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 Post subject: Fallout: Lone Star (OOC)
View Likes PostPosted: Thu Jan 12, 2017 12:58 am 
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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.


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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

RULES
1:
Typical RP stuff! Don't godmod, make sure you're approved before posting, be excellent to each other.
2: This story 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

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CHARACTER SHEET

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Appearance:

History:

Personality:

Skills:

Equipment:

Other:


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The Texan wasteland is an immense place full of unique places. Settlements, ruins, vaults, and other notable locations will be listed here as they are discovered.

CITIES AND SETTLEMENTS

Houston | +
Houston
A shining example of pre-war technology, Houston was a highly advanced city with an especially strong focus on healthcare and space travel, as well as transportation, energy, aeronautics, and mechanical manufacturing. Even after the apocalypse, it stands strong as a bastion of promising tech in a dying desert wasteland. Entering the city is a challenge in and of itself, as its perimeter is heavily guarded by both machines and those who have managed to make their way in previously. Inside, a plethora of knowledge and still-functional technology awaits.

The United States Space Administration had a heavy presence in the city, and both a control center and astronaut training center were present in the city. Rumor has it that a Vault was constructed somewhere within the USSA's base of operations, though no concrete proof of its existence has been uncovered, aside from the occasional sighting of an old Vault-Tec suit with a number that doesn't match other known Vaults in the Texan wasteland.


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.


Vault 45 | +
Vault 45
Vault 45 was designed to be an experiment in gun control, economics, and caste-based society. The vault was given a huge supply of guns and ammunition of various quality, and one of the overseer's duties was to restrict the highest quality weapons to the vault's richest inhabitants. Instead of normal vault currency, its inhabitants had to use ammo as money, the caliber and quality influencing the value of each bullet. A hand-loaded 9mm round might be worth a dollar, while a military grade .50 BMG was the equivalent of thousands. One's ammo stockpile directly translated to their net worth, and only those who hoarded enough could advance through the social ranks through rare weapon purchases.

The vault's first generation inhabitants were people who had a high interest or lifestyles involving the use of firearms, though with minimal knowledge of economics. The gun-based caste system acted as a motivator to make the inhabitants learn how to deal with a currency other than the old world dollar with only basic knowledge of the old system, one which would also be used for self defense in everyday post-apocalypse life. While the caste system has produced its stresses and conflicts, the vault as a whole has been very successful, flourishing even into the modern day. Its traders tend to be regarded as odd, preferring to trade bullets rather than take up the wasteland's more common bottle caps, but Vault 45 has a reputation as a high quality trade hub these days.

Tensions have begun to rise in the ever-increasing split between commoner and elite in the vault, as bringing in high-quality wasteland weapons does not allow one to advance through ranks, and confiscation of these weapons (even if legitimately procured or earned outside the vault) has led to people desiring a change in the methods of the system, especially after increasingly common contact with the outside world's inhabitants.


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BESTIARY

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 as bioweapons. 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.


Last edited by Metal Zeta on Wed Jan 25, 2017 3:05 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 12, 2017 1:12 am 

eyy, senpai!

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We do it. Post reserved for dudes.

And here's my dudes!

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 consisting of a sherrif's badge, a pair of horse heads facing towards it, and a snake above and below. 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 armor. 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 right 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 brought out in the event of bad weather, but usually stowed safely inside his backpack, a simple duffle 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 he can 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, 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, it wasn't easy. 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. 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: 5
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 4
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. He has and will used other guns when available as well.

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 unarmored foes and animals, and has a limited supply of armor-piercing bullets.

His current main weapon is a Mossberg Silver Reserve II double barreled over-under shotgun. It's been sawed down to a size that allows it to be held comfortably one handed, but not so short in the barrel that it becomes useless at more than the shortest ranges. The gunmetal is black, and the wooden grips are a deep brown stain. It takes 12 gauge shells of all kinds, and when loaded with slugs can be surprisingly effective at a distance. Michael usually loads it with normal buckshot, but has also used experimental hand loads when possible. It sits in a back holster, secured around the torso with a shotgun shell-carrying bandolier.

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 armor, 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 duffle 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 or glued 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: 274

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, torn 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 a Russian immigrant, a scientist, and an inhabitant of Vault 17 by the time the bombs dropped. 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, a mere two years 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 armor 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 rather than shoot 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 and second homes 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 its bounties to maximize his inventions' 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 armor, 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 armor 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 armor 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.


Antonia | +
Name: Antonia

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Appearance: Antonia is a tall, athletic human woman of heavily mixed ethnicity. She's nearly six feet even, and has a strong build with very noticeable wiry muscle in her core and arms, slightly more built in her legs due to her tendency to travel by foot and climb. Her skin is a light shade of brown, heavily scarred from both blades and burns, the latter of which cover her collarbone, spine, outer arms, and a ringed section of her thighs. Many small wounds that have healed over the years cover her inner arms, stomach, shins, and back, while a larger one runs down her face and over her right eye. She has a thin face with a strong jaw, angular monolid eyes, and black hair with a texture that led to it growing into thick dreadlocks, kept tied back with a strip of red hide. Her eyebrows are aggressively angled and slightly thick, aside from a missing portion on the right due to her facial scar. The eyes themselves are a robust shade of brown.

For clothing, she wears a complicated ensemble of old-fashioned, obviously tribal attire. The most basic parts of it are simple, consisting of a pair of tight, side-laced shorts that end just above her knee, Roman-style sandals, and a short cropped shirt that compresses her chest somewhat, all made of hide. Above that, she wears the tattered remains of a red toga, the skirt of which is cut to end right above her legs, while the top is held tightly against her midsection by a collection of belts. Among the belts is a canine skull, secured through the eye sockets. A pair of scavenged riding gloves keeps her hands protected, and a red scarf wrapped around her neck at almost all times can be used to disguise her face. Some more hide straps are worn for apparently decorative purpose, on her forearms, elbows, and neck, where they hold beads that are both homemade and scavenged. As a final touch, she usually wears facepaint made of various pigments, her most common pattern being a black smear across her forehead and eyebrows with a red line following her facial scar.

Personality: Stern, serious, and stubborn. Antonia has very little in the way of humor, rarely smiling and focusing entirely on whatever task is at hand while treating it with the utmost importance. While banter may be exchanged with people she's close to and familiar with, when dealing with strangers, she remains quiet unless necessary. Normally, she's very calm, able to keep a level head even in the middle of a chaotic battle, with a strong sense of focus that helps her keep cool at almost all times. While she may at first seem like she's got an impossibly hard exterior, she's really just very collected and sort of shy, in her own sort of way. In a fight, she's supremely efficient, moving from enemy to enemy without any hesitation once she's got a path laid out ahead of her. To her, killing is just another part of life that is unavoidable. A necessity to survive, and a fitting end to many people in the world. That said, she doesn't relish in bloodshed and violence, she just has no qualms about it. Rarely, she may seem to take some sort of satisfaction in the act of battle, but that's generally due to who she's fighting, rather than the act itself.

Certain things that catch her interests can cause her to mellow out, as do certain kinds of people. Children, especially girls, are some of the people who can experience kindness and even happiness from her. For adults, it would take someone she considers an exceptionally close friend to draw that out. She tends to be suspicious of strangers, but given time and proof that one is trustworthy, she'll begin to warm up to them. Antonia is surprisingly pleasant if slightly awkward to those she considers friends, even affectionate, and tends to enjoy including those people in her spiritual activities. A majority of her old tribe's beliefs were thoroughly destroyed, but what little she remembers, she clings to with a vice grip. Prayers and meditations are conducted during times of safety, and given a high amount of trust, she may even create a unique facepaint design for an individual. Given it's one of the last vestiges of tribal knowledge she still retains, to be offered such a thing would be a sign of utmost respect and admiration. She also enjoys the crafting of small trinkets, and offering them to a friend is her way of showing appreciation.

History: Antonia was born under a different name to a tribe that no longer exists. Their name and much of their culture has been mercilessly eradicated from history in a destructive raid by Caesar's Legion, their art burned and crushed, traditions forcibly expunged, and tattoos burned away. Before they were enslaved by the Legion, they were the Rojos, a warlike civilization of wandering hunters. While they were far from peaceful, they did not consider themselves destructive except in extreme cases. Conflict was common for them, but rarely ended in outright eradication of enemy tribes. It was an unsafe lifestyle, but worked well enough for them.

Antonia herself was one of the tribe's warriors. She was renowned for her strength and ferocity, and respected among the tribe's members for her kindness in times of peace, especially towards the tribe's youth. As well as fighting to protect and provide for the tribe, she was beginning to learn their arts, and taught the children that looked up to her how to paint their faces like a proper warrior. Her designs were well respected among the tribe, each one a personalized mark for everyone within it. No two were the same, full of subtle nuances that identified each design as belonging to someone specific.

Life for the tribe was as easy as it could get, until they got in a supply dispute over the region's brahmin population with another, weaker tribe. The Rojos kept them at bay without much trouble, scaring off their hunting parties and occasionally engaging their warriors in combat. The Rojos were stronger, both in bravery and physically, and successfully took the brahmin for themselves from the other tribe. This tribe, the Black Hand, had a reputation for being sneaky and conniving, preferring manipulation to further their goals rather than full conflict. To the Rojos, they were just a group of cowards that would be scared off and never seen again.

Or so they thought. After their failure to take the brahmin, the Black Hand sent assassins to kill the Rojos tribe's hunters, Antonia among them. They successfully wounded two of them fatally, but the assassin group was viciously wiped out and dismembered, their bodies turned into effigies of warning to any further would-be assassins of the Black Hand tribe. For a while, things were quiet again, but the Black Hand had come into contact with Caesar's Legion. They intended to join the Legion, their task to prove they were worthy was to wipe out the Rojos, and they were given support in the form of weaponry in order to do so.

With superior weaponry, the Black Hand came back to Rojos territory and began an extermination. Even outarmed, they fought bravely, Antonia personally slaying close to thirty men on the fateful night. Despite the losses they took, the Black Hand successfully defeated the Rojos, rounding up what remained of them to bring back to the Legion for enslavement. There was little that they could do to resist at that point. With a majority of her people now dead, Antonia was led to the Legion's own encampment. There, they were eached judged by the Centurion leading the group, and those deemed unsatisfactory for warriors were enslaved. Antonia herself, despite having all the qualities of a warrior, was assigned to normal slave duty due to being a woman.

The next few years were full of hardships. Torturous actions were performed on the Rojos to destroy the marks of their culture , heated metal bands wrapped around their skin to burn off their tattoos, beatings upon being found praying, and destruction of all their belongings and art erasing the physical proof of their existence. They were renamed as well, their tribe-given titles replaced with ones chosen by the Centurion. Antonia was furious, and on multiple occasions attacked the slave pen's guards. After enough wounded legionaries, she was sentenced to crucifiction, put on display upon a makeshift cross for three days. They expected her to die, yet she persevered, if just barely.

The Centurion, Severus, was impressed. Antonia was cut down from her cross and offered the position of Severus's concubine. She responded by cutting him across the face, enraging him enough to sentence her to another death in the encampment's fight pit. She wasn't allowed a weapon, instead beaten and thrown in with a pack of unfed hounds. Left there overnight, Severus returned to see the results of the execution, expecting Antonia to be dead. While she was wounded, she'd killed all of the hounds, somehow having decapitated one of them. Severus had her removed from the pit and locked in a personal cell within his quarters. His new assistant, the previous leader of the Black Hand tribe, transported her.

Over the next few months, multiple attempts at execution in the pits were performed. At Severus's whims, she would be thrown in with various monsters rounded up, and eventually other slaves. Antonia killed them all, gaining a reputation among the encampment due to her fierceness in battle. Severus allowed some Legion rules to be bent under his watch, as many legionaries wanted to test their skills against her. To his great amusement, most of them were either outright killed or gravely wounded, at which point they were executed by Severus's assistant for their weakness. Eventually, the assistant himself challenged her to a fight, and came out of it missing a hand. Severus kept him around regardless, due to his intelligence and loyalty.

Severus's amusement with Antonia eventually grew into a twisted infatuation, and watching her fight prompted him to continue to bend established rules for the sake of seeing her battle. Eventually, she was made into a warrior. Some of the legionaries reacted poorly to the idea of a woman fighting alongside them, which Severus alternately justified as her simply being a fighting slave equal to the Legion's mongrels, or by insisting that a warrior of her strength couldn't be considered a woman. Whatever the case, they were far removed enough from the main Legion that Severus had near complete control, and Antonia was elevated from a simple worker to a fully armed warrior who acted alongside the legionaries during supply gathering and road securing missions. She learned many tactics, both for battle and stealth, from Severus's assistant.

Over the years, she learned Legion tactics and refined her combat ability. She stopped assaulting the legionaries after a point, and made the decision to make herself closer to Severus in order to try and influence him. It worked, and she successfully convinced him to lighten the abuse of the slaves in the encampment. It was only a minor respite for most of them, but she found that loyalty to the Centurion led to him being more easily influenced in turn. She despised him, but feigned a mutual interest in his growing infatuation. Antonia was soon a force to be reckoned with, and while her rank remained that of a slave, she commanded more respect than the recruits in their party throughout her years as Severus's slave.

Eventually, news came from the west about a devastating blow done to the Legion within the Mojave. Reports were conflicting, ranging from simple defeat to the outright death of Caesar. Unsure of what was happening, Severus was in a panic. The Legion appeared to be falling apart from all the reports that were being sent in, and the encampment became a place of chaos. Some legionaries deserted, others killed themselves, and others still were convinced that moving into the Mojave to support the main Legion would potentially keep their attempts to claim the territory afloat. Severus, unsure of what to do, turned to Antonia for advice.

She suggested resting and allowing the panic to pass, and the remaining people in the camp eventually agreed to Severus's following order to remain calm and rest until the next day. Severus asked her to sleep with him that night. Afterwards, Antonia remained awake, and slit his throat while he slept. She then systematically made her way through the camp's quarters, murdering every legionary that remained in complete silence. When she reached the old Black Hand leader's quarters, she broke his kneecaps and brutalized him, leaving him alive only to set him on fire after hours of prolonged torture.

With the entire legionary party dead, she freed their slaves and livestock, encouraging them all to go as far from the encampment as possible. Antonia disposed of the armor she wore during her time as a warrior-slave and left the next morning, after watching the entire camp go up in flames and burn away through the night. When it was gone, she began her journey east, seeking the remnants of the encampment to thoroughly eliminate them. So far, she has found and killed three of them, and has tracked the last deserter she knows of, a Vexillarius, to Texas.

While she knows little of the local situation, she has taken an interest in the people. The culture is incredibly foreign from everything she knows of, and despite her reservations with people as a whole, she is interested in learning more. Local tribal groups have become a point of interest for her in particular, though she keeps her primary goal in mind and will stop at nothing to complete it before finally allowing herself to rest.

Skills:
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats | +
Strength: 8
Perception: 6
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 2
Agility: 8
Luck: 6


Trained both by her own people and during her time in the Legion's fight pits, Antonia has become skilled in the use of melee weaponry. She's used knives, axes, and hammers alike, but has an especially strong preference for bladed weaponry. Her experience in battle has given her knowledge of strike points, breaking through enemy defenses, parrying, disarming, and disorienting her opponents. She can move fast without compromising power behind her strikes, but also knows not to overexert each attack when it isn't necessary. For her throwing weapons, she can aim very precisely and throw quite far, especially with her knives.

Even unarmed, Antonia is dangerous up close. She's a good grappler and has significant strength behind punches and kicks, though her style is a bit sloppier than her swordfighting. Without a weapon, she fights with dirty tactics and brutal attacks. Breaking limbs and attacking vulnerable areas are her go-to when necessary. She can withstand being beaten due to her endurance, and can fight through pain. In particularly dire situations, her bare hands have served as deadly weapons in their own right, though she's especially dangerous when she augments her strikes with weapons, especially those with arm-mounted blades.

While she is a fearsome warrior head on, Antonia is also capable of stealth and agile movement. She's good at sneaking around and making her way through spaces and obstacles others might think are impossible to pass. Most of her skill is simply about moving quickly and quietly, as well as potentially risky climbing. To keep herself quiet and quick, it necessitates foregoing heavier armors, as she can't sneak or move as effectively in those. In less direct combat approaches, she's good at getting places for reconnaissance, out of sight shelter, and when necessary, theft.

Equipment: Antonia's fights up close for the most part. While she's not averse to ranged battle when necessary, her skills definitely lie in physical combat. She owns two primary weapons and a multitude of smaller backup weapons.

Her primary weapon is an old sword made in Legion territory, once owned by the leader of the raiding party that ravaged her tribe. It has a long blade, about four feet, and a curved single-edged blade. The handguard is small and circular, made of a yellowish metal, and the handle is wrapped in leather from a Deathclaw's hide, then further wrapped with a red ribbon of cloth. The blade is in somewhat poor condition nowadays, chipped along the edge and in need of resharpening. When not in use, Antonia keeps it in a wooden sheath, mostly undecorated save for a red cloth tied around the opening.

Her secondary weapon also counts as a piece of armor. On her left arm, she wears a gauntlet made from the claw and carapace of a giant mantis, smooth in texture and a slightly brown-tinged green in colour. To pad the gauntlet, she wears a wrapping of cloth bandage around her forearm when wearing it. It's study and the claw of the mantis has been sharpened to a combat effective edge. It acts in equal parts as a shield and blade for close quarters battle.

Along various parts of her body, she also carries backup weapons for different purposes. Six throwing knives are in her possession, to be reused until they break beyond repair. A trench knife acts as an effective secondary blade if her primary sword is lost or damaged, and usually rests in a sheath on her leg. She knows how to make and use spears and javelins made from simple materials, and while she once had a simple wood bow to shoot stone arrows with, it's since been broken and she has yet to replace it.

She doesn't employ much in the way of proper armor outside of her gauntlet, as she's disposed of her old Legion leathers as soon as she was freed. She isn't opposed to wearing light gear made of leather, but has yet to find any.

Other: Antonia despises Caesar's Legion and all its members. Following the beginning of the Legion's fall, she's made it her personal goal to kill any and all legionaries she finds in her travels, and perhaps one day settle with a new tribe. She also likes dogs, despite bad experiences with them.


Samantha Vasquez | +
Name: Samantha Vasquez

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Appearance: Samantha is a human woman of Mexican ethnicity, around five foot ten, tall and well-built. Constant training has made her muscles strong, especially in her core, thighs, and arms, while both genetics and a much better diet than your average wasteland survivor softens her up a bit. Her skin is a sunkissed shade of olive, with some scars here and there. Generally, she's been good at not getting hurt, but a few grazes and healed cuts in her midsection and limbs are noticeable. On her face, she has a scar over her mouth that leads to her chin, and another small one on her left cheekbone. Her facial structure is comparable to an inverted triangle, with a less emphasized chin, full lips, high cheekbones, and downturned green eyes topped by thin, low eyebrows. Her hair is kept at a shorter medium length cut with a short fringe, and whenever it gets too shaggy in the back, she keeps it tied back for convenience.

Her usual outfit is her Brotherhood of Steel uniform, a very snug jumpsuit that's reinforced with ballistic weave fibers. The suit is a one-piece ensemble that's mostly black and dull olive green, and has some buckled straps that are meant to hold on armor pieces. The green sections cover the torso, upper arms, and outer thighs, while the inner thighs, forearms, stomach, and rear are all black. The jumpsuit comes with almost knee-high boots and a pair of gloves, almost always worn alongside it. When not using armor, Samantha enjoys accessorizing a bit with scarves, a jackets, and for comfort's sake, unzipping the suit down to about her stomach. She wears a sleeveless black crop top underneath it.

Personality: Samantha is loud, quick-tempered, and very confident in herself. Too confident, if you talk to some of her peers. She enjoys getting thrills however she can, whether it's messing around in restored vehicles or in the midst of battle. Whether it's as simple as a sparring match in a ring or as chaotic as a full-blown firefight, chances are she's having a hell of a time doing it. That said, she's not stupid about picking her battles, but she does tend to put a bit too much faith in her ordinance and skill. Pragmatism in a fight is a strong suit of hers against dangerous foes, and collateral damage is less of a concern than getting the job done. This has gotten her something of a reputation of being inefficient, and one that isn't undeserved. She's got a bit of a hot head and a snarky mouth, and has some problems with authority and criticism. With the right company, this can make her a fun person to be around and get along with. With others, it paints her as an immature rookie who only cares about blowing **** up instead of the mission's actual goal.

Despite her firey temperament, she does have her heart in the right place, if not her head. Brotherhood teachings have given her aspects of the worldview that the midwestern chapter holds, not as xenophobic as the west coast, but not as cushy as the east coast used to be either. She holds no hatred for mutants that don't cause people trouble, though she does have some problems with sensitivity around them. It's not so much an actual dislike as it is a result of growing up in a somewhat sheltered environment with rare contact with post-humans. She's also not in it purely for the tech hoarding, and greatly enjoys the protector aspect that the chapter takes for territories that it holds. Above all else, she has a strong desire to be important and make a difference, and to have somebody look up to her with the same idolization she gave the chapter's high ranking knights. To make the wasteland a safer place for everyone is her aspiring dream.

History: Like most members of the Brotherhood of Steel's Midwest chapter, Samantha was born into the organization. Her parents were both scribes of different careers, one an engineer and the other a keeper of records. The Brotherhood of the midwest had diverged greatly from the original west coast chapter, accepting outsiders and even non-humans into its ranks after establishing themselves as a solid presence in Chicago. As the Brotherhood spread through the Midwest, it eventually picked up Samantha's mother from a small settlement in Kansas that had been under raider attack. In the Brotherhood, she met Samantha's father, and eventually had two children, Samantha and her older brother Carlos.

Throughout their childhood, they were taught in the ways of the Brotherhood, trained in various skills necessary to function in their own society. They were extremely close, working together on almost everything once Samantha was old enough to start learning what Carlos did. She was a natural, and as the two became old enough to choose a direction in life to begin properly training for, they both decided that they wanted to be Paladins. Through their teenage years and young adulthood, they were given proper military training. By age 16, Samantha was an Initiate, and by 20, she'd become a Squire, whereas Carlos was a Junior Knight.

The two were an inseperable and highly efficient force on the battlefield. Samantha found herself enjoying combat, especially the thrill of explosive ordinance being used. Destroying monsters and making the world safer for innocents went hand in hand as a strong motivator for her, and while her style was quite destructive, it served her squad well. Her group was assigned a mission to recover a high-priority person of interest somewhere in Missouri, and due to the importance of the mission, it was offered as a test to achieve the rank of Knight to all the members of the squad. Samantha in particular was incredibly excited for it, as it was the first time the group would be allowed to use power armor. Once they were fully geared up, they were deployed to St. Louis, where the incoming communications had most recently come from.

Their priority target was the communicator and their group, a ragtag gathering of survivors that were once part of the Enclave. Both east coast and west coast members had congregated in the midwest, hoping to eke out some sort of existence within the city long after the falls of each of their groups. Time and a lack of resources had taken its toll, and they'd fallen under attack by a massive raiding party of Super Mutants. A Brotherhood patrol had picked up their distress call, deciding to mobilize into the city in order to rescue them and hopefully procure some new technologies. After Samantha's group had geared up fully, they were driven into the city before deploying on foot.

Samantha and Carlos proved to be incredibly effective ground soldiers when fully armored up, and along with their squad, they cut a swath through the Super Mutant's territory, opening up a clear path to escape through once their targets were picked up. As they got nearer the building, the chances of a complete success became far too clear, and Samantha allowed herself to get cocky. She failed to notice the damage her armor was taking, instead tanking hits as if she were invincible despite concern from the others. She was sure she'd be fine. Eventually, she was proved not to be, as her armor's exterior layer had been broken down enough by a rocket explosion to expose her suit's fusion core, which was in turn damaged enough to cause a meltdown.

With her suit threatening to violently explode at any moment, Samantha made a split-second decision to try and get behind the enemy line and ditch the suit, essentially bombing them with it. Before she could, Carlos grabbed the damaged frame, tore it open, and threw Samantha out of it, saving her from the explosion that followed not a few moments later. He also survived, albeit extremely heavily wounded. The explosion scared the mutants off, allowing their pickup to come in close and take everyone back to their base. Carlos was treated while the rescued targets divulged information and technology as they had promised. News of Samantha's failures spread quickly throughout the Brotherhood's authority, and as she cost them two suits of power armor and nearly multiple lives, her rank was stripped and she was demoted down to an Initiate once again.

Carlos survived, losing both of his legs and his left hand as well as being burned over 60% of his body. At first, a fissure was torn in his relationship with Samantha as he was recovering through the trauma, but the two slowly began to reconcile over a period of two years. While Samantha continued her field work, albeit mostly simple missions that were hard to cause trouble in, Carlos became a Scribe instead of a Knight. There is still a very present strain in all of Samantha's relationships in the Brotherhood, but she's been working hard to try and make up for her past mistakes.

After the Brotherhood began to move into Texas, lured by promises of a technological wonderland and an undersea Enclave base in the Gulf of Mexico, Samantha has began to see it as a new chance to prove that she was worth more than her failures. At her request, she was deployed on a solo mission to gather small caches of technology, but she's got her eyes on Houston.

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


Samantha's best skill in combat is her handling of explosive weaponry. Whether thrown, placed, or fired from a weapon, she's good at using them both against enemies and for environmental manipulation. Mines and grenades are her most commonly used explosive weapons, but grenade launchers and rocket launchers are both things she enjoys using when the opportunity arises. Outside of causing explosions, she's also good at stopping them, and is capable of disarming most commonly used explosive traps without much trouble. When it comes to it, she's capable of making her own bombs as well, though the quality can vary greatly depending on what she's got on hand.

As using only explosives isn't very practical, Samantha has also been trained in the use of more traditional modern firearms. Her area of expertise is limited to that of smaller weapons of a mid to short range effectiveness, like pistols, submachineguns, and assault rifles. She's used heavier machine guns before, but prefers to stick to things with easier handling, and has only ever used extremely heavy weaponry in the form of mounted turrets. She prefers things with high ammo capacity and automatic fire when possible, valuing the ability to give cover fire more than extreme accuracy, though she's by no means a bad shot.

Life in the Brotherhood has given Samantha a natural knack for building and repairing technology. While she knows little of the actual artificial intelligence coding process, she's put together robots, maintained power armor, fixed turrets, and generally worked with machinery all her life. She can keep things in good condition for longer than expected with skilled regular maintenance and makeshift replacement parts. For more mundane purposes, she also knows a good bit about plumbing and gas piping, though it's not really a field skill so much as useful work to offer at settlements.

Equipment: Samantha carries a simple but effective loadout when deployed on missions. During long field expeditions, she sometimes gears up differently, actively preparing for long journeys instead of short excursions. One thing remains constant, her use of both kinetic firearms and explosives.

Her main rifle is an R91 assault rifle, which can fire either 5.56mm or .223 cartridges and any variants of them. The rifle has typical wood furniture, though the stock and grip are both notably more well-polished than the typical R91 sighting out in the wasteland, and she uses extended magazines for extra ammo capacity. It has a firing mode switch, capable of going between single shot, three round burst, and full auto modes. Besides that, it isn't especially notable in any way.

As a sidearm, Samantha carries an N99 10mm pistol in a leg holster. It has a long barrel modification, giving it the characteristic blockiness of the model, as well as an ergonomic grip of synthetic material. A reflex sight atop the slide offers extra accuracy when aiming. The gun's metal parts are all polished and chemically blackened, and the sights have a red circular reticle. It's capable of being suppressed with the right attachments, but Samantha doesn't much care for stealth.

Around her body, a belt of various grenades are carried for when things start to get messy, or just when things seem like they need to be exploded. She carries mostly fragmentation grenades, six at a time, and alternates between plasma, EMP, and incendiary grenades depending on mission. On long journeys, she tends to restock with handmade fragmentation grenades and molotov cocktails when available. Mines aren't commonly carried, but collected and used on the field when possible.

Rather than a backpack, she wears a harness alongside combat armor to carry her gear with her in easy-to-reach positions. Her ammo magazines are holstered along her abdomen on the harness, while the grenades are positioned along her hips to keep them out of enemy sight. Various other pouches are filled with medical supplies like stimpacks and med-x, repair tools, and a radio for contacting the Brotherhood. Her armor is typical military combat armor of a medium weight class, consisting of a chestplate and shoulder guards, hip and groin plates, shinguards and knee guards, armguards, and a helmet with goggles. The armor is a dark grey gunmetal colour, and the Brotherhood of Steel logo has been painted on the chest in white. When on long solo journeys, she lightens her load to only the torso armor and wears a long coat above it.

Other: Samantha is often sent on solo missions with the goal of supply gathering and reconaissance. While she valiantly does the work, she is fully aware that it's mostly been a punishment for her past failures to keep her away from important missions. She's not in the best standing with her chapter, but still supports them in their goals.


notes | +
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Last edited by Eggsy on Wed Feb 08, 2017 4:06 am, edited 5 times in total.

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View Likes PostPosted: Mon Jan 16, 2017 1:14 am 
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Joined: Fri Jan 03, 2014 9:17 pm
Posts: 379
Location: a beautiful DUWANG
Medals: 3
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And now have a dude.

Jackson Mercer | +
Name: Jackson Mercer

Age:
42

Gender: Male

Appearance:
Jackson is, in a word, rough. He has coarse, brown hair that comes down to the top of his back, a large 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 has spent his life in the wastes, letting the sun and sand sculpt what was once an innocent child into a man, hardened and roughed up

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 a bit more complicated. A brown tank top and combat trousers, covered with a tan long coat and matching cowboy hat, with black gloves. 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. 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, who finds little qualms in killing or little care in saying "proper" things.

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. But when the money is good, even the smallest of sins seem like a good reason to kill. This isn't to say he hasn't regretted some of the lives he's taken, but he tries not to think about those jobs, less he finds his resolve broken.

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, leaving to many a disrespected and insulted person. Due to this, he doesn't have many friends at all, and those who do call him friend don't particularly like calling him that around other people.

However, he does have some good qualities. If he does take a liking to you, you'll have an ally of great use if a gun is needed. Along with that, he's quite giving, often giving his friends things he finds on his travels, having little use for anything that isn't booze or bullets. Speaking of booze, he's almost a different person when drunk, being incredibly friendly and talkative, often laughing at the smallest things, bonding with those he's drinking quite quickly.

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 and to the point. 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 any part of his character was due to being from it 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 has some humanity left in him, but only enough he prefers to keep it to himself, rather than showing it to others that might take it away. This isn't to say he claims to know how the world works or that he thinks it's all awful, nor is he one to mock others for being hopeful and optimistic. In fact, quite the opposite, he praises such a thing, and when he meets such a person, warns them to be careful, to keep that hope alive.

Besides a general decline in his human decency, there haven't been any major events in his life. He left his vaults when he was
19, and since then he's been travelling all around. He's gotten into some interesting adventures, and has made some very useful connections, but nothing that has really stand out as a really defining moment of his life. Which he's fine with, to be honest. The rest of his life could go the same as it has been, and he wouldn't be able to be happier

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.

He also 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.

Even if he couldn't do all that, he also seems unnaturally lucky, so much so he almost thinks somebody above has taken a liking to him.

However, at the cost of honing these skills to near mastery, he's suffered in most 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?


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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jan 18, 2017 5:44 pm 
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Name: Mackenzie "Mac" Wallace

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Appearance: Standing at just a hair under five foot four inches, and having a slender and wiry frame, Mac can best be described as "small". Other, less polite terms have been used, such as "tomboy", "plank", "stringbean", and even nastier which do not bear repeating in decent company. Despite having a distinct Latin bent to her face, her hair is bright blonde, something she waves away as a genetic mutation(easy enough these days). Her hands, forearms, face, and neck are covered in tiny scars both from burns and cuts, marks of her trade which she wears with a certain "I dare you to comment" pride, despite them not being war wounds, and not really all that noticeable unless you get close. Clothing-wise, she dresses in anything that is tough enough to survive her work, though she does like dressing up for parties and will sometimes even wear heels if she can find them and it's a reasonable time to wear them. She also has a tendency to 'modify' clothing, generally adding pockets, lights, and other arguably useful doodads. She has been compared to a colourblind magpie before.

History: Mackenzie grew up the youngest of three kids, and has lived in Houston all her life. Her dad works for the city, helping keep the bureaucracy alive and well, and wants to be mayor. Her mother, having read a few too many pre-war magazines, insists that while the men in the family (the other two siblings are male) must work and make themselves good men, she and Mac must become proper ladies of the city. This did not sit well with Mac at all, who began trying to pull machines apart and play with their guts before she could talk. The more complex a machine was, the more she wanted to figure it out. She no longer lives at home.

Instead, she makes money enough to live near the market by fixing anything she can get her hands on, generally for pretty decent prices. She gets the occasional order tossed her way by her father(who secretly takes pride in her), and has a reputation building as a reliable mechanic even for robots. She actually downplays this, but only because she does work for the Railroad up in Boston. Whenever a synth needs repairs in the Texas area, she's the one they tend to call on, though she often has to consult her small library of pre-War science manuals and possibly send them on to 'real' scientists when she can't fix it herself.

Personality: Mac is sprightly, with a go-get-'em attitude and a buoyant, effervescent way about her that seems to cheer people around her up even when the going gets tough. she always has a kind word for every one(excepting the Institute, which is based on hearsay), and will do her best to help everyone around her. While this puts her at odds with the more pragmatic Houston residents, no one begrudges her when they're benefitting. She has yet to run into real tragedies to colour in her personality. She also actually likes robots more than people, and is working on her programming skills so she can make them happier, too.

Skills:

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

Mac is strong enough for her size, but she prefers building things to help her lift heavy stuff. She's got a sharp enough eye to spot mechanical problems, but not for anything long distance (and is, in fact, near-sighted). She is well fed, despite her skinny frame, and works long hours, so she's used to pushing her body a little. She makes friends and calms people down really well, is actually a genius when it comes to computers and machines, but isn't all that great at fixing people. She likes her small frame because it lets her get into those hard to reach spots on larger machinery. She doesn't, however, have the best of luck, and sometimes finds herself in sticky situations she has to talk or think her way out of. She is actually decent at lockpicking and weapons repair, though she typically doesn't advertise this as a service, and can, in fact, Jury-Rig.
She is, however, useless in most fights, though mostly due to a lack of experience. She cannot really live outside of the city, and would be at a total loss as to how to move quietly or keep herself fed if she was forced into the wild. She is terrible at bargaining, as well, and mostly only makes enough to live on because she is well known and nice. For urban sneaking, she is even worse, as not only do the bits and baubles she decorates herself with clang about, but she really, REALLY likes singing to herself and anything that makes a loud noise, much like a toddler.

Equipment: Mac has a travel bag for going to work sites, with Wonderglue, duct tape, screwdrivers and wrenches of various size, spare wire and scrap metal, circuit boards, a soldering iron, hammers, a malfunctioning Pipboy, Mentats, a couple of reference manuals, and a few small toys to distract children.

She also carries a 9mm pistol and a few clips, a combat knife, and a few stimpaks, because you never know what'll happen, even in the big city.

Her house has mountains of junk and broken machines and scrap parts, along with a pump-action shotgun and a few weeks worth of food.

Other: Also inside the house is a deactivated and disarmed sentry bot. While it doesn't currently work, she has high hopes of reprogramming it to use as both a means of transportation and for entertaining children. It sits facing the door because she thinks it's funny. There are a couple of LEDs in the face plate to make it look like it's working.

Also Other: While she does work for them Mac IS NOT an official part of the Railroad, doesn't know any secrets about them, and is basically only a contact, but any synth characters would know they can rely on her.


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PostPosted: Wed Jan 18, 2017 6:33 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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Got my guys up!

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View Likes PostPosted: Wed Jan 18, 2017 6:55 pm 
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I wanna get in there.

Name: Franklin E. Stein.

Age: 206

Gender: Male

Appearance: Frank is a Ghoul, around six feet tall, and has a slim build. He has no hair and has several red, burnt patches of skin spaced around his sickly pale colored flesh. His frame may lead people to believe he's frail, but he still has functional muscle that's served him well in fights and exploration, with no hindrance to his movement. His eyes are a milky blue color, but he can still see out of them well enough, though with a need for corrective lenses. The red areas of his skin are irregular around his body, but he has no other serious deformations other than the skeletal look attributed to all Ghouls, with a face covered in stretched skin, making it stand out at sharp angles with the bone underneath.

He's normally seen in a mishmash of leather armor prices he's strong together with strips of metal, covering his upper body along with a dusty lab coat that reaches his thighs. He also wears a pair of glasses with prescription lenses, a pair of slacks with some leather worked into them for added protection, high black work boots, thick brahmin hide gloves, and a black trilby. Besides the coat, his other equipment is in good condition. He's also seen carrying around what looks to be a Gladstone bag, filled with medical journals, medicinal supplies, chems, and ammunition. Slung over his back is a DKS-501 sniper rifle, with some custom work done to the scope and barrel. He also carries a Ripper strapped to his waist.

Personality: Frank is a quiet and studious man, always seeking to learn new things, but only if they're in line with his research. He prefers little to no company, leaving him time to read, experiment, and learn on his own without unnecessary complications. He's cold and short with many people, not wanting distraction, though he will seek help if he's unable to handle things himself. He has a very logical mind, being very direct and to the point with no room for fluff. Even so, he's an accomplished physician. Terrible bedside manner aside, he treats his patients with the utmost care and attention, making sure they're well and have everything they need before he leaves them. From simple infections to surgery, he can be called among the few experts left in the world. His appearance and raspy voice along with his demeanor put many humans off, but Ghouls welcome him warmly, doctors being rare with them. He has a particular affinity towards feral ghouls, talking to them slowly and patting thier heads, treating them like children. He very much enjoys reading, but tends to gravitate to non-fiction above all, mostly medical journals or historical records. He doesn't hate humans, only grown apathetic to their preconceived notions and usually doesn't give them much attention unless provoked.

History: Frank was one of the unlucky people that didn't get in a Vault before the bombs went off. He was working in a hospital in New York at the time, working on creating wonderdrugs that could assist the body in healing severe tissue damage. When the warning sirens sounded, Frank tried to grab as much of his research as possible, as his colleagues ran for a small bunker underneath the hospital. Frank made it to the door before he and a few others were shut out due to lack of space. When Frank awoke, he discovered that he had survived, the ruins of the hospital surrounding him. He had several large gashes throughout his body, some down to the bone, and he found it difficult to move. Though he persevered, determined not to waste what little life he had, and used the papers he had recovered to finish work on his drug. It took him weeks with such limited resources left in the hospital, but he managed to successfully create his drug, setting it in a stimpak before injecting himself. It took several injections over the course of a month, but he managed to see the results, his wounds closing and healing. After this, he took his first tentative steps outside and was hit by the massive amounts of radiation surrounding the hospital, causing his wounds to heal completely almost instantly. He was astonished, but felt very dizzy and passed out.

He was found later by a roving bandit gang made of Ghouls called, "The Dutchmen." He told them he was a doctor and they took him in, working together to raid the rest of the hospital. Frank ran with them for several years until they were wiped out a rival human gang. Frank and a few remnants of the group, fled to Washington D.C. and eventually ended up at Underworld, a city in the National History Museum for Ghouls. He spent some time working with the doctor there, learning of his desire to help cure Ghouls of their eventual feral nature and of their disfigurement. Frank though it an admirable use of his time and so went forth with this goal in mind, traveling to distant medical centers, laboratories, universities, and libraries to find any relevant information and to conduct research. Over time, he grew harder, needing to hurt as well as heal, finding a difficult balance between the two.

He became a wandering doctor, helping people in need for little more than food, shelter, and ammo. Most humans turned him away, and those that brought him in usually just tried to rob him. Still, he kept on, helping what little humans actually needed it and helping a large majority of his fellow Ghouls, though whether this was kindness or just more research at this point was hard to tell. This realization was hardly worth notice to him after around a decade so, he paid it little mind. He trekked across the Midwest, hitting several small villages and bombed cities, scrounging up what data he could find, recording everything in a small notebook he keeps on his person. He trades when he has to, usually for medical care in exchange, but mostly keeps to himself. He also kills when necessary, but usually only when threatened, not wanting something as mundane as his own death stop his quest now.

On several occasions, he's experimented on both feral and sane Ghouls in the pursuit of his cure. Not every subject was volunteer, though morals meant little to him now. Over time, he gained a kind of kinship with the ferals, roaming in packs of them, as they protect him and his territory from disturbances. He started to like them then the more sane of his kind, and started referring to them in a paternal sense, like a father.

After several years of travel, exploring ruins and old books, he eventually learned of the highly technological city in Houston. Having to work with mostly second-hand or close to broken forms of equipment, he was ecstatic at the idea and made headway for Texas immediately, traveling along old railways, hoping to finally put his research to use and make some real headway on helping those like himself, and solving this problem that has plagued him all these years.

Skills:
Strength: 5
Perception: 9
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 3
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 4
Luck: 5

With his years of studying how the body of many types of creatures work, he has gained keen insight on how to hurt as well as heel. He knows every weak point and disadvantage, giving him an edge against the less knowledgeable as well as making the majority of any attacks he lands hit hard. He's also able to patch himself and others up even in the midst of battle, using radiation on himself and more mundane stims, chems, and field dressings for others. His own research into these areas means that his patch jobs hold better than most.

Being a Ghoul, Frank is highly resistant to radiation, even as far as getting positive benefitted from being around a large amount. Though this runs the risk of it overtaxing his body, leading him to fits of dizziness and nausea to fainting.

He's not a violent man, but will resort to it without question or hesitation, wanting a problem to be dead rather than letting it come back to him later. Being a veteran of many scraps with different gangs, he's become a skilled combatant able to devise strategies on the fly and with little resources. This has also lead him to become a kind of jack of all trades with most firms of weaponry, having to use whatever he can get his hands on to survive.
Equipment: His weapon of choice is the custom sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, a reproduction of an old model that he's modified to fire .44 Magnum rounds with an increased zoom on the scope. He's able to hit and tear holes through most enemies in the wastelands of the world from miles away, preferring to take care of problems from a distance where they can't retaliate. Though if he does have to get up close he carries a Ripper that he can use to great effect to rip into the skin at precise points to cause the most damage, giving him the upper hand or time to retreat. He also keeps a small 9mm handgun in his bag that he mostly uses to give peace to failed experiments.

His armor consists of solid price of leather and steel covering his chest, shoulders, and biceps, with more leather covering his legs all around the limbs. It does well against bladed weapons and some calibers of bullets, but does little to protect him from blunt, laser, or plasma weapons.

He also has skill with some explosives, mostly mines that he lays around sniper nests. He has intimate knowledge with thier workings and had made a sizable quantity of grenades, flashbangs, etc in his time. This also allows him to both detect and disarm most traps involving incendiaries and the like, usually turning them on the owners.

His Gladstone bag contains his medical tools, scalpels, splints, gauze, among others. He also has a large supply of stimpaks and an assortment of different types of chems, some he's even designed himself. This is also where he keeps his ammunition, some small explosives, and repair tools. Joining this is a small backpack that he users to keep more personal and survival oriented items like a bedroll, bottles, cookware, and some books for the road.

Other: Frank considers himself a kind of caretaker to feral Ghouls and will not tolerate anyone doing them harm, no matter who they are. This has lead to violent action in the past and the loss of a few that he considered friends. He's for Ghouls above all else and furthering their survival is of the utmost priority.


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View Likes PostPosted: Sat Jan 21, 2017 5:27 am 
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@ManMadeofWolves and @Illegitimate Chimera
Both of them look super cool, and also very rad. Y'all are in, for sure.

@Eggsy
I think if I told you "no you can't be a part of this rp" at this point you would kick my ass so u in my boy.

@Metal Zeta
This character is trash how are you not ashamed of him.


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PostPosted: Sat Jan 21, 2017 5:30 am 

eyy, senpai!

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WE DO IT LADS

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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 22, 2017 6:44 pm 

Current wetness: 9% Current uselessness: 55%

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@Eggsy
Thanks for looking out for me Eggsy, the flying banana dog was right all along.

@metal Zeta
The entrance into RP brings really exciting and worrying days! This feels like a picnic. *Chew*
(I wanna join, can i?)


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View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 22, 2017 8:56 pm 
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I feel you! I feel you deeply! Your feelings I can feel deeply.

(heck yes you can)


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View Likes PostPosted: Tue Jan 24, 2017 5:52 pm 

Current wetness: 9% Current uselessness: 55%

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Now to see if i could muster some sort of character arc for this one trick pony...


Name: Sir Finklejock the IIIrd
Age: ???

Gender: N/A

APPEARANCE

Finklejock's "face" is a non-moving death mask rendition of a caricaturesque english butler.
frozen in a content smile, eyes shut, as if vividly remembering the smell of freshly baked scones
on a table in a fragrant rose garden.

Whatever artisan sculpted him into existence in whatever remote place and era has his painstaking work
on display in Finklejock's metallic moustache, classic coiffure, bowtie and tailcoat.
all integrated parts of the automaton's chassis.

Completing the look is an optical lens on the left side of his cold visage in the guise of a monocle.

Finklejock's body might have had a bright sheen once, but dust, scratches,
and the ravages of weather must have taken it away.

HISTORY

Sir Finklejock is a mysterious individual, one can safely surmise that there are few indeed
who know anything about his origins, and one might also assume that they are no longer with the living.

He himself certainly seems like the least reliable source when it comes to his own history.
and when asked by whatever nosy wastedweller will insist that he is a valued butler
and custodian of the resplendent castle Opodeldoc.

That his travels have not yet ended in a box for spare parts in some raider's shed
is in itself quite mysterious and miraculous.

PERSONALITY

He speaks with the posh upper class english accent
similar to that of a common Mr handy unit,
but would probably not appreciate the comparison.

Always the gentleman, Sir Finklejock observes the strictest of social grace and etiquette
and is loathe to stoop to threats or invectives, instead opting to shoot troublesome persons through the head.

He is non confrontational, doesn't lose his temper, if he even has one,
and meets even terrible odds with cheer and stiff upper lip.

He would offer people tea and biscuits, but as these things prove scarce indeed he usually
resorts to occupy himself with other activities such as restoring the odd chair to an upright stance,
or neatly lining up bottles of nondescript alcohol.

SKILLS

SMALL GUNS
SPEECH
SURVIVAL


Finkle's unerring optical sensors and adamant arm grants him a proficiency in guns that rivals
that of an experienced mercenary. weapons other than a handgun or a good ole hunting rifle
seem to perplex his analytical subroutines however.

His respectful and courteous way of approaching strangers has helped him in many a situation.
He's still a cold, hard robot though, which limits his charismatic impressions.

He has extensive knowledge in botany and gardening, aswell as minor knowledge of zoology,
from his (real or imagined) socialite hunting trips.

He has no knowledge regarding computers
dismissing them as "blasted newfangled contraptions"

"Fisticuffs" is something he rarely engages in, his coordination leaves plenty to be desired,
but a connecting blow is likely to stagger or incapacitate a man.

His practical medical skills are next to none.
Extending to:
"Nasty scrape, Madame should apply pressure to that"
"Sir may want to apply a fresh bandage, lest the wound festers"
or prescribing a healthy dose of ether.

Sneaking... well, let's not mention it.


S.P.E.C.I.A.L

Strength 8
Perception 8
Endurance 8
Charisma 5
Intelligence 4
Agility 1
Luck 5

Strong enough to snap an average man's wrist in his grip.

His metal body reflects most small arms fire, claws and light melee weapons, but is conspicuously
worse for wear nowadays, and without the hands of a competent mechanic it is only
a matter of time before an errant projectile slips through and hits something critical.
given a couple of years it will surely terminally deteriorate on its own volition as the good sir
seems to have no real knowledge of even how to mend his own body or much self-preserving
interest in it for that matter.

All the bullets and assaults by blunt objects has left his chassis with numerous buckles,
scorch marks and a few holes although he still looks quite presentable from certain angles.
he himself would blame his appearance (and imagined "bad knees") on his advanced age.

The sir's physical capabilities do not extent to his agility.
With his rather stiff robotic limbs he is hardly able to accelerate to more than a brisk jog in human terms,
and is highly unlikely to negotiate a wooden fence via jumping or climbing without toppling
over with a terrible racket as a result.

The few normal faculties he possesses are astute. but anyone accompanying him for more than
a brief period will notice that something about his thought patterns is very off,
as he seems to inhabit a world much different than that of humans of sound mind around him.
possibly it is due to the natural decay of the delicate parts of his artificial mind,
possibly the effect of any one of a hundred blows and bullets previously directed at him,
possibly bad handiwork, or more disturbingly: possibly he is functioning just as intended.


EQUIPMENT
A colt handgun and some ammo
An exquisitely engraved silver spoon.
A broken teacup ornamented with pink flowers.
A decent collection of caps


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View Likes PostPosted: Fri Jan 27, 2017 2:57 am 
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A cool guy, he in.

Anyways, we're gonna start soon! Maybe in the next couple days, if I can remember to do so. Was waiting for a few more dudes, but hey, it won't hurt them to come in later!


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PostPosted: Sat Jan 28, 2017 6:16 pm 
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The was exactly the news I needed while dealing with this chest cold!


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PostPosted: Mon Jan 30, 2017 7:45 pm 
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viewtopic.php?f=17&t=51880

IT

BEGINS


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PostPosted: Mon Jan 30, 2017 7:45 pm 

eyy, senpai!

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[SPUR JINGLING INTENSIFIES]

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PostPosted: Tue Jan 31, 2017 5:34 pm 

Current wetness: 9% Current uselessness: 55%

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So, i thought i should ask.
Alignment wise, are these characters supposed to be of the heroic, world-saving variety?
If so, i'm gonna have to do some switcheroos before i begin.


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PostPosted: Wed Feb 01, 2017 12:36 am 

eyy, senpai!

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I'd imagine alignment is up to us regarding each individual character, some of my dudes aren't really that type at all.

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PostPosted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 12:32 am 
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Oh yeah, for sure. As long as they're not blatantly evil, it all good.


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 1:34 am 

Current wetness: 9% Current uselessness: 55%

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Oh, well... I started writing an intro for my character and it sorta took a turn towards moonwalking right on the border of blatantly evil. It's a matter of perspective though, he'll function together with good or neutral characters. Well, when i post it you can just reject it if it doesn't work.


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 02, 2017 1:47 am 

eyy, senpai!

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Evil dudes for some conflict down the road would be pretty cool though.

Functioning is probably the most important part though, I'd wager.

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