the caveat that it's a dude speaking.
Because of her advanced vocabulary and tendency to use flowery words, a strong grasp on the English language will be a borderline requirement. She also has a very large amount of dialogue, so you should be aware of that before auditioning. Lastly, given that she has a lot to say, excellent mic quality is required.
I've never claimed to follow some immutable code of ethics. I consider such things to be contradictory and pointless. Take killing, for instance. It's something we both do a good deal of, and it's a topic that is society is frustratingly ambiguous about.
I believe their priority is profit. It would be ludicrously hypocritical of me to condemn them for that, but you seem to actually have faith in them. I'm not saying this in an attempt to sway your opinions or choice of allegiance, mind you. I just think you should be aware of these things. Taking everything at face value is a fine way to get stabbed in the back by a blade you never saw coming. Keep it in mind.
I have no moral objections. I don't really have any morals at all, really. An aversion to sadism is the closest I come, I suppose. If my price is paid, if my client doesn't telegraph some diabolical plan to stab me in the back, if I believe I can kill the target... I accept. I don't care whether the target "deserves" to die, nor do I care how repulsive my client may seem to be. I'm a professional, no more and no less.
Brecker is a stoical, sadistic mercenary. He should have a deep-ish voice, and the ability to deliver brutal threats without sounding ridiculous.
I'm chief of security around here. Someone has to keep raiders out of here, and that's me. You'd think the reverend would rely on God for protection. Instead, he asked me. That should tell you all you need to know.
I suppose dignity was too much to expect of you. This may be an act of mercy, you inbred filth.
It's impressive, I'll grant you. But, all you've managed to do is piss me off. Do you know what I did to the last man to piss me off?
The archivist is a clerical worker that delivers a small bit of exposition to the player.
Path of Light isn't just a religious organization. We teach our people English, history, medicine, mathematics, and other fundamentals. With the proper time and funding, we hope to become a viable alternative to the more secular educations provided by the Followers or the OSI.
Carter is a brutal thug. That's about it. She's not the most in-depth character in the universe.
He's doing his job. Be thankful you're dealing with me, instead. I kill my enemies with bullets. Brecker has his own ways. Much slower ways.
Someone suspected he wasn't going to stand up to questioning, so why give him the chance to go singing something he shouldn't?
Reverend Austin Burke is in his mid 50s, and ideally, would have a warm and authoritative voice. He's more a businessman than a spiritual leader, but he's an excellent speaker, with a fondness for unspoken subtext.
This place seems to bring out the worst in people. Personal greed above all else, the glorification of wealth and hedonism... Terrible. And now, with the Legion poised to assault the Hoover Dam, the entire Mojave is in peril. I pray the NCR can be our salvation.
Please, don't begrudge the Senator for playing into his role. It's the system itself that we need to reform, and that's what I aim to do.
But you should know, killing a man, for any reason, is not a choice to be made lightly. It can carry grave consequences, in this life, and the next.
Monica is a cheerful, idealistic church receptionist. She is friendly and good-natured, She truly believes what she says.
The organization was founded by the Reverend Austin Burke, back in California in 2250. The Burkes have always been a very wealthy and influential family, back West. The Reverend chose to put his resources forward to help his community.
The ministries make it a priority to take in orphans, like myself, and provide food, safety, and education. I could have left after I graduated, but I felt I owed them a debt, so I stayed on.
The repairman is a man that does repairs. Truly, a substantive role worthy of an Oscar or twelve.
Goddamn hydraulic doors. I keep telling people, just tear these things out, replace 'em with normal doors. Gotta be the third time this month...
Dalton is the leader of a crew of raiders. He's a thoroughly repulsive individual, and speaking with him should make the player want to go and take a shower. He's about 40 or so.
Content disclaimer, Dalton has a lot of explicitly sexual/rapey dialogue.
I run with badasses, not weak pussies like you. Besides, something's wrong with you. I can see it hanging over you like a fucking cloud.
Ain't looking for new hires, but of you wanna go ahead and handcuff yourself to the radiator, you'll fit right in all the same.
We're just a bunch of guys that like to drink and fuck and smoke, and most of all, we like raking in the cash and breaking heads.
Dennis is a violent, depressed ghoul. Being a ghoul, he has that really fun guttural voice.
Am I an indiscriminate murderer? Yeah, I guess I am. I don't give a shit. I don't kill people our of some deep, personal animosity.
I crawled into the desert. I figured something out there would kill me soon enough, but it just never happened. And here I am, 200 years later.
Maybe I'm just hoping that being a belligerent asshole will finally get me killed, since evidently I can't do it myself.
Eddie Hurst is a manic junkie. He's a firm believe in government conspiracies and elaborate coverups. At the same time, he's genuinely intelligent and perceptive. Through his paranoid ranting, there are more than a few pieces of genuine truth.
I met that little shit a couple of times. As a kid, I wanted to slap the teeth out of his entitled mouth. Guess he got worse with age.
Apparently, he's been knocking around the estate, doing the dirty jobs for the head of the family for over a century. I'll tell you right now, when Burke cries for your head after that shit with his son, it'll be Zed hiring the assassins for him.
Oh, not a company man, eh? Independent contractor, then? Ha, you're just like me, friendo. I fell into the same old scam. Was working for the Burke estate. Clerical bullshit, total garbage. Wasn't trusted with nothing, but I grabbed the good papers all the same.
Layla is an aspiring entertainer. She's not especially bright or outgoing, nor has she ever had to work particularly hard in her life.
I think I'm going to have Stanny make me a model- or maybe an actress? Do you think I'd look good on a billboard?
When's Stan coming back? Jansen is the worst conversationalist I've ever met.
Jansen is a large black dude that mostly keeps to himself, and doesn't have a whole lot to say about life in general.
Howdy-do. Nice weather today.
Stan sure is taking a while...
Raya is a cynical, world-weary prostitute. She also moonlights as a drug dealer. She's also far more intelligent than she lets on, and is surprisingly self-aware for a 20-something-year-old streetwalking addict.
Note, this role contains some sexually explicit (not pornographic) dialogue.
Nothing too interesting. Once upon a time, I used to dream of making something of my life. Very optimistic and inspiring. I dreamt of joining the Followers, being a doctor. Then I discovered magical substances that made life seem to suck less, so that became my passion.
(deadpan) All my shit has legitimate medical purposes, so really I'm helping the community. Haaaaa.
Ah, well, there's a load of things I never wanted to think about again, all wrapped up in one convenient question.
Morgan is a smarmy intelligence officer. She's excellent at her job, but she's plagued by a need to always be the smartest person in any given room. She's kind of annoying even when she's being polite.
Well... It seems I got nothing for you, at the moment. I suppose your choices are to wedge your thumb firmly up your ass and wait patiently... Or, if you really care, you could go and join in this manhunt and resolve shit quickly. They'd pay you, too, if that helps.
Worse, he's actually managed to, on occasion, worm his way into something classified, whereupon he gleefully exposes it to the world at large. We're trying to win a war here. We don't have the time to deal with petty sabotage and intelligence leaks from this paranoid asshole.
That's classified. (chuckle) I love that response, it never gets old.
Cliff is a ghoul, which means this role will make your vocal chords bleed. Fortunately, he's a man of very few words. He's kinda shady, too.
Source is that I found them all years ago. Eventually I'll run out, and then I'll move somewhere that isn't inclined to kill me.
No. I sell in bulk. I'm not cracking one of the crates open so I can sell you a 50-cap shotgun held together with twine and happy thoughts.
Gerald is an alcoholic complete failure of a human being. His entire life, from start to finish, has been punishing him. He copes with booze, hookers, and being a belligerent asshole. While he is a massive prick, he should come across as more pathetic and pitiful than loathsome.
Well, fuck her, fuck her fucking clients, fuck this goddamn shithole slum of a fucking town, fuck the Fiends, fuck their victims, and fuck you too.
You want to fucking help me? How about a truckload of whiskey, a loaded .45, and Sheila's head on a fucking spike. Can't manage that? Then fuck off.
I drink as much as I can, I get in fights, sometimes I manage to scrounge up enough to get a cheap hooker. That's it. Maybe you're all special enough to have things worth noting in your life, but me, I got fuckall.
Ryan is a depressed, world-weary militiaman, with the rare distinction of also being idealistic and a genuinely good person. He's extremely tired, both literally and emotionally, but never quite falls over the edge into total despair.
Abbreviated version is that, once, there was an irrationally angry man living in the Mojave. One day, he got married and moved to Westside. Once they settled in, they had... entirely too many children. Fast forward 27-odd years later, and here I stand.
I can't even be angry... I mean, you killed everyone responsible. All I can do... Is wish this all could have been different.
I don't hate them with a burning passion like a lot of folks around here, but that's about it. They aren't interested in doing anything to help the people here, so I've got no use for them. If they wiped out the Fiends, made sure everyone had enough food and water, gave us a fair say in their democracy, then I could live with them.
Kevin Massey is an unfailingly calm and polite ex-con. He's polite and well-spoken, and ideally, should have a gentlemanly Southern accent.
I wanted to keep her around, so to finance her preferred lifestyle, I may have, you know, sold things that I had no right to, yes? And when someone noticed they were bereft of their earthly possessions, they pointed out "Hey, Massey suddenly has a lot of cash for a dirt farmer".
Uh, no offense intended, but Powder Gang territory isn't a great place for a woman to be running around, all carefree and such. Lot of these guys haven't touched a woman since they first got locked up. Not me, mind you, but I'm charming.
I didn't expect my exit from prison would be near as explosive as it was, but I did have some vague notions of slipping away one night, sight unseen. I've tried several times to contact my friend, but I've have no luck. Knowing how things are, I expect something unpleasant may have occurred.
Maggie is a touch 13-year-old girl. She works on her sister's farm and is generally a cheerful, intelligent kid. She's has an aggressive edge, though. Ideally with a mild Southern accent.
Note, I don't expect any actual children to respond to this casting call. If you can sound young enough, great. If you can sound kinda childish, I can pitch-shift the audio higher, as well.
They're fine. Well, mostly fine. I don't trust Alfie's soul patch, but other than that, they're fine.
I don't care what her opinion is. She's only half of our population, and the other half says that those raiders gotta go! And die, preferably! Look, I can pay you. Every cap I got, I'll pay you, if you can get rid of that gang. I promise, I'm good for it. I give my word.
She doesn't need to *like* it, she just needs to go along with it or I'll release her terrible secrets to the public. Just, uh... Give me some time to actually find her terrible secrets. Might take a while. I'll get back to you.
Megan Humboldt is a farmer living with her sister out on the frontier. She's a bit skittish, keeps to herself, and considers family to be the most important thing in life. She's a bit too protective of her younger sister. Ideally, should have a mild Southern accent.
I ain't risking it. If I wanted to wager everything I got on something I ain't certain on, I'd move to Vegas. Well I'm not changing my mind. I don't care what you say, and I don't much care for her arguments either. Heard 'em all before.
Look... I've been really on edge every since dad died. It's been like every single thing around here was relying on me. I haven't been sleeping well. Jumpy all the damn time. Maybe... Not having to watch my back all the time will help.
Not since those inbred moonshiners all got shot up. Moving caravans through their "territory" was pretty nerve wracking, I have to say. You'd think us frontier ranchers would have some solidarity, but apparently that'd be asking too much. Whatever, they won't be missed.
Paul Winters is a very old (late 70s) retired bounty hunter. He's very experienced and jaded, and knows he doesn't have much more to look forward to in life. As a rough, cowboy-style badass approaching 80 years old, his voice should sound appropriately old and gritty.
He was a bit arrogant. Always smirking, like he knew something we didn't. Still, boy was a natural shootist, and pretty good with a blade. He always had a bit of ice in his blood, I recall. Some folks would go out of their way to bring their targets alive. Caleb would only ask once.
In my prime, I figured I was the top dog in the Mojave. Any target, no matter how ruthless or well-armed, I killed. Young punks with something to prove all came to me, looking to learn my methods, or to kill me and take glory as my killer. Never worked for 'em.
And he may as well've been a ghost. Nobody knew anything more than his name, at most. No contacts, no friends, no hometown. It's ridiculous. Now that I'm almost 80, I finally know where he is... And I can't get there. It's too far. I'm done. I'll never catch him.
Kyle is a tough guy with a few more functioning brain cells than one might initially expect.
Most of these guys call me Three-Piece, but for brevity's sake, Kyle works just fine for me. Been in the Khans for pretty much my whole life, and if I have my way, I'll die for 'em too, when my time comes.
At that point, I was a little pissed, so I pulled my .45 and my .38 and put the other two assholes into the ground.
Not a super clever moniker, but I always got at least three locked-and-loaded pieces with me at any given time, so... Three-Piece Kyle. Sure.
