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 Post subject: Fallout: Lone Star (OOC)
View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 05, 2015 9:56 pm 
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War. War never changes.

The end of the world happened in a blink of an eye. In 2077, in a mere two hours, life on earth was near extinguished, atomic flames washing over the planet, removing any unfortunate enough to be caught in the blasts. Life as humanity knew it had ended, replaced with something far worse.

It is now the year 2285, and humanity has struggled to resemble a shadow of it's former self. In an otherwise lawless and deadly land, a few safe havens of civilization have appeared. The city of Houston being one such place, becoming one of the closest things the wasteland has to a bustling metropolis. Using parts from the local space center, it has become a solar powered paradise, a city of the future. A place a person can live a life of peace and safety.

Life in Houston is about to change.

Mysterious kidnappings plaguing larger towns, a mysterious cult-like group with talks of "making Texas strong", and two once powerful groups becoming allies, misfortune is coming to Texas, and countless other troubles. Conflict is looming over the horizon, and the people of the wasteland are all caught right in the middle.


----

Hello. This is a Fallout RP! Won't be anything too fancy here, just a fun adventure in the Texan wasteland, with Ghouls, super mutants, and other fun Fallout things

have some RULES

RULES
1:
generic don't be a dick, don't godmod, all that good stuff
2: this takes place, as mentioned, after New Vegas, so most things that have appeared in the games are good to use, as long as there's a logical reason for it to be in Texas!
3: Remember, when making your characters, don't give them power armor and lasers right off the bat. They don't have to be weaklings with nothing but a shitty pistol and vault jumpsuit, but remember part of the fun of Fallout is finding cool neat stuff and getting stronger.
4: This should be obvious, but don't make your character be The Courier or The Lone Wanderer. That'll be boring. Also Sole Survivor is still busy being frozen and the Vault Dweller and Chosen One are ether dead or super old. HOWEVER, if you wanted to say your character was at the locations of any of the games during the times of them, that's reasonable enough!
5:For characters, we're allowing the use of anything reasonably playable. Humans, ghouls, super mutants, synths, psykers, etc. If you aren't sure about anything regarding this, please ask and it'll be cleared up!
6:tunnel snakes rule

AND NOW HAVE A CHARACTER SHEET

CHARACTER SHEET

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Appearance:

History:

Personality:

Skills:

Equipment:

Other:


And now, a list of vaults known by our characters. This will be filled out as we discovered more in the rp!
VAULTS
Vault 58 | +
Vault 58
Vault 58 was an experiment in anarchy. The vault lacked any form of human security or overseer, and crimes were expected to be punished at the discretion of the vault's inhabitants. A large number of people who gained entry were police, judges, and lawyers, the full intention of the experiment being to see what would happen when people who made a living upholding the law were forced to live without it. Surprisingly, it went well for many years, with things like thefts or simple wrongings handled personally with little fanfare. While not made to uphold rules, there was a failsafe in the event of more serious crimes such as mass murder, which to date has only activated once. A security bot that would kill anyone attempting to destroy the vault or its population entirely is held within an automated door with no external controls or connections.

In recent decades, the vault's long-running structure established by the dwellers finally fell. A faction of pro-law dwellers attempted to impose their rule upon everyone else, with their logic being that if there were no laws to prevent it, nobody could try and stop them. At first, conflicts between them and the anarchist dwellers were arguments and verbal debates, but over time, they began to grow into aggressive threats and violence, though nobody was killed until the leader of the law-imposing faction was found dead, presumed to be assassinated by an anarchist. The fights grew worse and worse, until eventually, a large amount of dwellers left the vault entirely.

Since then, the faction supporting law has been displaced, but damage caused to the vault was irreparable without the help of those that left due to the fighting. The remaining anarchists, unwilling to go outside of their home but unable to fix the broken mechanics, attempt to continue their rule-free lifestyles within the decaying vault, while the pro-law inhabitants that were forced out hope to take it back someday.



And finally, a bestiary written by Eggsy!

bestiary | +
Feral ghoul
Feral ghouls are zombie-like creatures that are the result of ordinary ghouls who have lost their ability to reason, making them into mindlessly aggressive monsters. Despite the decomposed appearance that carries over to them from their previous ghoulhood, they are not undead, merely violently insane and animalistic. While still living, they can take horrendous bodily damage, including the loss of all their limbs, and continue to fight. Gravely wounded feral ghouls may even seemingly 'resurrect' if there is enough radiation in the area, as it boosts their natural regeneration to immense levels. Sufficiently radioactive ghouls may evolve further, gaining the ability to harness radiation both as a weapon and to heal themselves and other ghouls. Though a vast majority are far gone beyond the point of help, some feral ghouls remain oddly docile, and many have been heard speaking in broken, usually violent phrases.

Radroach
Giant cockroaches mutated by ambient radiation, radroaches are a common, but not overly dangerous pest found in both urban and wilderness environments. While not a threat to most seasoned adventurers, or even most other mutated wildlife, a horde of radroches can cause a surprising amount of damage to both people and their surroundings in little time. Most often, they are scavengers, simply cleaning up what dead creatures and edible garbage they come across, but when they decide to hunt, they can overwhelm a person by attacking in waves. Especially large radroaches are very rare, but much stronger than their common smaller cousins.

Brahmin
The post-war descendants of old world cattle, both wild and domesticated. Unlike most mutated animals, brahmin remain docile and easy to work with, and are commonly kept and raised as both a source of food and for labor, such as dragging ploughs or carrying goods across vast distances. Their high tolerance for the presence of others is not boundless, and they are capable of causing damage if provoked too much, especially bulls. Notable features of brahmin are their skin, which is naturally very tough and nearly devoid of fur, and their two heads. Brahmin often use their heads in tandem, alternating between them while eating or drinking while using the other to watch their surroundings. Single-headed brahmin are an oddity, to the point where many consider them 'mutants.'

Bighorner
Distant relatives of their western cousins, Texan bighorners are larger and hardier, as well as quite agile due to their rocky habitats. Bighorners can go for months without water and food, and have evolved to be omnivorous, though meat is only ever eaten in the form of insects and small lizards. Like many mutant animals, they can grow to quite immense sizes, easily taller than a human at the shoulder. While usually calm, wild bighorners are quite territorial and will attack threats if necessary, capable of shattering bones with their immense horns. Domestication has been possible, generally raised as food due to their stubborn nature making them useless as pack animals. Use as mounts has only been marginally more successful.

Mole rat
Mole rats are a species of subterranean rodent resembling giant naked mole rats, though a few colonies have been found to have fur. Much like their pre-war species, they operate in large groups led and mothered by a queen, who is often many times larger than the rest of the brood and rarely, if ever, leaves the lair. Normal mole rats are quick and agile, capable of burrowing in and out of solid ground in a matter of seconds, and can deliver viciously painful bites. Certain subspecies of mole rats are also capable of regurgitating an acidic substance, usually used to weaken structures too hard to dig through, but also capable of causing severe burns if utilized offensively.

Giant rat
A variety of unusually-sized rodents are recognized under the blanket term of 'giant rat.' A majority are intelligent, if skittish creatures that tend to keep to themselves and hide within the less-utilized parts of urban environments, such as metro tunnels and abandoned ruins. While not particularly dangerous, they're known to carry disease and sickness, and are very often looked down upon as nothing more than pests. Occasional individuals have become very aggressive, so it is still recommended to keep distance from them whenever possible. The smallest giant rat is about the size of a housecat, while larger ones are bigger than dogs.

Nightstalker
Mutants created through genetic modification, nightstalkers have migrated from the west, establishing territories throughout the hotter parts of the southern states. Hybrids of coyote and diamondback rattlesnakes, nightstalkers are highly intelligent, dangerous, and venomous pack predators that are most active during midday. Overall, nightstalkers resemble large coyotes with snake-like heads and tails, as well as thick armoured scales running along their spines and limbs. Nightstalker venom is highly potent, capable of downing much larger prey than themselves, and thus sees heavy use as a tool by tribals and other primitive hunters.

Radscorpion
Giant arachnids that plague the wilderness, radscorpions are highly dangerous monsters capable of burrowing and appearing out of nowhere, growing to immense sizes, and delivering highly potent stings that deliver deadly venom, but are just as capable of killing through sheer trauma alone. Radscorpions are usually solitary as adults, rarely sticking to one place and roaming the wastelands for prey when not sleeping underground. When they reproduce, the females become even more aggressive after their offspring are born, both to defend their babies and to provide more food for them. While considered pure insanity by most civilized people, at least one tribe is known to breed radscorpions as mounts to ride into battles, and rumored to take doses of their venom to give themselves an immunity.

Bloatfly
Bloatflies are common insects found throughout the wastes, mutated from common flies. Up close, they attack with sharp claws and mutated biting jaws. From a distance, they instead attack by launching stinger-tipped larva at high velocity. These larva then burrow into the flesh of their target, where they will feed and mature into smaller adult bloatflies before eating their way out. Their parasitic nature, disgusting appearance, and unpalatable flesh make them very reviled monsters, and while they aren't overly dangerous to an armoured adventurer on their own, they often attack in groups and are very quick, making them able to overwhelm a lone survivor.

Bloodbug
Bloodsucking mutant mosquitoes, most common in wetlands and swampy areas. Bloodbugs resemble fairly normal, if extremely large mosquito, roughly two feet from the tip of its proboscis to its abdomen. Bloodbugs primarily feed on large mammals including humans, and are able to suck deadly amounts of blood from their prey in a very short time, often aiming their piercing mouthparts directly at the heart. When engorged with blood, they can also utilize it as a weapon, spraying the irradiated contents of their stomach at targets to blind them before moving in for the kill.

Mirelurk
Large mutated crustaceans, mirelurks are most often evolved from ocean crabs, but also from lobsters and even turtles. Crab and lobster-type mirelurks are the most common, taking on either a bipedal or semi-upright quadrupedal stances, with various sets of limbs depending on exact body morphology. Mirelurk shells are thick and heavily armoured, and their muscular claws can rip apart an average human with ease. The rarer turtle-type mirelurks, known as mirelurk kings, are bipedal humanoid monsters that have become armoured, amphibious beasts. Hunchbacked, heavily armoured, and highly intelligent, mirelurk kings are very dangerous, even capable of utilizing primitive tools and weaponry.

Lakelurk
Inland mutants that dwell in lakes and other freshwater wetlands, most lakelurks are mutated from fish that were local to the area. Superficially similar to mirelurk kings, they most often evolve into a hefty bipedal stance, capable of breathing both above and below the water. Similarities mostly end there, as most lakelurks still heavily resemble fish, with finned limbs and hunched, forward-set heads resembling their old species. Above water, lakelurks are not all that agile, but very strong and usually equipped with crushing jaws. Below it, they can swim at terrifying speeds, capable of catching up to speeding boats and even leaping out to attack something on the surface.

Yao Guai
Mutated bears, grown to even larger size and strength, yao guai have firey temperaments and are extremely territorial. They live mostly in woodlands, or what's left of them, and tend to avoid urban settlements at all times. Yao guai typically resemble muscular, sparsely-furred bears with leathery skin, though ones in more fertile, radiation-free climates tend to retain much more fur, usually a shade of dark brown. While dangerous when awake and enraged, they tend to be very lax when not hunting, and can often be seen lazing about and simply watching things from afar. But when something unfamiliar enters their territory, they will aggressively defend it. While it's a very rare occurrence, yao guai can be tamed if raised from a cub.

Deathclaw
One of the most deadly wasteland beasts known well for their speed, strength, and near-impenetrable hides, deathclaws are highly intelligent and aggressive reptilian creatures created from chameleons and the DNA of other creatures before the war, then further mutated through genetic engineer. Deathclaws live in pack structures, led by an alpha male and female, who grow to much larger sizes than normal deathclaws. Adults are highly intelligent, capable of communicating through unique sounds depending on packs, and some are even able to mimic human speech. Deathclaw body parts are considered highly valuable, as their hides make incredibly strong leather and their claws can tear through most armours with ease. Unique variants of deathclaws have been rumored as well, such as ones capable of turning nearly invisible or utilizing radiation as a natural weapon. Very few who investigate said rumors ever return.

Armordillo
Enormous mutated armadillos that are often used as pack animals by wastelanders. As their name suggests, armordillos have extremely thick shells, nearly impossible to penetrate except by heavy weaponry. On average, armordillos are about four feet tall, and very densely muscled beneath their scaly shell. While not exceptionally aggressive, they have a very unique way of defending themselves, which consists of curling their bodies into a ball and rolling at attackers to try and crush them beneath their massive weight. While they can be eaten, they are noted as tasting terrible and are hard to kill, so they are rarely used for such a purpose.

Nightwing
Giant bats mutated from the vampire bats of South America, migraded north into the states. An average nightwing is about as tall as a human with a wingspan twice as large, and are capable of both astonishingly fast ground movement and nearly-silent flight. As they are nocturnal, they're almost never seen during the day, but their dark colouration and general lack of noise makes them nearly invisible when they do attack during the night. Strong enough to carry away livestock and people alike, they are hated by farming communities and feared by late-night travelers.

Gila dragon
Large reptiles mutated from Arizona's gila monsters, spread to the east due to migration. Gila dragons are named after their very large size, similar to the komodo dragon at the smallest, and their ability to spray and ignite their venom to attack their enemies. Capable of semi-bipedal movement and armed with sharp claws and teeth, they're just as capable of killing up close as they are with their flames. Gila dragon hide is rough and thick, making it a source of highly protective leather, and their flammable venom sees use as both a poison and as an ingredient for primitive fire bombs.

Viper
Giant snakes known for their hunting strategy of burrowing beneath the sand, vipers are very fast creatures that feed on anything they can capture. Due to their size, vipers are capable of killing by constriction, but just as often use their venomous bites to weaken their prey before strangling the remaining life out of it. Vipers are strictly solitary when hunting, even aggressive towards each other while searching for prey, but nest together in dens fairly peacefully. Stumbling upon said dens is almost always a death sentence, as they are very defensive of said nests.

Mutt
Many species of canine have mutated into a type of hybrid, then further mutated due to radiation. Mutts are the end result of all these changes, some displaying more features of certain dogs than others, and varying equally in mutations. Some resemble raggedy, if otherwise normal canines, while others are heavily mutated creatures barely resembling a dog at all. Packs of mutts have taken over entire territories, and live in closely-knit families capable of coexisting with humans, but wild packs are still dangerous and should be given a reasonable distance.

Corpse beetle
Carrion beetles have evolved into giant versions of themselves, massively increasing their size and aggression. Corpse beetles eat rotten flesh, whether by scavenging or killing prey to let rot before eating. As large as they are, corpse beetles are still capable of limited flight, which is most often used to cross obstacles or crush potential food by landing atop it. Corpse beetle larva are just as predatory as their adult forms, arm-sized grubs that live within corpses killed either by them or their parents, slowly eating them from the inside out.

Mister Handy
Popular pre-war robots that were constructed to act as housekeepers, the mister handy line of machines are made to be friendly, cheerful, and helpful to their human owners. Their AI is highly sophisticated, though some are instead programmed to do single tasks and nothing more. A typical mister handy robot is a spherical body kept afloat by an advanced booster system, with three eyestalks and three arms mounted with various tools. Custom models may have more or less arms and eyes, depending on their intended purpose. Their most common armament consists of a single forward manipulator limb, a blowtorch, and a buzzsaw.

Mister Gutsy
A militarized version of the versatile mister handy line, gutsies on a whole resemble their urban counterparts, but painted green and equipped with more effective weaponry and thicker armour. Likewise, their personalities are instead that of a gung-ho soldier, glorifying combat with patriotic fervor. Machineguns, flamethrowers, and plasma casters are common weapons found on them, but with modification, they can use various other weapons and even utilize handheld guns with their manipulator limb. While they are dangerous when roaming under their own directives, reprogrammed gutsies make highly effective guards.

Protectron
Protectrons are versatile robots built to serve a variety of purposes. As their name suggestions, protection was the primary driving force in their construction. The result is a squat, bipedal robot with a large 'head,' equipped with various tools depending on their job. Pre-war, they were used as assistants by police, firefighters, and medical teams alike, as well as used for physical labor such as construction or factory work. They are also able to be programmed for more domestic jobs, like cooking or cleaning. Despite their nonthreatening appearances, they can be surprisingly dangerous, able to use their various tools with deadly efficiency against intruders.

Sentry Bot
Built prior to the great war to serve as heavy artillery during firefights, sentry bots are large mechanical monsters at least twice the height of an average human, equipped with either bipedal legs or a multi-directional wheel system. Their massively bulky bodies are home to fusion-powered reactors kept contained beneath extremely thick armour, and their arms are equipped with heavy weaponry ranging from miniguns to missile launchers. Sentry bots produce large amounts of heat during active operations and must vent it to avoid overheating and possibly exploding, making this one of the only times they are vulnerable to anything less than heavy assaults.

Eyebot
Eyebots are not known for their dangerous capability, as they are simple reconaissance/media transmission robots that move by slowly hovering through the air. Multiple antennae are mounted in a backward-facing position around their 'faces,' which are loudspeakers kept protected behind a metal cage. Other attachments include radar dishes, optics, and small energy weapons used to protect the robot is attacked. Eyebots can tune into radio stations to play, and usually only have a rudimentary AI that involves playing said station along a predetermined path, but rarer models that are much more intelligent have been constructed.

Synth
Synths are robots developed post-war by the Institute, rarely seen outside of the New England commonwealth. Coming in 3 distinct 'generations' of various quality and intelligence, synths are androids, constructed to mimic humans. First generation synths are barely human at all, more resembling walking mechanical skeletons with robotic organs. Second gen synths are much more human, but still imperfect, as their 'skin' is made of still clearly artificial panels lacking many normal human anatomic parts. Third gen synths are the most convincing of all, externally identical to living humans, capable of eating, breathing, bleeding, and growing hair, with only their inner workings mechanical. Due to their far-off origin, most third generation synths outside of the commonwealth are runaways seeking new lives, while older generation are scouts sent to observe the status of outside territories and reclaim runaways.

Robobrain
Robobrains are multi-purpose robots that use brains as central processing units. Human brains allow the machines a wider range of functions, and the installation process can act as a makeshift form of immortality for the brain being used, provided the personality is not overriden by reprogramming. Robobrains most often actually were reprogrammed, as they were mostly utilized as service machines. Common robobrain models are a cylindrical torso atop a pair of treads, with two long multi-jointed arms ending in dextrous hands that allow them to use tools and weaponry with high efficiency.

Cyberdog
By definition, any canine modified with cybernetics is a cyberdog. Both mental and physical capabilities have been enhanced through robotic additions to the body, making them both hardier and more intelligent than normal dogs. Mutated dogs make bad candidates for the process, as the pre-war designs required specific breeding programs to make the most efficient specimens. A wide variety of unique attachments can adorn the highly modular cyborgs, making them more efficient for combat, stealth, and other tasks. A rarer variety of full-body robodogs, entirely mechanical except for a protected brain case, was being designed prior to the war, but none have been spotted in the wastelands as of yet.

Assaultron
Military robots developed for frontline combat. Assaultrons are humanoid machines that are very fast and deadly in close combat, equipped with crushing claws and a chargable laser cannon in their single eye for ranged combat and up-close executions. Their high strength allows them to tear apart obstacles and easily subdue victims, and if necessary, tear them limb from limb. Models made for infiltration include built-in stealth boy technology, creating a field of invisibility around them as well as silencing their movement.

Mining Bot
Mining bots are small, stout machines built with multiple legs, meant for mobility within tunnels, collapsed buildings, and other tight spaces. Their main bodies are home to a spherical head equipped with optics and a hard hat-like visor and flashlight, capable of turning 360 degrees easily. They are also equipped with multiple mining tools, including plasma torches, drills, and pickaxes. When standing at full height, a mining bot can put eight feet of space between its body and the ground, a technique meant to be used by rescue-oriented robots to save people from collapsed spaces.

Powered Armor
Power armor frames equipped with an internal robotic pilot, meant to be unmanned heavy troops to send to the front lines of combat. Like all power armor frames, they can be equipped with various armor permutations, and outwardly are indistinguishable from normal suits of power armor. The design was based on early-generation synth skeletons, hooked up to the frame and reprogrammed to act by their owners. While still in an experimental phase, the potential applications of combat robots strong enough to match power armored soldiers in combat are highly attractive, and the concept has caught the attention of various technology-minded factions.



Eggsy
Michael Hawke
Surge


Emeraldbearald
Katherine Butler
Jenny Connor


Illegitimate Chimera
Delilah O'Hare

Jawbone-ashtray
Junk
Bo


Last edited by Metal Zeta on Mon Jan 04, 2016 8:40 pm, edited 4 times in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Dec 05, 2015 9:57 pm 
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Jackson Mercer | +
Name: Jackson Mercer

Age:
32

Gender: Male

Appearance:
Jackson is, in a word, rough. He has coarse, brown hair that comes down to his back, a largw amount of stubble, and a face covered in scars, including a rather large one that goes across his left eye, which he lost a long time ago.

He is of average size, with a medium frame, with deep set, brown eyes and sunken cheeks. He's incredibly tanned, especially compared to his natural skin tone of "white as sour cream". His appearance is of of a man who spends his life in the wastes, letting the sun and sand sculpt what was once an innocent boy into a man.

For clothing, he has two main outfits. The first is a normal outfit of a black shirt, blue work jeans, and heavy boots. simple clothing, for when he's simply lounging around a city or town and wishes to relax.

His other outfit, however, is much more complex. A brown tank top and combat trousers, covered with a tan long coat and matching cowboy hat. Along with this, he has a belt with many pouches to keep tools in, and a red bandanna and sunglasses to cover up his face.

Personality: Jackson's a ****ing jackass.

A gun-for-hire, he has no qualms about his line of work, but he tries to keep his targets to those of lesser morals. It's often unwise to judge a book by it's cover, but that's what exactly what you get with Jackson. A rough looking man with a rough personality.

He's not easy to get along with, and unless you have drink or money to give him, rarely does he want anything to do with you. He's crude and never watches what he says, he not one with many friends, and those who DO call themselves his friends are often those who couldn't tell you why they are.

However, he does have some good qualities! If he DOES take a liking to you, you have a most useful ally if you need things to die, and he'll often give things he finds on his travels to his friends, having little need for most. Along with that, he's quite a lot more friendly while drunk, often laughing at the smallest things and going after those who mess with who he's drinking with.

He also has no problems with ghouls or super mutants, figuring that everybody is that ugly, when you think about it, those types just put it on the outside.

That, or he's just too drunk to realize they're not normal humans.


And lastly, when he's on a job, he is utterly serious. He finds those who needs to die, and makes them do so. No jokes, no messing around, no wasting of time or supplies. He tracks them down and ends them, with utmost efficiency.
History: Jackson comes from vault up north. What vault it was or what it was for doesn't matter, as he hasn't been there for years and anything that affected his character there is long gone. He's been travelling for years, going wherever he feels is right.

He was once a fresh-face youth, full of hope and naiveness. However, over the years the wasteland took it's toll on him, making him harsh and stone-faced. One too many allies being shot dead in the middle of a fight, too much money being handed to him in exchange for killing men, and too many nights hearing innocent folk screaming. He isn't one to claim he knows how the world works, and he'll be the last one to belittle a person for having hope, he just knows what he's been though and how it made him think.

Years ago was when he hit his lowest point, killing an innocent man for a small amount of cash. Something about that act disgusted him, made him hate himself. Since then, he's been a bit less negative in life, and while he still does kill for a living, he has a habit of only going after those lower on the moral compass.
Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats | +
Strength: 5
Perception:9
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 1
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 8
Luck:10


Jackson isn't smart. Jackson isn't all that sturdy. Jackson sure as hell can't make friends

What Jackson CAN do is hit a fly square in the head a mile away. He can sit in a single spot for hours on end, waiting for the perfect shot to end a life. He knows how to locate the perfect place, he knows how make himself hidden, and he knows how and when to pull the trigger.

Though, a sniper rifle is not the only thing he's decent with. He's an excellent marksman with most small guns, so small scale gunfights are no problem for him. Larger guns and energy weapons simply confound him, however.

He spends a large amount of time outdoors, so he also knows a thing or two about how to travel and make the most of what he finds out there. Infact, he prefers to be out in the wilds, as in civilization he's too busy drinking himself poor.

And lastly, he has an uncanny ability to make himself hidden. Helps when he's sniping, helps when he's trying to get away from somebody after him, and helps when he wants to take a nice long nap without people bugging him.

However, at the cost of honing these skills to near mastery, he's suffered in msot other areas. He's not too terribly strong, he's barely smart enough to be called that, and it takes a saint to deal with him when he's in a bad mood, which is often!
Equipment:
A .308 sniper rifle, a leather jacket, a pair of binoculars, a Colt 6520 10mm pistol, and lastly he has atleast one bottle of alcohol on himself at all times.
Other: can somehow snipe despite missing depth perception?


Last edited by Metal Zeta on Tue Jan 12, 2016 11:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 05, 2015 9:58 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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Two for now, and two to three more on the way!

Michael Hawke | +
Name: Michael Hawke

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Appearance: Michael is an able-bodied human man of mostly caucasian ethnicity, in good shape and generally free of ailments and mutations. He's around six feet tall, give or take a few inches, and has a well-built (for a wastelander) frame, more built for endurance and long-term physical exertion than powerful bursts of strength. His skin has a healthy tan to it, and a few scars here and there. A particularly noticeable one crosses the underside of his right forearm, lining up with another one that curves diagonally across his chest. He also has a single tattoo, a simple tribal band around his right bicep. Structure-wise, his face is pleasant to look at, and gives him an approachable look. He's got an oval jaw, high and flat eyebrows, and high cheekbones, as well as bright blue eyes. His hair is a deep chestnut brown, a bit shaggy and usually 'combed' back and up with his fingers, and more often than not, he's got a short, rough beard kept moderately groomed with a knife.

For clothing, he dresses simply, preferring light carrying to heavy armour. His normal outfit consists of a white collared shirt decorated with grey pinstripes, top button undone and sleeves rolled to the elbow, a pair of dark blue denim jeans, and a pair of brown leather boots. He accessorizes with a thick leather vest, worn open above his shirt and pocketed near the hips, a pair of leather gloves, the left of which lacks fingers, a belt with a large star-emblazoned buckle, and a cowboy hat. He's also in possession of a tattered blue scarf, a pair of aviator shades, and a long duster, which are usually brought out in the event of bad weather, but usually stowed safely inside his backpack, a simple duffel bag.

Personality: Michael is generally an easygoing, kind, and laid-back sort of guy who avoids conflict when possible and makes as little collateral damage as possible when it happens. While he has something of a distaste for bloodshed, he's far from cowardly, and is in fact quite brave when it comes to aiding others or making a place safe enough to remain in. While he prefers not to kill, he doesn't beat himself up over doing so, and will put a bullet in an attacker without a second thought. He's rarely angry and enjoys taking time to appreciate the beauty in life, whether it's as simple as a butterfly fluttering by or as majestic as a fertile valley separated from the wastes. He firmly believes that by doing good, the world can be made into a better place, and thus aspires to do as much good as he can on his travels. This results in leaving a trail of good deeds in his path, as he rarely settles long enough to enjoy most of it himself. While he'll always be ready to help people out, he feels as if staying with them will soften him up and tempt him into inaction. Due to this, he feels obligated to keep himself on the old dusty trail, going where he's needed until he's needed no longer.

On a personal level, he's sweet and easy to make friends with, very easily to just hang around and have a good time with as company. He sees the good in people, and prefers to talk things out whenever possible. A strong love of life and nature is easily noted, and he can find companionship and beauty in some of the most unlikely things. However, he can occasionally show hints of an inner desire to just settle down and live an easy life, which causes him turmoil due to his desire to make a mark on the world and help it recover. And while he is indeed hard to anger, he's not immune to negative emotion, and holds some intense hatred for certain things in the world. When he or someone he cares about is wronged or hurt, he can be extremely ruthless in avenging or protecting them, and in his worldview, certain kinds of people are better off dead, far past the point of redemption. But given his willingness to try and help people who have been dealt extreme hardships, it takes a hell of a lot to get to that level.

History: Michael's life began in a small village in the Northwest Commonwealth. Built somewhere near what was the border of Idaho and Oregon, he lived within a small town, built almost entirely by hand out in a relatively fertile area of wilderness. The village's inhabitants, a more 'civilized' than normal tribe, were known through the area as a peaceful group that provided fresh food for anyone who wished to trade, but were generally free from raids by less agreeable groups due to their effective combat skills. The Snake River Walkers, as they were known, inhabited various points around the river they were named after, modeling themselves after the culture of the American Old West, learned about through books and holotapes found long before their settlement.

Michael's early childhood was a source of fond memories, long afternoons spent out on the fields, comfortable evenings with friends watching fireflies, and other small things that he still enjoys to this day. While mostly uneventful, it was a good life, a simple existence free from the strife of the wastelands and the bureaucracy of large-scale settlements. Of course, it was not without hardships. The overall lack of technology the village had meant field work was done by hand, and it became especially grueling during the summers and winters. Whether it was as simple as hot weather causing heat-based illness or as hard to manage as crops dying in the cold. Despite weather and the occasional conflict with other tribes, they prospered for decades.

Unfortunately, all could not last. Trade was the primary way the village obtained supplies other than grown food and livestock, and during a particularly harsh winter, they simply stopped showing up. Too little food was being produced to attract well-intentioned outsiders, and without things like medicine and other supplies, it was unlikely that they would survive the winter. At this point, Michael was a young adult, and along with other younger members of the village, came up with the idea of migrating south to find warmer land. While the elders disagreed with the plan, many of them too old or sick to survive such a potential journey, around half of the village's inhabitants agreed to it.

The exodus began, sights set on Nevada. The village, left with much fewer people to sustain, would go on to survive the winter with little trouble. On the other hand, a long and deadly journey awaited Michael's party. At first, things seemed like they would be okay. Food reserves, mostly vegetables prepared and sealed in jars back home, kept them sustained well during the first month or so of their long walk. Hunting provided meat and fat needed for cooking, and gathering locally growing plants helped stretch the reserves as well. Water soon became a problem, as the further from the river they went, the less chances they had to gather water from it, and soon after passing the Nevada border, they were beginning to run out.

Conditions grew worse as they went on. While they had successfully escaped the cold north, they soon found themselves in an even worse place, the scorching, dead sands that barely sustained any life at all. Wildlife was sparse, and any civilizations were even sparser. Eventually, the group had to resort to hunting and consuming mutated insects, some of which proved toxic when not correctly prepared, infused with venom from popped glands that entered the bloodstream through dehydration-cracked lips. People began to die, whether from starvation due to refusal to eat the potentially deadly creatures or being poisoned by their only source of food. Despite losses, the group carried on, still hopeful to find solace somewhere in the deserts.

An attempt to follow a river to the east resulted in an encounter with the violent 80s tribe, aggressive raiders who covered their territories on rebuilt motorcycles. The group successfully managed to fight them off, killing many of their attackers, but losing even more of their own numbers in the process, including Michael's own father. There was little time to mourn, and after he was buried, the group proceeded further south, using the motorcycles of the fallen raiders to cover ground more quickly. Reinforcements came, but as the groups were put on more even ground by the vehicles, the more coordinated remnants of Michael's group once again fended off their attackers.

Eventually, fuel ran out, and the group once again was forced to walk. Their hardships were not over, and as they neared the Clark County area of the Mojave Wasteland, a scouting party allied with Caesar's Legion stopped them with the intentions to enslave them all. Fighting broke out, devastating what remained of the travel party. Michael was one of only four who came out of the battle on either side, accompanied by his mother and two childhood friends. All of them were injured, and would have died out in the wastes if not for the intervention of a group of NCR Rangers.

They were taken to a camp, their wounds treated and conditions evaluated. While they were lucky to be alive, they could not remain at the camp for long, and were given directions to the town of Primm in the Mojave Wasteland. There, the survivors of the long journey finally settled, taking some time to adjust to the new land. Coincidentally, local culture was not entirely dissimilar to the one they were raised on, and they adjusted rather well. Michael gained work as a courier for the Mojave Express, after the owners of the company overheard him speaking of his experiences on the road. He delivered packages throughout the Mojave to provide for his mother, who eventually passed away of old age, and his remaining friends, who went their own way to begin new lives elsewhere.

He worked for years, eventually landing a job as one of six couriers contracted to deliver strange, seemingly useless items to the Vegas Strip. His delivery, a set of riding spurs, took him halfway to Vegas when he found the body of another one of the couriers, that one carrying a novelty belt buckle. He buried the courier and took the package, intending to finish the delivery, until he learned that Mojave Express couriers were being targeted by someone, told over a radio news report. Michael immediately decided to leave, not believing his life was worth the price of some costume pieces. Without returning to the work building, he stopped by his home and gathered what he could, taking off into the night toward the east.

Intent on putting as much distance between himself and the Mojave as possible, he purchased a junker motorcycle on the edge of the Nevada border, powered by a fusion core. Using the motorcycle, he rode through Arizona, avoiding the attention of Legion patrols in their homeland by keeping to trade routes and moving alongside caravans, essentially making himself as 'normal' as possible during the journey. The occasional scuffle broke out, but it was never more than a handful of patrolling initiates at a time, and the focus the Legion put onto the Mojave at the time meant their attention was elsewhere anyway.

His travel across Arizona and New Mexico consisted of helping others out of bad situations, including a two month long journey to help return a kidnapped child home from a slaver. It took him a long time to cross the deserts, but outside of Legion territory, he met many people and lended a hand whenever he could. It gave him a sense of peace, knowing that even in small ways, he was helping make the world better. From then on, it became something of a personal duty for him, albeit one that kept him from ever settling down again. As much as he'd like to eventually take it easy and just live out his days away from conflicts, there's too much wrong with the world for him to be comfortable with abandoning his goal. If not just for himself, then for the tribe he left behind. Eventually, he reached Texas, but not before his motorcycle was destroyed in an encounter with raiders, ruined completely by its detonated fusion core. After that point, he continued on foot.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats | +
Strength: 5
Perception: 4
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 7
Luck: 4

Michael is skilled in the use and maintenance of kinetic firearms, ranging from the simple sidearm to the more complicated machinegun. Generally, he much prefers weapons that are easy to maintain, reliable, and without a multitude of complicated mechanics. The more parts to a gun there are, the higher a chance something will fail. His preferences thus lead him to use things like revolvers, bolt-action and lever-action rifles, and shotguns, with a particular love for the latter. His aim with a sidearm is good enough to put a hole through a bottlecap, and his experience with older gun models lets him reload them with surprising speed, making the slower-to-use models on par with more modern weaponry in his hands.

Living on the trail has taught Michael a lot about wasteland flora and fauna, weather patterns, building shelters, and the simple art of cooking a meal over a campfire. He has expansive knowledge of what in the wastes is edible, what's toxic, and what can be made safe through cooking techniques, as well as how to filter dirty water and make some surprisingly tasty things with relatively limited ingredients. On the fauna side of things, tracking, hunting techniques, and capturing and taming animals is something he knows much about, and he keeps his discoveries and tried-and-true methods written within a journal to look back on. He's also good at making a place to sleep and stay hidden when necessary, and isn't too bothered by non-deadly, but uncomfortable weather conditions.

Dealing with people from all walks of life, as well as his wandering lifestyle, has necessitated that Michael be a good talker who can see through lies and convince people to open up to him. His naturally kind personality helps people like him, though there are the inevitable few who find his cheery disposition more an annoyance than anything. He's a very understanding individual who can work out deeply hidden issues in people to aid them, convince ongoing hostilities to end, and generally try to deal with things peacefully. More casually, he's got a very good sense of humor and enjoys back-and-forth banter and other playful sorts of talk, and can be very genuine with his feelings when talking about them.

Equipment: Michael uses firearms as his primary weapons, preferring mid to short range battle over long-distance sniping engagements. He commonly uses two guns, swapping between them depending on situation.

His sidearm is a Colt Python .357 magnum revolver, with a stainless steel frame and brown wood handles and a six shot cylinder. The barrel is six inches long and ported along the top, and the grip has an ergonomic design for comfortable holding. It's kept in a leather thigh holster strapped to Michael's left leg, the belt of which holds bullets for quick access. He uses hollow point ammo for use against unarmoured foes and animals, and has a limited supply of armour-piercing bullets.

His main weapon is a Winchester Model 1887 12 gauge lever-action shotgun. The gunmetal is black, and the wooden grips and stock are both dark brown. The weapon is modified to have a long tube, giving it a full capacity of 8 shells. The barrel length, shoulder stock, and use of slug shells make it effective even at fairly long ranges, but he more commonly loads the weapon with normal buckshot. It usually sits on his back in a custom made holster, the front belt of which is lined with shotgun shells.

More for use as a tool than a weapon, Michael is in possession of a large, heavy-bladed bowie knife. It's about 12 inches long and kept sheathed opposite his sidearm, kept sharp with a small whetstone. While it's useful for self defense up close, he much prefers his guns, but can use the knife very deftly when using it to carve or chop something.

While he doesn't employ true armour, his vest and gloves are quite protective against environmental wear and tear or sharp objects, like the teeth and claws of mutated wildlife or even small knives. Naturally, it does nothing to stop bullets or blunt impacts. His duffel bag is also full of travel supplies, like rope, sheets, a small cooking pan, some silverware, a first-aid kit with stimpaks and chems, and a glass jar full of bottlecaps. He's also got some spurs he wears, more for decoration than anything. Finally, he keeps a leatherbound journal, full of notes and pictures of things he's seen and collected during his travels. Some trinkets inside have been taped to the pages, generally small things like coins, special bottle caps, paper scraps, or photographs.

Other: Michael has a faithful mole rat companion that he captured and tamed on the road a few years ago. She's proven to be quite a useful helper, able to dig for root vegetables, sniff out important items, and on occasion, carry loot in a back saddle. She's fairly large, about knee high and four feet long. He wants to name her, but can't think of anything good enough.


Surge | +
Name: Sergei "Surge" Gorbachyov

Age: 204

Gender: Male

Appearance: Surge is a Mariposa super mutant. He's roughly eight feet tall, and like all super mutants, heavily muscled and somewhat deformed. While he's not the largest of his kind around, he's still much stronger than a human, capable of tearing through things with ease. His skin is dark blue, somewhat lumpy-looking in places, and scarred due to the various battles he's been in. What look like plasma burns cover his chest and right shoulder, and a large vertical scar runs down his head from his eyebrow to his chin. He has a large, flat nose, a heavy forward-set brow above grey eyes, and an exaggerated jawline with heavy jowls. He has no hair, completely bald and even lacking eyebrows, though the left side of his face has a small ridge of tumors where the brow would be.

For clothing, Surge is rather limited by his size. His normal 'outfit' seems to be the remnants of a vault suit and labcoat, consisting of faded blue pants and a dusty, tattered-sleeved white jacket, paired with things that were obviously made later in the wastes. A pair of about knee-length boots and a sleeveless shirt, both made of soft brahmin hide, provide comfortable wear with adequate durability. The knees of his pants have built in padding, and a pair of work gloves usually kept looped behind his belt are often used when he's building something. Said belt also holds a variety of large pouches, which contain various objects he deems useful enough to keep on his person. Also related to working, he wears a pair of large, multi-lensed goggles, worn on his forehead or around his neck when not in use.

Personality: All his life, Surge has been quiet and distant from many people. He's not the easiest person to talk to, both because of his introverted nature and his somewhat questionable grip on modern phrases and sayings. He tends to take things quite literally, not so much that it influences his actions, but enough to cause him some confusion when people talk to him. His relative silence compared to others, combined with the fact that he's a super mutant, have made it easy for some people to stereotype him as dumb or unknowledgable. On the inverse, he's very smart, excelling especially in fields of technology. Tinkering with mechanical objects, fixing broken robots, harvesting pieces of usable scrap from destroyed vehicles, and other such mechanically-inclined hobbies are among his favorite. He's also quite adept at using computers, and enjoys using terminals whenever possible, keeping his typings well-protected at all times. While occupying himself, he tends to be a bit more open to talking, especially if it's answering questions about what it is he's doing.

While far from stupid and overly hostile, Surge's experiences as a super mutant and some changes that happened after his mutation left him with a very short temper and a lack of reservation about breaking things (and people) that prove to be either obstacles or annoyances. In particular, he dislikes people insulting his intelligence, and often ends up threatening people who do so. Various encounters with prejudiced non-mutants has instilled a prejudice towards them, a vicious cycle of dislike and disdain that has only served to make life for both sides less easy. He doesn't mind ghouls nearly as much, and he has a particular interest in synths and cyborgs. But it's rare to find a normal human he considers worth his time these days. He has especially little patience for idiots, but is willing to offer some insight to people who actually want to learn things, provided they can communicate with him clearly enough. Likewise, he enjoys learning new things, and studies old-world writing whenever he can find it. Grognak the Barbarian has quickly become his favorite comic series.

History: Surge's time as a human has nearly been forgotten. He only remembers bits and pieces, scraps of memory hidden deep within his mind. He was the descendant of a Russian immigrant, a scientist, and an inhabitant of Vault 17. Besides that, he remembers having an affinity for robots and electricity. When it comes to the details, such as any family, his life before science, or almost anything prior to the war, he honestly could not tell you. Occasionally, he would tell stories to his super mutant colleagues, entertaining the lesser-minded soldiers during the ends of long patrols and days filled with battle.

Past his time of mutation, his memory is clearer. He was taken from Vault 17 alongside many others by an invading army of super mutants after the apocalyptic Great War. Surge was among those infected with the Mariposa strain of the Forced Evolutionay Virus, which changed him into one of the most ideal examples of a mutant that the base had. While his mind was afflicted to a degree, influencing his attitude to make him more aggressive and combat-minded as well as dulling his memory as a human, he retained his intelligence and sanity almost completely.

He made an exceptional soldier, capable of giving highly intelligent orders to the less successful mutants that acted as troops. Promotions came as time went on, and eventually, he began to utilize stealth boys to perform reconaissance and intelligence gathering, as well as gaining access to technologies that allowed him to create custom equipment using his old scientific knowledge. However, overuse of the machines furthered his mutation, and while he still remained mostly the same, his aggressive tendencies grew, influencing him enough to give him a great enjoyment of close combat and the rush of battle.

Surge has lost count of how many people he's killed, subjected to mutation, or otherwise harmed during his time as a member of the army. In fact, he has trouble remembering much at all sometimes, though he feels some tinge of regret for all the suffering he's had a hand in. Toward the end of his career as a soldier, he considered going AWOL to start anew, far from the Californian wastelands he plagued for years. Eventually, the Master of the army he was a part of was defeated, forcing it to disband. Surge leapt at the opportunity, and vanished into the night, never to be seen again by his old allies as their infrastructure collapsed.

For some time, he remained in Nevada, living within a mountain community established by another intelligent super mutant. He worked mostly to help power the town, as there was little else he was really good at. The realization that his skills were good only for killing made him furious, and internally self-loathing during his time at the town. None of the others judged him, as many of them had done things much the same, if not worse, but paranoia and aggressive thoughts brought on by his furthered mutation made him feel as if the entire town was constantly speaking behind his back, planning to bring some form of retribution for his crimes. The thoughts eventually became too much to bear, and he took off in the middle of the night, hauling all his destructive tools with him.

In truth, he did not know where he was going. He had no goal, no ideas for where his life would take him. All he knew was that he wanted desperately to distance himself from the west, and thus he began a long trek that took him out of the safety of his community. And, as fate would have it, right into a patrol made up of Brotherhood of Steel paladins. A battle ensued, and while he fought hard and with superior technology, he was outgunned and defeated. Once disarmed and presumed dead, plasma having eaten through his armour and burned his flesh, he was stripped of all salvageable tech and abandoned in the unforgiving desert. He remained unconscious for hours, and even after awakening the next day, remained laying in the sand for an entire morning.

He considered never getting up, and allowing the desert to take him. It would be the end, and nothing else would cause him any trouble. Eventually, after an attack by a particularly large radscorpion, he decided against it. If life would not let him have a quiet end, then he would seek some form of redemption. With no supplies and only desert around him for miles on end, he continued his travels, seeking things that could aid him from traveling merchants and anyone else who would talk before shooting at him on sight. His wounds were eventually tended, leaving massive scarring, but no longer at risk of infection. One merchant he traded with later during his travels offered him a place in their community, and he followed them through the remains of the Four States Commonwealth, avoiding the attention of the local rulers by hiding beneath a large hooded cloak.

He spent some time with a group of New Canaanites, where he was a useful ally both for bringing power to settlements, getting old machines working, and keeping their caravans safe on the road. Surge never quite subscribed to their religious beliefs, but he enjoyed their company and the sense of peace that the town had. He remained there for some time, but eventually parted ways with them, as the thoughts that had forced him to flee his first home finally caught back up with him. His parting was more amicable this time, and after a heartfelt farewell, he continued moving east.

Some time later, Surge found himself in a very, very promising place. The Texas commonwealth was a highly advanced utopia in some places, particularly the shining city of Houston. Seeking to study the technologies within, he began his travels across the wasteland, procuring some extra tools from locals during his approach. He has still yet to reach the city, but has hopes that he can utilize it to maximize efficiency and hopefully spread the technology to other places.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats | +
Strength: 8
Perception: 8
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 2
Luck: 5


Surge has expansive knowledge regarding computers, robotics, and power systems. Rather than focusing on hacking pre-existing security systems, he uses his skill with programming to create AIs for robotic constructs he builds. He's also skilled with influencing the AI of hostile machines remotely, if only temporarily, to either turn the tides in a battle or quickly deactivate the afflicted robot. He can also create high-tech modifications for weapon and armour, and construct energy weapons and other related objects with seemingly useless junk. He specializes in the use of tesla coils in his work, both as a power source and a form of offense and defense. Likewise, he can optimize the power output of energy cells, and create unique versions with added effects.

Making good use of his own constructions, Surge is highly skilled in the use of energy weapons of various sizes, ranging from plasma pistols to gatling lasers. Through various sciences, he's learned how to alter the properties of laser and plasma weapons, and almost everything he uses is a personal modification. While he prefers to focus on accuracy, he also uses what he calls 'overcharge' mods, allowing him to expend an entire power cell to overclock the weapon's shooting potential, whether it's a mass of rapid-fired lasers or a large ball of explosive plasma. His specialty lies in the use of Tesla coil-based weaponry, which fire various forms of electric energy that are capable of killing beasts and frying robots, as well as infusing electricity into other energy projectiles.

While not his primary form of fighting, Surge's size and durability make him dangerous up close. He prefers weapons he can wield one handed, which due to his size is damn near anything of a reasonable size, and tends to gravitate towards hammers and other blunt objects that require less maintenance. Much like his ranged weapons, he doesn't settle for simple things, and often modifies them to add a scientific touch. Heating systems, engines, and his signature tesla coils for electrical conduction have all been used before, which can turn a simple sledgehammer into an electric, rocket-powered tool of destruction.

Equipment: His primary weapons are energy-based guns, and while he's used both pistols and large weapons in the past, he prefers rifle-sized guns that allow for a good amount of firepower without being overly cumbersome. Mostly for backup, or when ammo runs low, he also uses melee weaponry.

Surge's main weapon after the loss of his old equipment is a makeshift-looking laser musket, constructed from parts of a broken AER9 laser rifle, a tesla coil, and various salvaged pieces he used to reconstruct it into a functional weapon. The weapon has a full metal stock, a tesla coil within its crank housing, and the body of the rifle is attached to a forked barrel resembling that of a Winchester P94 plasma rifle. The tesla coil converts fusion cell ammunition into blue, electric lasers, and when being charged, electricity crackles between the barrel's forks. The firing mechanism is also modified to allow multiple shots, rather than single overcharged shots, though the latter can still be achieved by holding down the trigger after multiple cranks.

For close encounters, Surge uses a sledgehammer, which as of now is mostly unmodified other than some reinforcement to the handle. As well as crushing skulls and collapsing ribcages, it's effective at breaking through barriers and helps with tearing apart scrap metal. He has plans to construct a super sledge with its parts when he can find the appropriate pieces.

To protect himself from bullets and energy attacks alike, Surge employs a suit of armour made from the remains of various robots and scrap metal. On his torso, he wears a modified protectron torso, stripped of paint and widened at the arms to allow him to actually put it on. A pair of armguards made from the same robot cover his forearms. On his shins and thighs, he wears plates that made from vehicular scrap and other robot frames, modified beyond recognizability. Similar plates hang over his waist and stomach. Currently, he has no helmet.

As well as various trinkets held in his belt pouches, he wears a large metal toolbox on his back, attached to the same belts that hold his various pieces of armour on. It contains various tools, powered and otherwise, that he uses for the construction of his machinery. He also has a section used to hold other things, mostly small pieces of possibly useful scrap. Beneath the tool racks, he's stowed a few comic books away for safe keeping.

Other: Surge considers himself a staunch enemy of the Brotherhood of Steel. While he hasn't had encounters with them in quite a while, both their tendency to steal technology and some chapters' strong anti-mutant attitude has left him heavily soured on the entire faction, regardless of differences in ideology. It would take a lot to get him to trust someone from the group. Also, his nickname has a dual meaning, coming both from the trouble super mutants had with pronouncing 'Sergei' and his tendency to use electric energy weapons during his time in the Master's army.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 05, 2015 10:15 pm 
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Joined: Mon Jul 20, 2015 6:33 pm
Posts: 51
Location: Portland, OR, United States
Medals: 1
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I got one here.

Katherine Butler | +
Name: Katherine Butler; though people she’s close to often call her Kat.

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Appearance: Katherine is very feminine in appearance; she has long auburn hair tied back in a bun. She’s five foot nine inches tall. She has one hazel eye and one blue eye and a small scar crossing across her nose under her eyes. She’s bottom heavy with large hips and thighs, but she’s muscular. She wears a vault 58 vault suit under some mismatched pieces of armor. She wears black boots and an American flag square scarf around her neck.

Personality: She’s an independent person and a natural born leader. She doesn’t bother with petty squabbles, but she’ll listen and straighten out problems if they become major issues. She’s fairly aggressive if she’s annoyed and she’s irritable if she’s stressed from working on repairs or hacking. She likes dogs and treats them well, unless they attack her or her friends. Her sense of humor is insult based and very crude like many old world mechanics that spent too much time working with each other.

History: Katherine was born in vault 58 near the end of its operational time. The same year she was born two factions in the vault started fighting for control. One side favored rule and order; the other favored the continuation of their anarchic life style. The fights were mostly small arguments for most of the time, though they became more aggressive and violent as the years went on.
The final spark of the conflict came when she was sixteen years old, just shortly after she finished her goat exam. The leader of the side favoring rules and order was found murdered in his room, shot in the chest three times. Her goat results set her as a robotics technician, setting her to work on the vaults security systems. She maintained a neutral position during the fighting and the two sides left her alone during their fights.

She worked diligently on her job for five years. At the age of twenty-one the head technician died during one of the fights between the two sides of the vault. Her few co-workers started following her decisions and orders as she was trustworthy and kept focused on the most important tasks. Her new found position as head technician lasted for two short years as the fighting grew worse and worse finally forcing her to leave the vault.

Her final night in the vault was marred with war and various deaths; the battling broke various important machines to the vault but limited the mechanics to getting to them. She stood from her desk and walked through many of the rooms as she headed towards the vault doors, many people followed to see what her plan was. She reached the vault door with little effort; she spent a minute fiddling with the door controls before she was able to open the door. She took one last look at the vault and one look at all the people who followed her; flipping them off she turned and walked through the vault door and never went back. She’s been wandering the Texan Wasteland ever since.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. | +

Strength: 9
Perception: 2
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 6
Intelligence: 7
Agility: 3
Luck: 3


Unarmed: Katherine took up boxing in the vault as a hobby when she was 15; she kept working with it and uses it to her advantage in the wastes. She didn’t have the skills to go pro but she certainly had the skills for defending herself with the right weapons that increase her punching power such as brass knuckles. She favors her power fist over anything else; she takes the most care for it.

Hacking: She spent a good amount of her working life in vault 58 hacking into computers for people who locked themselves out of it. She never was too good at the more complex hacking jobs, but passwords consisting of 6 or less letters were easier for her to figure out. She can also reprogram the less complex models of robots such as eyebots.

Repair: Spending time as a robotic technician gave her plenty of opportunity to do repair for electronic items, such as robots or computers. She maintains all of her stuff with good efficiency. She keeps her power fist and armor in the best condition she can. She’ll easily maintain her friends’ items as best as she can as well, and she even sells her repair service for those who need it.

Equipment: A slightly modified power fist, with greased pneumatic tubes for shorter time needed between punches. The power fist is painted hotrod red with flame decals.

She wears a vault 58 suit under mismatched leather and metal armor pieces. With leather vambraces, a metal chest piece, and metal shin guards. Preferring medium armors with a good mix of mobility and dense over heavier or lighter armor.

She has a pip-boy 3000A worn on her right arm. The radio on the pip-boy is busted and she only listens to repeats of the one song on the holotape jammed into the player. Her pip-boy is painted to match her power fist. The pip-boy screen color is bright blue.

She carries all her loose items in a messenger bag that’s pulled taught against her chest and back. In the bag she carries a few bottles of purified water, a few boxes of sugar bombs, a few boxes of blamco mac n’ cheese, a few pre-war dollars, about 150 caps, and her repair tools.

Other: Travels with a German Shepard named Shep. She bought him off a trader two years ago. Because Katherine’s family was of Irish decent she grew up around her family all speaking with an Irish accent and she continues to speak with it.


EDIT: Added in her s.p.e.c.i.a.l. stats.

EDIT 2: A second character!

Jenny Connor | +
Name: Jenny Connor

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Appearance: Jenny is very curvy and busty and stands at 5 feet 6 inches tall, she has a very friendly and soft face which combined with her body shape makes her appear very approachable. She has neck length wavy black hair. She has pale green eyes and soft light brown skin. She wears a black leather jacket over a white tank top and tight leather pants under damaged metal armor pieces.

History: Jenny was made by the Institute to be a new guard for their shipments. She was trained in the use of energy weapons and heavy weapons for years. When the Institute believed she was ready she was sent out on her first mission. It was a simple mission as they had explained it to her; she was just supposed to guard a bunch of merchants as they traveled to the southwest. She didn’t know she was traveling with a caravan of Institute agents posing as merchants headed towards the south eastern part of NCR territory in an attempt to spread operations there.

While traveling they were ambushed by a large amount of raiders on the north western border of Texas. The fought in a fire fight for 12 hours before all of the Institute agents and all of the raiders were dead. Jenny survived by some strand of luck, though she passed out from exhaustion immediately after. When she woke up she was deeper into the Texan territory, in a wagon pulled by a traveling doctor and his caravan. She said she couldn’t remember any of what happened or who she was, only that she remembering liking the use of her two guns.

The doctor told her he and his 3 guards had found the aftermath of the ambush and checked for any survivors, and she was the only one still breathing. Though his guards swear they saw a man in a brown trench coat and fedora leaving the area. He patched her up and placed in his wagon to move her to a safer place. She couldn’t afford to pay for the work he did so she offered to travel the wasteland as a body guard with the doctor and his caravan for a year before she paid off her debt to him. The doctor gladly accepted saying one of his other guards was planning on retiring. When the year was up she left the caravan to wander the wasteland in hopes of finding her missing memories.

Personality: Jenny is very nice and easy going when she’s out of battle often preferring to go with the flow of things rather than fight against it. She’s friendly and kind towards new people; which helps with her charismatic nature. During combat she can be ruthless and aggressive with both her large weapon choices and energy weapon choices. Jenny is highly lucky in battle often taking little damage while her armor takes most or all of it, which is good for her because she has a low tolerance for pain.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. | +

Strength: 5
Perception: 3
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 6
Intelligence: 6
Agility: 2
Luck: 10


Big Guns: Jenny has an affinity for large weapons like the minigun and the gatling laser; she favors them over smaller weapons. She’s well practiced with handling them and their recoil, giving her a deadly accuracy with them. She understands their workings but not how to best mod them relying on others to mod them for her.

Energy Weapons: Jenny’s preferred secondary weapons are always energy based weapons, favoring the laser rifles and pistols to the plasma weapons. Her skills with them has given her plenty of survivability when it comes to combat with enemies who aren’t resistant to their damage. She spends time toying with them and has learned how to mod laser rifles and pistols for better accuracy and damage outputs. Though she only tinkers with the ones she doesn’t plan on using.

Barter: Jenny’s kind and friendly nature gives her an advantage with traders and merchants. They often lower their prices slightly on everything and often offer her more when she sells to them. She often buys fusion cells so many traders give her a bigger discount on those for buying them in bulk so often.

Equipment: Jenny carries an unrepaired minigun what no longer works, in what used to be her primary weapon. Having fallen so far into disrepair she’s been unable to find anyone who can repair it but she keeps it around for sentiment’s sake. The minigun has the words Heart Breaker painted on the barrels with a large pink heart stenciled on to its main body.

Her secondary weapon is a laser rifle she lovingly calls girlfriend, it’s your standard issue laser rifle with a different paint job, it’s painted after the old Nuka cola spacesuit model’s light blue suit. She carries it slung on her backpack above her minigun and it’s her current go to weapon during firefights.

Jenny also carries a small bag strapped to her left thigh that contains her caps and spare fusion cells. On her back she carries a small back pack filled with her other survival supplies such as food or larger caliber ammo, she also carries smaller objects she plans on selling in it.

Other: Jenny’s voice is like a mix of a French and British accent, she can’t rightfully explain where she gets it from, as she can’t remember who her parents were, or if she even had any. Being a synth though she was loaded with two voice programs for many different words, so her accent is based all in how she pronounces different things.


Last edited by Emeraldbearald on Tue Dec 22, 2015 10:38 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 2:21 am 
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Name: Delilah O'Hare

Age: 28

Gender: Female

Appearance: 'Lilah likes staring out at the world with her blue eyes narrowed, although they're permanently squinted and surrounded by crows feet from years in the post-war Texas sun. Her face is pocked and scarred from both weather and combat, and as a result she is not often called 'beautiful'. A squared jaw and strong cheekbones, together with a sharp and angled nose and her thin, small lips, give her a somewhat matronly look, though when she grins she looks much younger. Her right ear is missing the lobe, and the scar which caused it runs from that ear, out along her cheek to just below her mouth. Another major one crosses from high above her left eye, down across the bridge of her nose, and appears again on her chin. Small nicks make up another dozen across her face, but those two stand out as severe when they happened.

O'Hare stands at nearly six feet tall, and has obviously eaten well despite being a wastelander. Her frame is naturally light, but she has a decent amount of muscle, mostly wiry and hard instead of thick and bulky. Her skin is darkly tanned and leathery, and her forearms specifically show a network of scars from animals of various kinds. Her hands and feet are pretty big, somewhat above average, and the hands are dirty more often than not. She wears a pair of old denim jeans and a flannel shirt, under a set of what seems to be ancient and well-beaten leather armour. She walks with a faint limp, and her left knee obviously gives her trouble.

Personality: 'Lilah has no patience for the weak and pitiful of the post-war world. She was raised to look after herself, and while she's willing to lend a hand to those in need, she'll slap the stupid out of those who don't help themselves first. She is a fighter, both in words and deeds, though she hews very closely to her own personal code of honour, and will turn on those who prey on the weak she scorns faster than a viper. She trusts no one but family, refuses to do anything for free, and won't hesitate to blow her enemies brains out. A merc, through and through.

All that said, under the rough exterior, she is very soft when it comes to kids, and once she gives her word, the recipient will know that it's good until the day 'Lilah finally dies. She is proud of the name she's beginning to make for herself, and has a habit of doing stupid and reckless things to build it, despite her insistence that she knew exactly what she was doing. Get her drunk enough, and she'll sing lewd songs and dance with the best.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats
Strength: 6
Perception: 7
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 3
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 8
Luck: 4

'Lilah is a dead-shot with a scoped rifle, bolt action or semi-auto. She's also good with a knife, and with maintaining her equipment, though anything higher tech than rifle parts would give her trouble. She's well-versed in how to take cover, find sniping positions, sneak into enemy encampments, and at picking locks. Computers are a magic box to her, though she can read a screen. Most scientific information is completely incomprehensible to her. She can, however, handcraft kinetic projectile ammunition.

She has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of local fauna, though only of how to kill them, not whether they're poisonous to eat or how to raise them. She's also familiar with typical Raider weaponry, and has started learning what she can in per-War books about the Law, a product of her upbringing. She's also basically competent in medical treatment of most wounds, though she can't do anything fancy like surgery. Mostly she patches herself and others up until they can get to a real doctor.

Equipment: 'Lilah wears what is now low quality leather armour, much patched and beginning to lose its protective value. Mostly it serves as a bandoleer for rifle rounds at this point.

She has a .308 sniper rifle with a long scope, and carries enough ammo for it to last a few days if she needs it to. She carries a 9mm pistol and a combat knife as sidearms, with a few spare clips for the gun. A shoulder-slung pouch contains a few stimpacks, antidotes, and RadAway, but she refuses to carry any 'hard' chems, both because it makes her a target and because she can't stand the stuff. She does generally have a bottle of vodka on her at all times, though.

Other: Delilah was the daughter of a Brahmin rancher mother and an idealistic father. Her dad, specifically, had read a few bits of old literature and decided to resurrect the Texas Rangers. He spent a whole lot of caps he didn't have to outfit a select group of men to 'fight the good fight' and 'bring law and order back to the world'. In reality, however, men can always be corrupted, even more so when everything goes tits up. So when the group was hired to take care of a gang of raiders making a killing off of extortion and pillage of a few settlements, the raider's captain made a counter offer. Out of the fifteen men her father had gathered, twelve of them switched sides. 'Lilah's father was gunned down like a dog. Then they came for the family, which consisted of her, her mother, and her older and younger brothers. 'Lilah herself had been off hunting, and when she came back to a fire gutted ranch, slaughtered herd, and missing family, she went berserk.

It was two years before she found out what had happened, and at the same time heard that her family had died as slaves. Since that time she was worked as a mercenary, never caring too much who hired her as long as the caps were good and the work relatively clean. She has been building up a reputation as honest and reliable, and more than willing to purge an area of 'undesirables', though she makes it a point to get good people out of harm's way instead of killing them, as long as they promise to never return. All of this is in preparation for the time when she begins gunning for those who betrayed her father. When they hear her name, she hopes the cold fear grips their guts, and they **** themselves a little before she kills them. So she keeps an ear to the ground for rumours of their exploits, and keeps a diary of when, where, and how they've been. It's been nearly ten years since she swore vengeance, at this point, and she's getting impatient.


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PostPosted: Mon Dec 07, 2015 12:06 am 
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oh dang your character is extremely similar to mine, Illegitimate Chimera. Which is fine, as snipers are cool and rad.

All the characters so far are accepted!


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PostPosted: Thu Dec 10, 2015 10:43 pm 
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HELLO

due to reasons and things, Imma hold off on starting this RP for a bit. People are busy and it's that time of the year, so I think it's probably the best idea to wait for a bit.

It's still gonna happen, but probably not until nearer to the start of the year


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2015 11:38 am 
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Can I give my characters a 'companion quest' as it were? :P You know, a bit of highly personal unfinished business they can't handle on their own until X-point in the story line?

OOOH OOOH you know you could do that for everyone, personalize the general adventure to all our guys as we go along, it's mean a bit of creative planning with each character, but it could be interesting to see GM and whichever-player-it-is at-the-time sharing the story creating process... it's like in a series where each character gets an all revealing episode each and you end up loving 'em all the more for it! Or when you get a guest director in and the slight mood change totally shakes things up!

Sorry, I'm tremendously awful at communicating an idea without a sketch-book on me, so I'll try and give you an example of what I'm thinking;

BOBO THE SUPERMUTANT has a secret hit list in his bio.

In the quiet moments of the main quest GM decides it's BOBO's time and mails the player. Together they plot the most colourful way of dragging the rest of us (who remain unaware) into BOBO's mess.

BOBO could tearfully recite his tale of bourbon-soaked woe around the campfire be received with a rallying battle cry from his comrades, "LIT'S GIT'EM!!" and off the party goes to get them.

OR that week he designates himself as their navigator and sneakily leads them in 'the wrong direction', whoops, where our party somehow just keep on bumping into raider leaders who have beef with BOBO..."How does this keep happening, gee BOBO, for a gentle giant you sure **** off a LOT o' random folk out here...seems almost everyone we've met recently..."


Just a thought to chew on. You don't have to run with it, but our old tabletop GM years ago used to do something similar and it was bloody awful (for the rest of us)/fantastic good fun!

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2015 3:57 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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I like the idea, so I definitely support it. Giving each character some time to shine in the spotlight would be great.

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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2015 7:07 pm 
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That would take effort on my part and man im against that


BUT it's really neat idea, so hell yeah we're doing it!


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2015 7:48 pm 
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I'm sure we'll have our own ideas brewing and that should take some of the pressure of Zeta. Sorry! ^^' I'll make it fun, I promise!

We should keep things secret until we're ready to go through them maybe?

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 16, 2015 7:49 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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Oh yeah, certainly. One of my up-and-coming folks has got a super clear potential path for the whole companion quest dynamic, and I can definitely come up with some stuff for my current two posted.

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 11:33 am 
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CHARACTER 1

JUNK THE GHOUL

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| +
CHARACTER SHEET

Name: Junk-Head-Fred. Once born Freddy Mulligan, most locals tend to know him as Junk the ghoul and he’s given up the ghost of the fight to be anyone otherwise.

Age: Somewhere over the big 2-0-0 he’d guess. Junk made a point to stop counting past 40, back THEN he felt old. Who’s he to break at least a century of tradition?

Gender: Hunk

Appearance: Like a goddamn toasted skin-graft with a shaved mole rat testicle plonked on top… in ghoul terms that makes him a bit of a looker.

BUILD: Junk was always a staple candidate for a Napoleon complex. At 5’7 he ain’t never been a lug, even at his physical peak, during his smoothskin years, he’d been a slinky, lithe customer. A bit ‘eely’ in his shape and motions, with tent peg hip-bones and coat-hanger shoulder blades, bent at the right angles you could count the ribs pressing up from beneath the skin --and not just because you can see a few of them peeking through strings of off-coloured flesh like the eyes of a dead fish through a murky tank. As a ghoul, with those few extra inches of soft tissue receding to rot, Junk’s less intimidating and more feral looking than ever. Gotta be careful when he turns sideways; risk losing the fecker!

SKIN: As it turns out the screaming Texan suits his skin better as a ghoul, you don’t get the damp rot prone to colder climates, instead it has something of a mummifying property. It didn’t take many months of it for things to … ‘crisp up and brown’. He still looks like carrion, but… how to explain… a little less bloated-mongrel-corpse-fished-up-from-a-flooded-storm-drain-kind-of-dead and a bit more Egyptian-section-at-the-museum-kind-of-dead. Not traditionally what one chases the sun for, but Junk was banking on it after the first few winters spent patching and mending while living back up North.
Jesus. Thinking back to it gives him the nervous shits.
Consider how long he’s been kicking about, Junk’s kept himself in relatively good nick. A pre-war history in plastic surgery, a post-war education in chems and more than a fair share of vanity have saved him from falling apart outright.

HEAD: Arguably better looking as a ghoul. Junk used to suffer from goggle eyes and a bit of a ratty nose until they either rotted clean off (ya’ll ain’t visited uncanny valley until you studied your own nose in the flesh for the first time from the palm of your hand) or hid behind loose tethers of stringy unknown matter.
Problem solved.
As mentioned Junk patches and mends to some degree and, although he can do nothing about his blown eye (it sits in his head like something from behind the fish-mongers counter, the once dark, piercing blue milked through to a red-edged smear of an unnatural, chemical blue. Makes your eyes water just to look at!), he has been taking care of other issues as they sprung up. Example; after getting his teeth kicked out by junkies, he painstakingly built and set himself a full set of silver ones, which is all good and merry until you realise you have to find the silver, make a mould, find teeth to model the mould off in the first place and then you have to screw each little gnasher up into your skull by hand. Junks no artist—particularly not when working in pain—some of his teeth just out at funny angles others don’t look human in the slightest -- the canines are yaogui! He sent six desperate junkies out for those. Five never came home. That signature smile is worth every cap of repeat custom!

He also re-threads his hair periodically, nothing too over the top mind; a ghoul with luscious locks would look ridiculous and Junks too vain to look vain. That one’s easy. The ol’ cue ball special used to be his pre-war bread and butter along with boob jobs, a lot of rich men looking to recapture the image of virility! Not a lot of old men full stop these days… but still a minor surgery he’ll do freebie for other ghouls if he likes ‘em and they find him the hair and the equipment first.
He gets it, y’know. The face is one thing, the beach bod another, but your hair… no. Not on his watch.

GEAR:
About town- A plain vest (no shout for much else this end of the world), jeans with leather chaps (when in Rome) and the boots to match robbed from an exceptionally well-dressed body. Slightly magnified goggles work for both dust and the fine details his handiwork requires, they live on his head as standard. Junk’s also learned that a laser pistol hidden snug down the back of your trousers and a knife in the boot are must accessories for every outfit.

On the road- Which isn’t very often. Junks no fighter, if he does wander into the wastes it’ll be when accompanied by few brute flunkies if he can help it, but he wears a hiding place on his back for when he gets caught short. Junk opts for the full Clint East-wood poncho and a few light leather pieces, the poncho is an off sandy colour with mottled scarcely legible patterning and it makes for frankly jaw-dropping cover from a distance provided you’re small enough and still enough to hunker under it and play a convincing bit of scenery. When that doesn’t work, he makes damn sure he’s light on his feet for a quick getaway.

Smoothskin’s don’t need to consider this, but he does a full faced helmet just in case some idiot twitchy trigger-finger mistakes him for a feral. It’s a nice one, an old motorbike helmet, probably worth a pretty penny pre-war. It’s already got a-not-quite-bullet hole and a few pock marks from glancing grazes, but Bojangles (his pet assaultron) stays on top of the paint job and keeps things fresh for each new outing. She does her own thing, crazy ass designs, he’s got no idea what they mean or even why someone would mod a weapon to pick up a brush, but this year he’s sporting a nuclear green monster mouth thing.

History:
There’s a lot of it and years of chem abuse and radiation have made scrambled eggs out of his brains, so you’ll have to excuse him for the holes in his memory…

PRE-WAR: Hailing from a family Irish migrants, Freddy Mulligan moved to NY with his Ma and four brothers when he was but a tot. Growing up in the too small family home was a loud and destructive experience, but outside things were easy. Easy like Sunday mornings. By the time Freddy got to big school the Mulligan brothers were already stuff of playground legend and no one dared give the newest model a hard time—at least not while the bigger ones were still haunting the building.

In true Mulligan fashion he was a horrid child. Self-righteous, argumentative, contrary, stubborn, cruel humoured, sly, clever like a junkyard stray and with a knee-jerk distaste for authority, as a teenager Freddy saw teaching staff in tears and out the door. Dinner ladies on the other hand adored him! Freddy would heap on the charm as long as they heaped on the gravy. Double the puddin’, double the lovin’!

It was this attitude that eventually would see him booted from med school as a young man, that and stealing supplies.
See Freddy wasn’t stupid, nor was he lazy. He understood the way the world worked and planning to become a doctor seemed a sure fire money maker, a plan, something to keep him alive and respected until better things came along. Working his arse off for a long term goal wasn’t beyond him, he didn’t mind doing the late hours and missing out on the social if it meant it would keep his own happy and financially cushioned. Professors picked up on his crippling lack of bedside manner quickly, Freddy concerned them, he’d make light of deaths in the ward and seemed to have more respect for the ailments than he did the people, he’d glance over the concerned families with a glazed and disinterested eye and, suspiciously, the patients that got under his skin were all accidentally neglected. If they hadn’t caught him sneaking drugs out of the hospital he probably would have never been allowed to finish his training anyhow.

A slight hitch in the road, but it scarcely delayed him. You see he’d been supplying the local gangs for a little money on the side; one of his dodgy-dealing brothers (the one not currently serving a nine year sentence for assault) was already a runner for them. Under the pretence of looking out for their own, they took Freddy under their wing. Two Mulligans are better than one.
Instead of taking the official route he started shadowing the mafias quack and discovered the joys of fishing bullets out of psychopaths high on horse tranquilizers and manufacturing hard drugs on weekends— and with no Hippocratic oath hampering him he was free to pick, choose and abuse until his little black heart was content.

After about ten years he’d built up enough of a nest egg to start up his own cosmetic surgery (because that’s where the money was at!) and developed enough of that snake-oil-salesman patter to draw in the rich and the stupid, sometimes even the famous—to this day he still brags about having slept with Hollywood starlets for free nose jobs.
Until, of course, his past eventually caught up with him.
Ugh, what a mess!
It was all in the papers, blown well out of proportion of course and his reputation suffered a public execution long before the media-shit-storm of his trial. Freddy was due to go down for a long time, journalists had built up opinions into a frenzy, he was to be a ritual sacrifice to appease the gods of justice in a time of massive political unrest and white collar robbery, Mulligan became a household name overnight. It seemed that the idea of an unlicensed, ex-drug pusher con artist putting knives in the faces (and boobs. Can’t forget those.) of the famous really captured the public’s imagination!

More importantly his new-found celebrity status caught the attention of HalluciGen Inc who fancied themselves a new (CHEAP) bio-chemist. After pulling some strings they angled Freddy an offer; if he was willing to work unpaid for a few years they would find him a fall guy and keep him underground. In no position to argue Freddy took the job.

Six months later he’d find himself locking the doors to an overcrowded, fortified test chamber in a blind panic as nuclear hell fire rained down.

War. War never changes.

POST-WAR:
Congratulations, everyone in the test chamber survived the blast! A slight heads up gave the various doctors and technicians working that day time enough to squeeze into the basements basement, however it didn’t help them when the food ran out, nor when the fearful bickering started and it most certainly didn’t help them when a bullet ricocheted into a canister of their patented ‘decontamination’ gas. The moment it happened the horror was palatable! Every scientist there had seen the effects of said gas before and a few of the technicians had personally spent time scrubbing the test chambers down for body fluids and dismantling the suddenly heavily irradiated parts after each ‘product sample’.

There was a scramble. Absolute madness. Blind panic reigned supreme then, before things got gruesome, something cracked against the back of his skull and everything faded into darkness.

When Freddy awoke he was alone, still spread-eagle on the linoleum where they’d left him. To him it was a goddamn shock he woke at all. His stomach was in bits, his head shot through with one wicked migraine after another, the gas made his insides feel like hot gelatine, but had left him in one piece. The same it seemed for all his co-workers, who’d left the front door wide open instead of leaving bloody people-shaped stains on the floor. To this day he can’t figure out why. Perhaps the gas decreased in potency with time… maybe it was a half-filled canister… a beta strain perhaps… could be sheer luck-- who cares! Not anyone alive that’s for sure, Junks pretty damn sure he’s outlasted anyone else affected!

With no other choice he took his first cautious steps into the wasteland. Three weeks later he’d start losing hair and, another week after that, skin… there’s more to be said for it, but it’s not a nice story and he hasn’t got all day, so that’s how Junk the ghoul became a ghoul.

Since arriving in the wastes he’s been steadily moving south, shifting between settlements and lives—too many to recount, but I suppose there’s a few notable events in his days;

*He’s taken lovers and done the family bit. Twice in fact, neither of them ended pretty and none of them ever happened if you ask him.

*Spent four years travelling with a gang of super mutants after convincing them that he was one of them. Just a particularly sickly, growth stunted super mutant. Honestly, best time he ever had post-war! You don’t understand how funny they are until you’ve knocked about with ‘em, they also learn to be pretty gentle after a few bone rattling over-enthusiastic pats on the back.

*Junks practiced torture whilst running with a gang of raiders. The boy showed flair and promise for it before bad land politics had him practice said art on an old friend at gun point. It’s only then that one realises just how good they are at it... and how one should have charge three times the caps.

*Mostly he brews chems, not too many people willing to let a ghoul perform surgery on them. Something, something, unsanitary, whatever!

*Best gig he ever had was in a shit-hole Casino called the Atomic Wrangler. No bar work or anything so menial, they just needed a guy-- or a ghoul more specifically-- to take on a err ...certain role, even got him a nifty outfit! He kept the chaps and boots, but he wishes to this day he'd held onto the hat and the bullwhip. Tres ooh la la!

*He’s farmed once and it was too much like hard work.

*One cold, hard winter ‘he’ (meaning the group he was travelling with) helped a pregnant ‘virgin’ travel to a town on the back of a little Brahmin on a dusty road only to find there was no room at the inn. She couldn’t see the humour in it.

*Mostly he finds ghoul-friendly cities to set up shop in before eventually getting chased out of town for one thing or another. Tends to befriend the notably shady locals quickly and networks well. He’d have contacts all over if they weren’t the type of people that like getting themselves killed.

Personality:
Although he’s mellowed out considerably in his old age, he’s still as slippery as ever. To put it simply Junk has had a little bit of civility and humility beaten into him and he’s no longer mean as a junkyard dog (at least not to your face) right off the bat. He’ll lie, ain’t no doubt about that and play his own little games with people, but he’s too mindful of his own skin to risk upsetting the wrong people.
Much more likely to serve you poisoned tea or slit your throat in the night rather than opt for direct confrontation.

Junks been around long enough that he’s dealt with most every kind of person and can quickly figure out which buttons to press to get his own way, if you’ve got something he wants the chances of getting an honest, heartfelt answer out of this ghoul are slim.
He’s not without a heart however. If he likes you he’ll yank your chain until the Brahmin come home and insult you with a smile, it was always how his own showed affection and the only way he knows how. On his rarer, softer moments he can be downright sentimental and… God help him… gently encouraging, he’ll mull over the problems of his few allies like they were his own, talk them out with them, mind ‘em when they need looking after… and then solve the issue in secret with calculating ruthless efficiency regardless of their feelings on the matter. Junk solves things before they come back to bite him in the ass and he solves them using the most risk-free, permanent method he can find. He’s a creature of logic, what can he say!

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats |
Strength: 2
Perception: 8
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 8
Intelligence: 7
Agility: 7
Luck: 4

MEDICINE
SCIENCE
SPEECH

Equipment: [SEE GEAR FOR DETAILS]
*A crappy laser pistol and a little ammo
*Hunting knife
*A large med kit (includes stims, chems, general apparatus) in a sling across his back.
*Various pouches on a bandoleer containing bits of native flora and fauna for as and when needed.
*A pocket book of recipes. Some for food (not that he cooks much, his appetite has changed since turning ghoul and he’d discovered a real taste for canned dog food) most for chems. He trials and taste tests his own.

Other: Unbeknownst to him Junk is on the turn. It’ll appear in a few odd social ticks, patches in his memory, unexpected and unaggravated flashes of a vicious temper, mood swings and a generally fuzzy-headiness, there have been signs for a while now, but his brain is pickling with radiation and rot. No one can say how long it’ll be before he turns feral, but it is most definitely happening to him, poor sod.



CHARACTER 2

BO THE ASSAULTRON

(ggyynnaa rushed colour job may be subject to change! :P)
Image

Name: Bojangles, Mei Ling (R6-D14)

Age: 38,569.608 Hours into commission (or 4.4 years)

Gender: N/a …but Bo believes she is female.

Appearance: She is a modded version of the standard assaultron model.
A little beaten up here and there, plenty of scuffs and dinks (from tools more than from battle, any mechanic worth their salt would be able to spot that she’s been fiddled with from a mile off), but that isn’t what makes Bo stand out; she wears a dress and will put up a fight to keep it. Pretty, little thing, sky blue with a sticky-out skirt, she also tries to do fancy silk gloves too, but with no fingers to support them they hang around her grabbers in tatters. Point it out to her and she’ll panic and shut herself down for a few hours to sulk about it.

History: Once something fit for the scrap heap only, R6-D14 was rebuilt by a little old Chinese man (a direct descendant from a war-time spy trapped in the nuclear fire of 77) in a basement. A brilliant, eccentric man he was, but also incredibly lonely. Wanting someone to pass his knowledge to and a little company he dug out her frame himself and crafted her lovingly over the next ten years, reprogramming her personality matrix to build himself the most loving, attentive, gentle, sweet-hearted daughter he could wish for.
He named her Mei Ling.
Alas their beautiful relationship was cut tragically short when he fell ill from an infected wound and, with no access to her previous intel, Mei could do nothing to help, she didn’t know how. All she could do was watch as her father fell into fevered fits and faded away. After his death she brought him food for the first while, unable to figure out why it was left mouldy on his bedside table. After he started changing colour she took him out into the sun hoping it would help… when his arm broke off she tried wonderglue, but he didn’t seem to notice anything she did.
After a while she just stopped trying. She stopped doing anything altogether.
For two years she gathered dust by his bedside, until one day a group a scavengers bumbled across their hiding place and, rightfully terrified, they shot at her and for the first time in a long while she fled, terrified.

Knowing she could no longer return (in case the bad men were still there) she set off, only with an expensive body and the mind of a child it wasn’t long before a couple of opportunist raiders picked her up and started trying to reprogram her. She wasn’t sure what they did, they came at her with sticks that zapped and tool kits and it hurt. Eventually, baffled by the weird mish-mash of technology inside of her the raiders figured out that rebooting her as their personal guard was an impossibility, so, hoping to get a little anything for their efforts they hacked out her speech systems (she might have sounded like a robot, but goddamn she didn’t speak like one! It was a dead giveaway, man!) and sold her on for a fair amount of caps and an even fairer amount of chems.

Some idiot ghoul called Junk, couldn’t even tell someone had been playing about with her. Probably needed a minder for his stash or something, ha! Good ****ing luck with that, bub!

By the time Junk had figured out that she wasn’t the mean, laser-face, killing machine he’d been pitched they were long gone and he was stuck with her. Unable to communicate properly he’s been calling her Bojangles (the name of his pre-war cat. Bo for short) and getting her to do odd jobs about his shop, but he wouldn’t dare take her out again, she just panics and refuses to fight point blank.

Bo isn’t without her uses, other people don’t know how blindingly useless she is, they just see death in a tin can, her presence has discouraged a lot of nasty behaviour usually angled his way in the past months. If anything she’s also a bit of a good listener—I mean, it’s really about all she can do, but Junk often finds himself rattling off plans and thoughts to her without realising.

Personality: One man’s idea of the perfect daughter; Bo has a golden heart, she just wants to love and be loved in turn. She’s polite and attentive to everyone around her, overly trusting and terribly naïve, she’ll do what she’s asked without question unless it risks upsetting people—then she struggles, her processor overheats then she sulks and shuts down for a while…
Most everything either frightens her or piques a weird kind of curiosity and joy in her, so new to the world there is very little she’s indifferent to. Bo knows that she’s a robot, her daddy told her so, but she doesn’t understand what that entails and can’t understand why people treat her any differently to anyone else’s daughter. She can be prone to acting out in frustration or sadness at times, but also, quite literally, dances with joy at the most simplistic of things and, although she can no longer talk, she has her own gentle ways of communicating with the world.

With an electronic brain it’s very easy to learn quickly IF she’s willing.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats |
Strength: 10
Perception: 9
Endurance: 9
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 9
Luck: 2

Equipment: All the old weapons are still installed in her, but she isn’t programmed to use them, nor does she ever want to. Since leaving home she’s begun to understand that terrible thing that stole her daddy is death, death is permanent and sad and no one should ever have to be sad like that. Not ever.

Other: She hasn’t met a synth yet, but when she does it’ll be a blow to poor Bo… she didn’t realise you could be a robot AND a human! I’ve no doubt that when she learns she’ll want nothing more than a new body and a new shot at life.

_________________
ImageImageImageImageImage

Damn straight I'm good in bed! I could sleep for days! :3


Last edited by Jawbone-ashtray on Fri Jan 01, 2016 10:03 pm, edited 6 times in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 5:00 pm 
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yo he looks sick

the good sick, like rad.

(he does look sick sick tho, being a ghoul)


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PostPosted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 5:04 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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a Cool Ghoul

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View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 7:47 pm 
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Naw, he just thinks he is! Wouldn' say it to him either, his ego don't need inflating it already struggles with doorways! :P

... but thank you kindly! ^^ Eeee I'm so excited! We've got such an awesome rag-tag set of characters for this! You all look amazing, seriously, I am sweating it writing these sheets! My character sketches are just procrastination that I don't feel guilty over. :P

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Damn straight I'm good in bed! I could sleep for days! :3


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PostPosted: Thu Dec 17, 2015 8:06 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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I'm super hyped for this as well. We're gonna have one heck of a fun time with this, I'm sure.

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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 19, 2015 2:33 am 
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I am kinda-maybe-super jealous of the artwork. I have been agonising over trying to do character sketches. I think it'll probably end in tears and stabbing pens through notebooks. But you kicked butt, JA.

On another note, The holding off until after holiday madness seems like a wise plan of action. I also have two birthdays I have to deal with this month.

...That makes them sound unpleasant. They're really good things, I am just terrible at gift giving, so I approach such things with trepidation.

Shutting up now.


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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 19, 2015 3:28 am 
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I'm jealous of the art too honestly, wish I were that good at drawing


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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Dec 19, 2015 5:10 am 
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I do it for a living folks. When you gotta draw to feed your family you tend to develop and pick up with gut-wrecnhing speed :P That and I never stop! I'm heading off to work today to tattoo koi carp on a guys arm for the better part of 9 hours (IF he manages, most people clock off early from a day sitting! :P) and then I'll come home and have to work on more designs, because the drawing up process is generally done in our own time.

I have no social life asides here because of it (which suits me down to the ground :P I don't like having friends generally *shrugs*) basically, I'm 90-99% sure that if any of you artsy folk on this thread HAD to spend the same amount of time on it daily I'm pretty sure you'd wipe the floor with my sorry arse! =D If you wanna draw, I'm gonna have nothing but respect for you, go for it! I KNOW what it's like to be a hopeful amateur and I find there's a lot more heart in the work than a half-arsed professional! And I'm always here for advice, none of my knowledge is my own, like all skills drawing is made up of a series of clever tricks and cheats that make ya LOOK good, I don't mind sharing!

That said, I do character sketches of my RP partners babies all the time! I fall in love with characters too easy, so you might get sketches from me along the lines anyway!

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