Fallout: Invasion

[BloodVendetta]

Welcome Wanderers of the Mojave Wasteland; to the official Role-play In Character Thread for the Post-Apocalyptic Free Roam Epic -


Fallout: Invasion





Things you need to know:

The Story

The year is 2306, 25 years after the events of Fallout: New Vegas.

NCR won the Battle of Hoover Dam.

The Courier finished his dealings in the Mojave Wasteland and traveled to the Great Divide, where he was never heard from again.

Caesar’s Legion has been pushed back and fragmented.

House is dead.

The Brotherhood of Steel and the NCR formed a treaty, but tensions remain high and trust is little between the two Factions. BOS presence in the Mojave has increased and the faction has begun spreading, taking over abandoned Legion territory and converting them into private outposts.

The Great Khans aligned with the NCR, and after the Battle of Hoover Dam were unjustly forced out of the Mojave, though remnants still remain.

Powder Gangers were eradicated from the area.

Raider resistance still thrives throughout the Wasteland, and new Raider bands have begun appearing from the east (the 80’s that were mentioned in the Honest Hearts DLC, as well as a few original and unorganized groups).

There have been sightings of strange ghost-like people around the outskirts of the Mojave, near the Sierra Madre area (The Ghost People from the Dead Money DLC)

Despite the fact that NCR has gained loose control of most of the region, riots ensue and local militias have risen in hopes of an Independent Mojave. Small rebellions seem inevitable.

Jacobstown, home of the intelligent Super Mutants, has remained isolated and has thrived due to successful treatment for the Nightkin mental instabilities.

NCR officially advocates the Followers of the Apocalypse in their medical support goals and have helped the Followers establish the Old Mormon Fort as a refuge for less fortunate wanderers to take up shelter and get back on their feet.

With the help of the Gun Runners, the Boomers developed a healthy trading relationship with the NCR. Eventually the Boomers began wandering out into the wasteland, while still preventing outsiders from entering Nellis.

Business for the Gun Runners, Happy Trails, as well as the Crimson Caravan has increased and expanded, but most for them has remained the same.

After the NCR victory at Hoover Dam, the temporary truce between them and The Kings blossomed into a full-scale relief effort for the people. While the NCR made repeated entreaties that Freeside join the Republic, The Kings steadfastly maintained their independence.

For the most part, the town of New Vegas has remained the same, except that the Lucky 38 casino has shut off, the doors have sealed, the lights have turned off, and no one has gained entry. All Securitrons have shut down, and the NCR has basically taken over the town, but has not changed the way things function.

The Tops Casino has remained unchanged other than it is under new management. The Ultraluxe Casino has overcome its dark history and there is no more cannibalism within the establishment. The Gomorrah is still as corrupt as ever, acting as a secret hideout for remaining Legion loyalists to meet in private, scheming and planning their revenge.

Side Plot Point: The Black Mountain situation with Tabitha has been resolved, soon after, a Ghoul idealist figure named Zachariah Fairchild and his small following took the place as their home, using the Black Mountain radio equipment to spread anti-human gospels across the Mojave and inviting all Ghouls to join him on the newly appointed Ghoul sanctuary. His following has grown over time significantly and Black Mountain has become a haven for Ghouls everywhere. Fairchild took it upon himself to begin campaigning across the Mojave, preaching in front of live audiences and inspiring Ghouls to join them at Black Mountain. Mr. Fairchild travels with a troop of armed guards at all times considering his controversial ideals and there have been many attempts on his life; the NCR even have posted a reward for his capture.

Side Plot Point: A new band of slavers has risen and taken the NCR Correctional Facility under their control, renaming it Pandora’s Box. The operation has thrived and has become a major thorn in the side of the NCR. Many attempts have been made to quell the slaver’s operation, but all have failed. The slavers and their operation have proved devastating to the surrounding towns, especially to the inhabitants of Goodsprings and Primm. The Slaver’s of Pandora’s Box conduct their business in a very professional and high-class manner, portraying their operation as superior and civilized, referring to themselves as traffickers instead of slavers. They wear suits and ties, the guards and such donning Kevlar vests and helmets as well as their professional attire.

Side Plot Point: The fragmented remains of Caesar’s Legion have retreated to the South; their presence has declined greatly within the Mojave. Occasional raids and attacks are all that remain from what was once a great and powerful faction, but this is not their end. Despite their lack of leadership and forceful removal from the land they once saw as their empire, the faction longs to rise again. The Legion remains loyal to their ideals and in the shadows plans are made, potential leaders are stepping up to claim their place as head of the Legion, and a burning passion remains in their hearts. One day they will return and fight to take back what was stolen from them.

Main Plot Point: Hordes of merciless, ferocious, self mutilating, and cannibalistic savages have invaded the Western Shores of America, Mexico, and parts of Canada. These invaders come from a dying Russia, calling themselves The Dikar’, a word meaning savage in their own tongue, and though they have not yet reached the Mojave, it seems as though it will not be long until they rape, murder, pillage, cannibalize, and conquer their way there. What do these invaders want? Why are they here? More importantly, can they be stopped? Or will they continue their reign of terror in the Wasteland? This is the biggest threat to the people of America since the Great War itself, and it seems that the heart of the attack has been focused on reaching the Mojave. (This all will start after the RP has been going on a bit, and will be a major…major event. If you have any questions please let me know.)

Our Character's decisions and choices in the RP will have a significant role to play in how the world and story around us changes. We will shape this story together and will reap the rewards and consequences of our actions.

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Name: Kael Braddock

Race: Human, Caucasian

Age: 34
Profession: Private Security/Personal Guardian for Hire

Appearance: 6'5", 240 lbs


Main Skills: Guns, Survival, Repair

Weapons: Marksman Carbine, Sawed-off Hunting Shotgun (Pump Action), Holdout Police Pistol, Bowie Knife, Brass Knuckle.

Attire: Riot Gear minus the helmet. His trench coat is faded, more of a gray than black, and he wears a bandana on his neck that he can pull over his face when the need arises.

Equipment: A small pack holding a canteen, a few Stimpacks, some food, ammunition, a bedroll (which is strapped to the outside of it), binoculars, and his father’s journal and maps.

History:
A child was born to Raiders and left to die in a trash can, only surviving because fate brought a traveling Gun for Hire, Cade Braddock, to find him. The child was taken by the lonely mercenary, who was growing tired of his life of gunfire and blood, and was seeking to settle down and for once take part in creation instead of destruction. That he did, in raising the abandoned child, which he named Kael. Cade raised his new son in the ways of the Mojave, teaching him all he knew about Guns, Survival, and Repair. He taught young Kael what life in the Mojave was like, that it was a place filled with danger and fear, but also a place filled with hope. It was not long however, that the clean life that Cade was trying to lead began to not be enough for the two to survive, and so the aging mercenary took up arms once again and found work the only way he knew how. Having been an assassin, a mercenary, and a man who simply killed for money, Cade pressed a different philosophy upon his growing son, teaching him that the ways that he himself had made a living was not the only way…that instead of being a killer, one could be a protector. These words stuck with young Kael and he realized what he wanted to be soon after, not a hired gun like his father, but someone who gets paid to protect instead, a private security guard, and after witnessing the defeat of Caesar’s Legion and the rise of the NCR, that dream only burned brighter. Kael would have likely joined the ranks of the NCR, but his father spoke against it, explaining to him that it was better to be in business for yourself instead of for a political force, because when you work alone at least you can remain true to yourself and your loyalties remain your own; Kael learned to believe this with all of his heart. Kael had grown to the age of maturity and had begun working humbly as a bodyguard for paying customers in need of protection, eventually earning enough caps to purchase decent weapons and armor as well as a reputation. His father retired from the mercenary business after a major back injury that he suffered after getting shot near his spine while on a job. Kael provided for him and his father well enough and life was full of things to be grateful for. That was until one day, while Kael was out on a job, members of a small Raider band invaded their small home, killing his father Cade in the process…Kael returned home shortly after to find his father dead and his home burned to the ground, Raiders pillaging what little valuables that they owned. Kael, from a distance, began picking off the savage murderers and in a rage killed the half a dozen or so that had committed this atrocity. He buried his father, saying his goodbyes, and gathered everything that was not ruined in the fire. The sun set down as his house and hard earned life continued to burn in the night sky. Everything that his father had taught him had been truthful, he knew that, but one of the most important lessons that he ever learned from Cade was that sometimes, whether or not it makes sense, a man must do what he feels he needs to do, and Kael felt the need for vengeance. He set off, using his father’s maps and journal to navigate the Mojave Wasteland, and became a hunter…Raiders becoming his prey. He, for now, abandoned his life as a protector and went from place to place leaving a trail of dozens among dozens of Raider bodies behind him, he stuck with smaller, more unorganized Raiders as his targets, knowing that if he became to ambitious he would be killed. For almost a decade he did this, tracking, hunting, and looting the very kinds of people that had destroyed his life, that had taken everything from him.

Though one day, after he had eradicated a small camp of three Raiders, in which he was badly wounded during his attack, he rescued an older man and his young son. They realized that his injuries were major and the two turned from those that he rescued to his own rescuers. They bandaged him up and carried him to the Old Mormon Fort, where the Follower’s of the Apocalypse helped wanderers in need. As he healed, Kael could think only of the man and son that had brought him here, they reminded him of his father and himself. It was then that he realized that he was going down the wrong path, and that his vengeance had surely been served over the years. It was time to stop destroying…and once again begin protecting, he would return to his profession in private security, but not until his wounds were healed, and so for now he remains at the Old Mormon Fort, getting better every day and longing to begin his new life.
(I'll probably expand it more later, but this suffices for now)

Other: Kael normally goes by his last name, Braddock, and is somewhat of a closed off human being when it comes to his personal life, but he is not afraid to speak his mind, and has his own code of honor and philosophies that he refuses to compromise. The day that Kael takes an innocent life is the day that he will probably end his own. Also he loves...and I mean absolutely loves a shot of whiskey with a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla.

Name: Elias Smith

Race: Human, Caucasian

Age: 36 years old

Profession: Missionary

Appearance:
Height 6'0"
Weight 190 lbs


Main Skills: Guns, Melee Weapons, Speech

Weapons: Trail carbine, .45 auto pistol, combat knife, Dead Horse war club, and .44 magnum revolver with heavy frame modification

Attire: Gecko-backed reinforced leather armor with a faded black cloak over it, and a Stormchaser hat; occasionally, he wears biker goggles and a breathing mask for when they are needed

Equipment: Personal journal, father’s Cross on a necklace, mother’s Bible, ammo, binoculars, canteen, bedroll, stimpaks, RadAway, bandages, lunchbox, and maps given to him by fellow New Canaanites

History: Elias was born in New Canaan, Utah, on December 25, 2270. His parents Atticus and Esther were New Canaanites who had already been peacefully living on the settlement for several years. Elias’ father was a doctor and his mother a merchant. In his early years, the young Elias was raised in a very hospitable and caring environment. He had experienced and known what a good, carefree life was without the fear of raiders, radiation, and other dangers of the world he was born into.

When Elias was still a young boy, a man by the name of Joshua Graham had reappeared in New Canaan in 2277. He knew stories about the man, explained to him by others in the town. He was also told to be cautious and mindful of the Burned Man. Despite what he was told, Elias found himself to be extremely interested and curious about Joshua Graham. Elias would regularly follow his father whenever he went to give treatments for the fellow Canaanite. He would often hide and listen to Mr. Graham speak about his past with the Legion and yearning for forgiveness. Hearing these things caused young Elias’ mind to be influenced in ways that a child was not meant to know.

In 2281, the White Legs, a tribe of savages, were given orders by Caesar to attack New Canaan and put a final end to Joshua Graham. In the aftermath, Graham lived but Atticus had died saving people from a burning building. A formal burial was held for the lives lost at New Canaan. Afterwards, the remaining New Canaanites continued to travel searching for a new place to settle, other than Graham and Daniel who went to Zion Canyon. Elias was changed by that incident. He grew distant, hardened, his childhood innocence faded.

For the years to follow, Elias found someone amongst the travelers who understood his pain and grief. Calvin, a former NCR ranger whose faith had been renewed and was now with the New Canaanites, took Elias under his wing and eventually became his stepfather. Calvin taught him skills in firearms as well as covert and guerilla tactics. Most importantly, Calvin taught Elias how to keep their people safe. The New Canaanites found refuge in Colorado for the most part until the raiders known as the 80s began to spread out taking more territory. The New Canaanites once again became displaced and now sought safety in Zion Canyon with Joshua Graham and his group. During the exodus, Calvin was amongst those who fell to the raiders. In his honor, Elias continued to carry Calvin’s trail carbine. When the New Canaanites reached the canyon, they were welcome with open arms.

Life was calm and peaceful once again for the New Canaanites who had established another settlement in Zion Canyon. However, Elias could not find serenity even though he was with his people. He didn’t like being the person he was and he felt that he was unable to change it. In the first few years there, Elias was alone for the most part, only usually seen in the company of his mother. In time, the young man discovered why his original home was completely decimated in the first place. The other New Canaanites were more forgiving but as for Elias, he blamed Graham for his father’s and stepfather’s deaths, the loss of his home, and the person he was now.

He came to the Burned Man in the middle of the night, planning on taking Graham’s life. Graham was much older now, but with fight still left in him. However, Graham did not attempt to fight back and instead just spoke to Elias. The Burned Man told him a story about what happened during his time in Zion Canyon, specifically how they settled the dispute with the White Legs. Graham’s tragic and merciful tale touched something in Elias, something he didn’t know still existed in him. Elias broke down, angry and disappointed at himself for allowing his humanity to be forgotten. His hatred for Graham immediately dissolved.

However, he wasn’t lost and soon found his path. Over the years, Elias sought to change the person he was, but still serve as a protector. He reflected on the man known as Joshua Graham and wanted to follow the example he was setting, yet at the same time lead a life that represented his people. Daniel, another New Canaanite that was also in Zion Canyon, began educating him in scripture and the way of a clergyman. Elias was happy and proud with his new lifestyle as was his mother. He continued his new line of work, even conducting his mother’s funeral after she passed away peacefully in her sleep. For years, Elias lived and faithfully served in Zion Canyon until he believed his services were needed elsewhere, either be it through his words or his actions. Elias felt something greater calling upon him. Elias left Zion Canyon with good intentions, and set out for the Mojave Wasteland.

Other: If people don’t know him by name, Elias is sometimes referred to as “Blackcoat” an old term meaning a clergyman.
By the way, "Sunset Sarsaparilla" lol.

Name: Dresher Anshel
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Race: Human
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Age: 49
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Profession: Freelancer, Gun-for-hire
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Appearance: Dresher wears his age quite well, though it's still very apparent he's well into his years. His face is worn, haggard, and is starting to show creases now. His skin is dark, dark brown, which matches well with his duster's outfit he's usually seen wearing. He has broad shoulders, and his arms bear a greatly conditioned tone and layered thinly around with muscles. He always wears a pair of darkly tinted aviators, the lenses slighly faded and chipped. Height wise he stands at a total measurement of 6'3'', with a weight at about 195 pounds. He's very thin, and one look at him would easily say he's experienced, he's aged, and he's been taking care of himself for a very long time. Behind his aviators, were a pair of deep, heavy hazel green eyes that peered at you with a gaze of measurement, of evaluation. He was a warrior, a soldier, a killer. A survivor, and he carried that air around him in such a heavy confidence, one could almost feel it as if it was an aura, a tangible weight that lingered around him.
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Main Skills: Speech, Guns, Survival
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Weapons: Scoped hunting rifle, with ammo cartidges that held two additional rounds. The stock has obviously been replaced many times, having been used in melee every now and then against the brutal inhabitants of the Wastelands. At his side was a a plain, simple .357.
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Attire: Bounty hunter's duster, same design and look as it has in the game, with a small, simple rucksack slinged over his back with a bedroll on top of it.
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Equipment: He has a simple, heavily used, constantly repaired bedroll. Inside of his rucksack he has six stimpacks, a doctor's kit, and two dosages of hydra. He has a tinderbox inside as well, with a few cans of pork and beans, as well as some spare ammo for his weapon systems. Canteen that's full, and two empty water bottles.
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History: Dresher has been a wanderer for the majority of his life. Wherever a gun was needed to scare off the wildlife or some would-be raiders or gang-bangers, he could be found. He didn't wander too far off the beaten path across the Wasteland "Paradise" as he liked to call it, alwasy going wherever the wind and dust carried him off to. Sometimes he followed a few rumors here and there if it was interesting, sometimes he'd stick around to help out a settlement or town with extra security until they got back on their feet. Every now and then he'd tag with a caravan as a freelancer, never signing off to an exlcusive contract. He ran smuggling runs time to time, even picked up a few bounties here and there when it wasn't too high of a risk. In terms of governmental or organization afillation, he never swore allegiance to any. The Legion, he did his best to steer away from, however he bore no true, honest ill to them. The Brotherhood, he was known to help out every now and then, for the right price. He never wanted any fancy gadgets or high-tech equipment, he just always needed expert tips on the area, or extra supplies, or just a place to hang-low when he pissed off the wrong raider boss. Further out west, when he came into contact with the NCR, he gave his helping hand to its citizens who were too busy trying to just stay alive from the enemies all around them, the NCR always trying to expand too rapidly. He didn't oftenly give out his real name, however, always going by a handle. He eventually just took up to calling himself "308", due to the fact he never could put down his rifle for anything else. Word of him would be common to hear of, every now and then, mostly due to the unusual nickname, and of course as he got further west, mostly due to the on-going rumors of rising conflict and chaos, more and more people needed him for his gun. Some people even came up to him with these blue-stared Sunset Sasp' bottle caps, though he turned them down for the fact he wanted tangible rewards, not some inheritance of some fabled treasure and collection that was left forgotten to the deserts.

Name: Darren Krostag

Race: Human

Age: 44

Appearance:
Height: 6'2" or 1.8796 meters
Face: Short black hair, Dark blue eyes, Pale skin (since most of the time he spends full armored), His head resembles that of a triangular structure
Weight: 235 Lbs or 106.594 Kg Most of that weight is muscle as he has trained most of his life and is in the front lines quiet a bit now

Profession: Brotherhood of Steel Journeyman Knight

Main Skills: Energy Weapons, Repair, Unarmed

Weapons: Tri laser Rifle and a Power gauntlet

Attire: T-45d

Equipment: 2 Caravan lunch packs, 4 bottles of water, 3 stimpacks, and 1 doctors bag

History: Like all other members of the Brother Hood of Steel,well at least most of the BoS members with a few exceptions, he was born into the ranks of the BoS his father being a Paladin and his Mother a Knight. Before he was even the age at the age of being able to understand what has been going on around him his parents end up in the battle of HELIOS One, unfortunately they both were both killed along with many other fine men and women or in most peoples eyes soldiers that were just following orders. After the large slaughter that the NCR had given the BoS they retreated into the Bunker in Hidden Valley where Darren was taken in by Paladin Ramos who taught him basically all that he knows and still more.

Darren soon became an acceptable Knight but wasn't allowed to be one of the few he considered lucky to fight at hover dam with the few who went to assist the courier and NCR. When his brothers and sisters had gone off to fight and die for what they believed in (or more what Elder McNamara thought was right which almost everyone agreed with and never questioned him) he was stuck at the bunker training for when he would get to fight against the legion or anybody at that matter. The excuse they gave him was they needed people to guard the bunker, which he thought was a load of bull but never said it. Then again Darren was never good with words so convincing people to let him do anything was nearly impossible. After the victory of Hover Dam Darren was surprised that the NCR had held up to their agreement and didn't try to kick them out, as they had with the Great Khans. Darren eventually grew tired of his small patrols he 'led' around the bunker so he decided he would finally bring it up to Paladin Ramos and after having a 'heart to heart' conversation with him. Ramos brought up the idea of letting Darren go with the squad that was going to be sent out to investigate why one of their patrols had mysteriously vanished. After hearing the news Darren could barely believe it he was finally allowed to do something important.

A day later Darren,a paladin, and two other knights went out to the last known location of the patrol team to go see what happened to them. (Darren the only one that he knew personally that still uses the T-45d power armor as it seems it has gone out of 'style' with most other BoS members) A few hours later the squad arrived at what he assumed use to be a building of some sort, but it was terribly run down and is just ruins now. The squad end up entering the 'building' only to find the small patrol of four men totally annihilated and from what they could see there seemed to be little to no struggle. Most of their armor seemed to have taken quite a few heavy blows to the back. The only thing Darren could think of was that the patrol came here to take a rest and was ambushed from the back, but as soon as the paladin went to radio in what had happened the squad hears a blood crackling roar coming from the next room, everyone that already had their weapons pulled out turned towards the sound but they seen nothing. The paladin had yelled at the squad to get back but before he is even able to finish his whole sentence three night kin materialize in front of the squad and what seems to be the leader of them wails his giant club with such force on the paladin's head that it ends up looking like a smashed can. The paladin dropping immediately. By the time the squad realizes what is actually going on it was too late for a few for another one of his squad mates as two clubs end up being smashed on either side of his head. By the time all this had happened Darren and the remaining his fellow squad mates opened fire on the closest night kin easily gunning him down. But as they went to turn their attention to the next night kin, he was already lunging towards his other squad member everything seemed to slow down as Darren was having 'the time of his life' ,even though they had lost people in this fight he was enjoying himself, he turns his Weapon towards the night kin blasting it square in the side of its head, the night kin then falling a few inches infront of his squad mate. as Darren turned to his right he see's the leader charging straight towards him. throwing his gun down as he doubted he had enough time to reload. Barely was Darren able to dodge to the right as the large club smacks the ground where he was standing.As soon as Darren saw an opening he tackles the night kin leader to the ground and attempts to hold him in place while the remaining members of his squad light him up. After maybe 10 seconds of none stop laser fire and the leader beating Darren as he attempts to hold it down the night kin leader finally stops and drops limp. After a small time to recuperate and what not they radioed back to HQ and explained everything that had happened. They themselves started head back only Darren proud of what had just happened there.

It's been 25 years since hover dam and his first real assignment. After that day he has been training with countless different types of weapons and his ability to fight hand to hand. Darren feels that if you only fight far away using weapons at a range that it weakens you as a whole and to Darren strength is everything and if you aren't strong enough you shouldn't be allowed to stay within the BoS, but then again no one listens to his 'ideals' anymore as most of his assignments he has been assigned these many years have led to blood baths. Throughout Darren's life he has seen probably more bloodshed than one person or even multiple people should see in their lives.


Other: Darren is quiet attached to the old power armor model the T-45d as he has heard the stories of the glory days of the BoS and he wants to bring them back to their former glory. Hates to retreat and will only do so if he can't find even the tinniest hope of winning.

Name: Marcus Stone

Race: Human

Age: 30

Profession: Mercenary

Appearance: Short cut brown hair with golden brown eyes. Has a scar going from just above his right eyebrow down to the right corner of his lip.


Main Skills: Athletics, Survival, Small Guns

Weapons:
One Modified Chinese Assault Rifle with extended mags and light bolt.
Two 9mm Pistol with extended mags
1 5 inch fold-able Utililty Knife
1 Gladius Sword
4 Fragmentation Grenades
2 Fragmentation Mines
Binoculars

Attire: Just Kevlar body armor as far as armor goes. It can block low to medium projectiles. He also has a gas mask(as seen in the picture) which he wears most of the time.

Equipment: 10 Stimpacks, 3 Radaways, 5 fresh water bottles, weeks worth of food (mostly canned goods), a canteen, 2 Nuka Colas, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, Binoculars, and finally a wet stone for sharpening his blades.

History: Marcus has traveled very far and wide, coming from his hometown of Petersburg in the former state of Virginia. He has wandered across the wastes of America, seen the few green oasis that exist only in myth, and seen some of the darkest places. It all began in his small community in the Petersburg Ruins. Things were going rather well for the ten year old's family with his healthy sister turning seven and his parents being a successful merchants. Of course, out here in the wasteland, nothing every stays so peaceful and calm. Their town was attacked by slavers and after holding them off for two days, the town struck a deal with the slavers. The slavers were to leave the town alone if they gave up one of its families, that family being the Stones. Marcus was bound and gagged with the rest of the family and taken away to the slavers' base in near by abandon tobacco plant. For a year he sat with his sister in a dark, damp concrete cell with no way of knowing whether their parents were alive or dead. Eventually his sister was auctioned off to a rich man from a northern land. Then one day a man walked into his cell, he wore a strange armor that covered his body making him look bulky. On his armor, he had a emblem that was a sword with wings and a couple of gears. The strange man held out his hand and said "Come now, no need to afraid. You're free now." Grabbing his hand Marcus was pulled off his feet and walked out of his cell. He noticed the burn marks around the building and idly standing men who wore the same armor. Marcus had learned they were the Brotherhood of Steel who while expanding their control of the East Coast from Washington, had found the slave base. From then on, Marcus set off on a quest to find out what had happened to his family no matter what. He started off becoming an apprentice of an old Mercenary, who taught him how to shoot and fight properly as well as survive outside the settlements. For several years he traveled with his master until finally after completing his fifth successful job, his master said he was ready. As a goodbye gift, he gave an old, but sturdy Gladius sword. His master said he used it many years ago in a land far to the west were a group called the Legions fought with the NCR. His master said he had long ago fought for the Legions, but soon left thinking they had become too harsh and unreasonable. For the next two years Marcus acquired the rest of his gear, always traveling from place to place to learn about his families were-abouts. He did odd jobs here and there to gain caps, but he never could seem to find any leads on his family. After many years Marcus finally has another hopefully solid lead on where his sister is. Apparently the man form the north wo had bought her had again sold her to some slavers from the Mojave Wasteland. This has lead him to travel far west to investigate a group of slavers that may have bought her to resell her in a place known as Pandora's Box. He arrives in the Mojave Wasteland, hopping that his journey wasn't for nothing.

Name: Alexander Angelo

Race: Human

Age: 20

Profession: Tracker/Mercenary

Appearance: Alexander is a very ordinary-looking person. Around five feet and ten inches tall, a thin figure, with small hazel eyes that seem to pierce everything. His skin is also a bit pale, due to where he grew up.

Main Skills: Sneak, Energy Weapons, Survival

Weapons: A laser rifle, an old scratched up combat knife, apparently an Angelo family heirloom, and a near-broken 10mm pistol.

Attire: A suit of reinforced leather armor, given to Alexander by his sister, who had made it with her own hands with sturdy gecko leather and scrap metal, a brown pre-war hat, and an old tattered, hole-filled trench coat.

Equipment: One hundred and six microfusion cells, thirty-five 10mm rounds, sixty caps, a couple of packages of Fancy Lad snack cakes, two bedrolls, one for him and one for his sister, a Grognak the Barbarian comic book, and twelve pieces of scrap metal.

History: Alexander was born in Goodsprings. At least, that's what Marcus, the supermutant that found Alexander and his sister, Alexis, in a ruined house, completely abandoned as babies near Jacobstown says. Alexander's mother and father have yet to be discovered.....not like Marcus or the other supermutants were interested in trying to find someone that abandoned their newborn child. Marcus found something next to Alexander, though. An old combat knife, sharp as a razor in a stylized sheath. On it was a note, reading "With love, from your father". Marcus gave it to Alexander at the age of fifteen, who was starting to learn how to use conventional weaponry.

Alexander was raised by supermutants, but not AS a supermutant. Marcus tried not to let the supermutants influence Alexander with their ways. Marcus has always said "You are not a supermutant, so you should not be raised like one". Marcus taught Alexander how to walk, how to talk, how to fight....but he was always treated differently. This had always confused Alexander. Why was he so different? He wasn't big like the supermutants, and he wasn't as violent as most....but he was a supermutant too....right...? Marcus approached Alexander one day. He noticed Alexander had seemed very....confused lately, and after talking to a few of the residents, he learned why. "Alexander....I've always dreaded this day. I never wanted to have to tell you....but I can't keep you isolated like this. You and your sister.....you aren't supermutants. You're regular humans" He then told both Alexander and Alexis how he found them, and that their parents were no where to be found. Alexis burst into tears.....but Alexander just became angry. Not at Marcus. At his parents. He went on a long rant....and Marcus simply listened. He wanted Alexander to get everything out before he did something....dangerous. Something foolish.

After that day, Alexander sat on top of the watchtower. He volunteered to be the new town watchman.....but he had a reason. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. Maybe a part of him wanted his parents to walk up that hill...so he could shoot them? Talk to them? He didn't know. But it was nice and quiet....well, apart from Alexis trying to talk to him. But he didn't mind that, it helped both of them. They may not have their parents, but they have each other, and Marcus of course. Alexander came down occasionally to eat or see the doctor, and sometimes to get secret stealth training from the Nightkin. Both Alexander and the Nightkin knew Marcus would never approve of it, so they snuck out of the the town at night to train. With his stealth training, Alexander also learned how to track things. He become accustomed to footprints, waste products, and other pieces of evidence. Unfortunately, Alexander doesn't have any stealth boys. But neither did the Nightkin, as they didn't need them anymore because of the cure. They were on even ground.

Other: Alexander sometimes goes by Alex. He is also very protective of Alexis.

__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ________________

Name: Alexis Angelo

Race: Human

Age: 20

Profession: Mechanic

Appearance: Alexis is just as tall as her brother, maybe an inch or two shorter. Her long, brown hair has small streaks of purple dye. Her emerald eyes give her a presence of peace. She also has a very athletic figure, along with dark smudges on her face since she spends most of her time working on repairs for machines.

Main Skills: Unarmed, Repair, Barter

Weapons: Spiked knuckles, 9mm pistol

Attire: Alexis wears leather armor, and under that some overalls that she wears when making repairs, as to not ruin her armor. She also wears a pair of shades a retired NCR sniper gave her when she repaired his gun. The sniper called them his "lucky specs", and Alexis has started using the name as well.

Equipment: Stimpaks, a wrench, scrap metal, a fission battery, gecko steaks, sunset sarsaparilla caps, and med-x

History: Just like her brother, Alexis was found as a baby near Jacobstown. Marcus took them both in, and raised them amongst supermutants, but as regular humans. Apparently, she was afraid of the supermutants at first, but Alexis was always okay with Marcus....maybe she recognized that he rescued her? Along with Alexander, Alexis was taught many things by Marcus. How to talk, walk, fight, and so on. But there was always something she really enjoyed.....technology. She was always staring at the machinery in the doctor's quarters, wondering how they worked. Marcus, along with doctor Henry, explained to her how everything worked. How to take it apart, put it back together, and how to repair it. Doctor Henry did a better job of teaching Alexis, though, due to his years in the Enclave.

Over the years, Alexis has acquired, repaired, and sometimes even broken a myriad of mechanical pieces, ranging from toasters to rifles. She takes great pride in her work, and takes on challenges. A traveler brave enough to trade with the supermutants of Jacobstown said if Alexis could repair his ripper in an hour, he would sell his stock for half price to the residents. She went into the lodge, and came back out in half an hour with the man's Ripper, pretty much good as new. He almost couldn't believe it, he even checked if it was even his....and it was. He etched in his name on the handle of the weapon. He complimented Alexis on her skill, and held up his end of the offer. Jacobstown got a load of weapons, ammo, food and water, all because of Alexis. What made her especially happy, is that Alexander was watching her work. He gave her a smile and a thumbs up, and that alone made her fell that her hard work was worth it.

She also tries to get spare parts for the lowest she can. Of course, she also tries make her repairs as high of a price as possible, without going overboard. She'll only go so high until she feels like she's cheating her customer out of their money. She gives Alexander free repairs, even though he tries to pay her back, along with Marcus and the supermutants. She loves to help people, and it keeps her mind off of things like her parents. Thoughts slip in now and again, but Alexis pushes them out immediately.....sometimes, though, she goes to see Marcus or Alexander when she's feeling down. Other than that, she's the happiest she's ever been.

Other: She gets very competitive when it comes to her work. She'll challenge other mechanics to repair-races and other things if she feels like the competition is beating her out.

Name:
Firmitas the Greater

Race
Glowing One

Age:
255 (If my math is correct )

Profession: Leader of a Small Settlement

Appearance:
Standing at only 5'3 before the bombs fell, the years and radiation have only made Tony a less imposing figure over time as both rotted away what muscle mass he did have nearly over two centuries ago. Glowing a florescent lime-green beneath his armour, few look to closely at the small ghoul. If they were to, however, they would notice he is no different than any ghoul, save his glowing appearance and multitude of whelps and cuts across his face.

Main Skills:
Speech
Survival
Unarmed

Weapons:
Ballistic Fist
Silenced .22

Attire:
Legion Recruit Bandanna
Authority Glasses
Desperado Cowboy Hat
Modified Legion Praetorian Armour
Bounty Hunter's Duster


Equipment:
Several Stimpacks as well as more traditional (Read: Tribal) medicines are stored in pockets along with the .22 and the Ballistic Fist.

A few days worth of food as well as some surplus .22 ammo fit snugly in a Brahmin-Hide sack worn as a belt.

Larger items include a pair of large canteens as well as a 'Survival Kit' slung bandoleer style across his chest containing such items as anti-venom, flint and tinder and a sturdy hunting knife (6'')


History:
Before the bombs fell, Tony Vincetti was a made man. Cars, Money, women, he had it all. Though short in stature, Tony had friends in Vegas; powerful friends; friends who needed things done and Vincetti was happy to do them. Growing up in the glittering streets of Nevada's Crown Jewel, Tony was no stranger to trouble. Making the switch to Organized Crime was simple.

Beyond the occasional 'delivery' or 'pick-up' and by far Tony's favourite pass-time was roughing up mooks who didn't pay; he especially liked when they fought back. Small but scrappy, Tony used every dirty trick in the book to whump his opponent; particularly going for knees and joints. Hard to fight if you can't stand.

Tony was no ordinary muscle though. He was blessed with the Gift of Gab and an uncanny string of luck. Coupled with his penchant for brawls and impeccable 'work ethic', it was short time before he became a regular stable in Vegas. This didn't come without price, though, as rival families and police alike planned to do him in. Even his own Capo began alienating the young upstart when he got a bit too lucky at the Family tables.

With no where to turn and his silver tongue only going so far to save his skin, it was another stroke of luck, for Tony at least, when the nukes fell. While the mysterious Mr. House managed to stop the majority of the warheads, a few glorious bastards made it through, wiping out the Casino, the Family, everything...except Tony.

It took three months, three months for his to turn. In the mean time, he made his way to the largely unaffected portions of Las Vegas and began looking for work. Billing himself as "The Luckiest Asshole Alive" no Casino would lend him chips after hearing his story. With no way to make money off the tables and slots, Tony turned to the only other thing he was good at. Signing up as a caravan guard for an up-start who looked to get rich scavenging off the surrounding ruins, he amassed a tidy sum and quite a few stories as other would-be traders had the same idea.

Fast forward three-months. The other guards had been complaining of nausea and headaches, the trader himself stopping the caravan every few miles to vomit, all the while tony's skin began turning a sickly green and peeling. Returning from the expedition early for some R&R as well as medical treatment, the group were greeted by news of 'zombies', once normal people who had their skins rot away. Friends, family, didn't matter, almost half the population had become 'infected'. Banishing the ghouls from town, Tony among them, the people of Vegas gave them next to no supplies, fearing more for their own safety.

Along their journey South, whereas the 'Normies' had side effects from his presence, his fellow ghouls seemed to enjoy Tony's company, some even deciding to follow him when he set off from the plotted course of meandering to Arizona, instead heading towards Potosi Mountain, hoping to use it's famed Broadcast Facility to find other survivors the Nation over. The thirty mile trek through irradiated desert was surprisingly easy given the small groups lack of resources, essentially living off the radiation emanating both from the surrounding area as well as from Tony himself.

Unfortunately, when the clan of forty-odd ghouls finally arrived, the broadcast towers were is disarray, destroyed in the blast. With no where else to go, the lot of them turned to their De Facto leader, the one they referred to as Bright Tony, his status as Glowing One becoming more evident each day and separating him visually from the others.

Fast forward two hundred years, the over forty ghouls who settled atop Potosi Mountain remain. They have wrestled from the unforgiving climate a life of relative peace. Far enough from the eyes of New Vegas and the Mojave in general, they went largely unnoticed for over two centuries...until the day Caesar's Legion failed to take Hoover Dam. while their defeat was crippling in both morale and numbers, fragments and splinters of the Legion escaped the carnage. One such splinter of the Legion would flee towards Potosi Mountain.

The Ghoul City of Potosi was caught unware when the invasion began. Though the Legionnaires were predominately fresh recruits, they easily overtook the small settlement under the command of an imposing Praetorian by the name of
Firmitas, or 'Strength to Resist'. Many were struck down before word even reached Bright Tony, long since the Protector and Leader of the small town. He had heard word of the Legion and NCR in the area but believed they were safe.

Dashing towards the base of the mountain from where the Legion were quickly ascending, tony release a blast of radiation, both poisoning his foes and healing those that lie wounded rather than dead. It wasn't much but it might just keep them breathing long enough to end this. Calling once again on his Silver Tongue, Bright Tony called to the Praetorian. Admittedly, he knew little about the Legion itself, but he had heard enough stories and his luck had never failed him before.

Invoking a duel, Tony challenged Firmitas to a fight to the death rater than watch his people be slaughtered. Firmatas was surprised to find the values of the Legion in a 'mutant' but was honour bound to accept. Instructing his Recruits to stay their blades, the veteran legionnaire asked Tony to choose his weapon as an unarmed brawl against a Praetorian was suicide. Much to his amazement, the 'mutant' selected no weapon at all.

A hard fought battle ensued, both Firmitas and Tony's fighting styles dependent on crippling their opponent, Firmitas gaining the upper hand with his Ballistic Fist. Fortunately, the Legion had instilled in Firmitas a code of honour when in came to combat that life in Las Vegas didn't. Concentrating a blast of radiation at close range, Tony was able to momentarily blind his opponent, giving him the opening he needed to snap the Legionnaire's neck.

Placing his fallen foe's weapon on his wrist, Tony turned to the Recruits awaiting an ambush. Staring back at him were not the monsters he had heard about, they were young men, barely out of their teens, who had been indoctrinated since childhood. They gazed fearfully upon the Glowing One, unsure of what to do next. All around him, the broken bodies of his fellow ghouls rose to their feet slowly, the radiation healing the majority of their wounds. All eyes turned to Bright Tony.

Raising the gauntlet high above his head, Tony decreed that the Recruits were Recruits no longer, and now served the Potosi Clan as The New Breed. Taking the name of Firmitas the Greater to better accommodate his new followers, the New Breed formed a reluctant alliance with the Clan beneath their new leader.

It has been twenty-five years since that day and the New Breed and Potosi Clan have all but become one. Though the distinction between ghoul and human is still very much there, the hatred that once festered in the New Breed's hearts has long since died, giving way to the peaceful existence of the Clan... until now.

Whispers of a threat far more sinister than any yet posed to the Mojave blow in from New Vegas and the surrounding areas. This is where our story begins.


Other: Aside from natural emissions and incandescent glow, Firmitas has been drained of the majority of his radiation from years of sustaining his fellow ghouls, the final straw being the highly concentrated blast used to blind the Legion Praetorian. Without his 'Glow' the nearly fifty ghouls will begin to weaken as they have become accustomed to their constant irradiated state, eventually dying.

Leaving Potosi Mountain in the hands of the New Breed, Firmitas has set out to find a new source of livelihood for his Clan, as well as others seeking refuge and protection. As his body is literally toxic to non-ghouls, and the fact unprotected proximity to others of his kind drains him of his strength, modifications have been made to Firmitas' Praetorian armour.

Most importantly, a layer of insulating lead has been fitted to keep his body from leaking rads into the area as well as keeping him safe from other ghouls' passive draining of his 'Glow'. A side effect of this is a denser variation providing more damage absorption, but at the cost of mobility. Coupled with the addition of a salvaged Geiger Counter to monitor levels of expelled radiation, Firmitas is able to dwell among non-ghouls with little to no negative effects.

Beyond this, several cosmetic changes have been made to make it obvious to NCR soldiers that Firmitas is no friend of the Legion though he bears it's name. Among these changes include recolouring the armour's cape, shoulder pads, and bracers to a jet black and affixing pants instead of the Legion's preferred battle-skirts, also black. Wearing an equally black duster, sunglasses, bandanna, and cowboy hat, from a distance one would believe him a simple Desperado, albeit one trying far too hard to look menacing, rather than a Glowing One.

The down side to so much precaution is two-fold as, should Firmitas remove his disguise he would surely be attacked and, should he remove his armour, any surrounding humans would suffer ill-effects as well as himself should any other ghouls be present.

Name: Alison Milton

Race: Human

Age: Twenty seven.

Appearance: 5”8, 132 lbs.



Main Skills: Barter, Speech, Sneak.

Weapons: 9mm pistol, Hunting rifle and a switchblade.

Attire: Simple wasteland outfit with a King’s leather jacket often over the top.

Equipment: A collection of things due to her trading lifestyles, although she won’t hold possession over many things as she often tries to shift and sell them as well as buying from other people.

History: Alison doesn’t remember exactly where she was born but to the best of her knowledge she was born in the area around New Vegas. Her parents weren’t exactly adventurous folk and so the outside world is practically a place she knows very little of in her younger life apart from what she heard from the outside world and they were never really good things. As a child she lived in Westside, playing out on the streets and hearing stories of the fiends. Her father was a simple tradesman, often selling and stocking alcohol from travelling caravans. It was one of the only times that he left into the wider Mojave that it seemed fate wasn’t on his side and he was brought attacked by Raiders. It was nothing though really, just another story. To survive, her mother began a rather shady life with the local men. She was a young mother after all and people paid a good price for her. By the time Alison was a young woman, her relationship had practically been severed with her mother after her remaining parent turned to drugs – maybe to numb the pain of her failed life. Their new life they’d tried to make in Freeside had become practically nothing and Alison guessed when contact with her mother was lost completely a night with a client at the Atomic Wrangler had gone a little too far. Alison decided to become like her father and set up a small merchant business. Not many people were happy but Alison had a smart mouth and a lot of sense and soon people softened to the idea. Besides, when she couldn’t get what she wanted through words, King’s members and the like were persuaded around by other means. Alison finally got to travel and meet new people – often other businesses and even made a suitable few caps from her developing sales.

Eleanor "Ella" Lewis
Human
25 Years Old

Profession: Doctor/Scientist



Main Skills: Science, Medicine, Survival

Weapons: Standard 9mm Handgun, 3.5'' utility knife

Attire: Wasteland Doctor Fatigues, A Wasteland Lab Coat, Rattan Cowboy Hat

Equipment:
Camper's Backpack
-Scientist's Kit: Test tubes, beakers, forceps, a few basic chemicals, a hot plate, rubber stoppers, papers, pencils, a microscope, and a few petri dishes
-Used and unused audio logs
-A few cans of canned food
-Several plastic water bottles varying from a range of filled to empty
-A half full bottle of Vodka
-Flint and a striker for fires
-A rugged outdoor sleeping bag
-A few sterile doctor instruments and about five stimpaks
-Two Rad-Away packages

Medic Satchel
-Ten stimpaks
-Sterile doctor instruments (scalpel, thermometer, etc)
-Two rolls of bandages
-A depleted bottle of painkillers
-Two used rags

Belt Strappings
-A canteen
-A small bag containing a roll of bandages, a stimpak, and box of Salisbury Steaks
-Two near empty bottles of painkillers that store various odds and ends (short-severed section of bandages, bits of jerky and various nuts, a few pils of rad-x, and a small number of bottle caps

History:
Ella is a native of the Boneyard, infamous of the Followers' University. It was there that she was raised by really pro-NCR family, but she was the only one who really didn't follow her siblings' footsteps and signed on for any position directly involving the NCR. Instead, Ella found a certain desire to join the Followers, due to her boasting about being the smartest within the family, and because she really didn't want to sell herself short by enlisting into the NCR. She figured that the Followers were a lot more unique and memorable which appealed to her greatly. She wanted renown for her 'natural' smarts and abilities so she joined when she was of age.

Ella studied in the Followers' University under the categories of Biology and Anatomy simply because they were said to be the 'toughest' subjects. While Ella did okay in the University, she still claims it was easy. If someone hadn't notice it by now, Ella is a really proud, boastful woman, which kind of separates her from the rest of the Followers. While it may get on some people's nerves, she does know when to 'suck up' her pride and thank someone when she needed help even though she isn't good at it. Still, that is a rarity and she really must have needed help or the other person is demanding a thank you or something. Also, she is reserved in her prideful ways when dealing with the less fortunate due to the fact that she caused a rather large number of the people she helped complained about it.

The move to the Mojave Wasteland was a tactical move made by her, of course. She wanted to see more of a frontier and to do more exciting stuff, so when the need for volunteers was brought up, she happily responded. The staff at the Mormon Fort were thankful for her help but not too thankful for her company so decided it was best to send her out into the field. Her job is to make house calls to outlying towns and to help any way she can. She is supposed to travel with NCR patrols but sometimes likes to hoof it by herself in that dangerous, dangerous Mojave.

Name: Judith Greene

Race: Human

Age: 28

Profession: Studying under Dr. Usanagi.



Main Skills: Guns, Lockpick, And Medicine

Weapons: 9mm pistol, 10mm pistol, Knife

Attire: Just normal clothes. Black t-shirt, blue jeans, black boots, medium sized black bag on her back.

Equipment: In a medium size black bag are three stimpacks, Food, Ammunition, Some water, Medkit, Lock picks, Small bedroll.

History: Judith was the second born from Mr. and Mrs. Greene. Her parents, Judith, and her two brothers lived NCR sharecropper farms. Her father and brother were very hardworking working on anything that needed taking care of. She however was stuck with her mother taking on the women’s role of keeping up the house hold. She would sometimes get to go out with her brothers while they did their small part for the ‘town’. On a hot day raiders came thru the town. Three made their way towards Judith’s place pushing down the door. Mrs. Greene went to Judith protecting her. While Mr. Green made his way for the boys. He was however too late to save the youngest child as one of the raiders had killed the small child right way. Mr. Greene went after the raiders in hopes his two other children and wife could escape. Their mother had to drag Judith’s older brother away as he wanted to help his father take revenge on the raiders that killed his younger brother.

Judith and the remaining members of her family made their way toward the area where New Vegas as they felt they could no longer go back to their old life. They got news from the people in the town who had also fled that they seen Judith’s father die before their eyes. This put a toll on the family mostly on her older brother as he felt he could have saved his father if his mother did not drag him away. While slowly healing Judith started to learn to lockpick for fun to have something to do while traveling towards New Vegas. One day Judith was out finding things to lockpick when she heard her mother’s screams she ran outside towards her mother. Once she made it outside she was knocked down and blacked out. One she came to her leg was wrapped up in bandages and her brother was at her bedside. He told her that they had got attacked and their mother stayed behind giving him the chance to save Judith. It was hard for her to accept that her mother was now dead. After she got better her brother showed her their new home at Freeside. Judith started studying under Dr. Usanagi as she wanted to help people in need. While in her free time she would volunteer and help out at the Old Mormon Fort.

Name: Samuel Roosevelt

Race: Ghoul

Age: 72

Profession: Former Enclave Soldier

Appearance: His hair has fallen out by now, although he can’t remember his own physical description too well since he hides himself underneath a full set of Enclave Hellfire Armour and refuses to look at himself.

Main Skills: Energy Weapons, Sneak and Speech

Weapons: Sniper Rifle, Plasma Rifle and Ripper

Attire: Enclave Hellfire Armour with Enclave Hellfire Helmet

Equipment: Super-Stimpaks, Canteen, Bedroll, Microfusion Cells and Pre-War books

History: A proud former soldier who served under President Eden, Samuel was born a patriot and immediately surrendered his innate abilities and skills to the servitude of the Enclave whom he believed to be the true sole heir to America. As a proud countryman, it was his duty to serve with them and spread Eden’s message of returning America to its former glory and the beautiful status it had once enjoyed throughout the world.

Preferring to deal death via the aid of his superior ability as a sniper, Samuel trained under top-ranking Enclave officers and sharpened his skills to reach levels of destructive grace, learning how to move swiftly and silently even whilst equipped with Power Armour. The friend who has helped him conquer more foes than anyone is his trusty Sniper rifle, named Freedom. The blazing energy weapon had helped him dispatch more foes than he could count. He preferred it this way… it was less personal.

After climbing the ranks ahead of his fellow soldiers, he was one of the few granted the prestigious Hellfire Armour and put it to good use. Instead of switching to the bulky incinerators that his peers were using, he stuck to his Sniper Rifle and was able to improve the unit’s efficiency to a much greater magnitude. He did not start arming himself with a Ripper in addition to Freedom until a particularly nasty experience with one of the denizens of the Deathclaw Sanctuary. Not taking into account a Deathclaw’s vastly heightened perception as compared to a human, he engaged in the same tactics when sniping in the area and almost paid for it. Had it not been for the sturdiness of the Hellfire Armour, the enraged Deathclaw would have made quick work of him.

It was around this time that the host of Galaxy News Radio, a man who called himself Threedog, began to speak of the ‘Lone Wanderer’. This teenage, one-man army was taking the Wasteland by storm and providing a helpful hand for its citizens. As if this wasn’t enough to perk Eden’s interest, it soon transpired that the Wanderer’s father was in charge of a water purification project known as ‘Project Purity’. Ignoring his inner objections, he accepted his enlistment into the group of soldiers that would storm Project Purity and take it over. It was a messy affair and one which struck a chord in Samuel’s conscience. He knew that Eden and the Enclave fought for the greater good, but he could not bring himself to partake in the brutal hunt for this grieving teenager. After staying on the upper level of the Jefferson Memorial, he was shocked to learn that the Wanderer had, not only escaped, but taken down scores of Enclave soldiers on their way out. His underestimation of the teenager’s abilities may have spared his own life.
After being disciplined for his inaction, he was set with a new squad whose job was to spring up an Enclave encampment near the KT8 Broadcast Tower after picking up a Chinese radio signal. Barely a day after erecting the new and temporary settlement, Samuel was charged with exploring the area for any potential risks and dangers. This proved to be the end of the life he had loved and cherished so dearly.

Venturing to the southwest, he came across nothing of importance besides a barren stretch of scorched, dead land. It wasn’t until he saw the ground start to incline that he fell over and choked, ripping his helmet off and throwing up onto the ground as his Geiger counter begun to tick faster and faster. The sound of it jarred his head as he picked his helmet back up and dragged himself across the unforgiving, hot ground, collapsing just outside of Vault 87’s area of radiation. Upon waking up, he vomited once more and stood up shakily, his Geiger counter clearly indicating that he had just experienced a severe influx of radiation and was in an advanced state of radiation sickness. For three agonising days, he staggered and crawled his way back to the northeast, barely surviving the arduous journey had it not been for the purified water in his canteen. Emaciated and starving as he reached the temporary camp they had set up three days ago, he fell to his knees in horror as he saw the corpses of his fellow soldiers in a fresh state of decomposition with scavenging animals feeding on their bodies. Screaming in anguish, he unsheathed his Ripper and lunged at the radroaches and mole rats, cutting them into pieces with vindictive fury.

He was not fooled for a second: he knew that feeble and pathetic creatures like mole rats and radroaches had no chance against experienced Enclave soldiers who were armed to the teeth. They were murdered by a much greater force and, although he never found out who did it, he did find that the killer went on to loot the location where the Chinese radio signal was being broadcast from. As he climbed into the sewer, he found the centuries-old skeletons of two Chinese remnant spies along with the radio that they had been using to broadcast their message. Whoever had killed his fellow soldiers had also ransacked this place but, oddly, had not taken the bottles of purified water. After inspecting them carefully, Samuel drank them with great relish, quenching his thirst and climbing back out into the Wasteland. It would be a long journey home.

As the days went by, his condition deteriorated and he begun to lose confidence in himself, avoiding any and all conflicts. He had not fired his rifle for an eternity. After he ran out of clean drinking water once more, his situation became much direr. Once again feeling as if he was teetering over the brink of death, his travels led him to the Potomac River and he collapsed at its side, pulling his helmet off weakly and drinking desperately. The irradiated water burned at his throat and he lifted his head for a moment, his eyes wide open above the river.

He stared at the stranger looking back at him.

He gasped and whirled around.

No one.

He turned back.

He stared at himself.

He felt a hoarse scream escape his throat and recoiled from his reflection, falling back onto the ground and clutching at his face, the tears he had been holding back for days erupting like waterfalls of despair. He slammed his fists into the ground and screamed and screamed, unable to face the truth of what had happened to him.

He could not remember how long he had stayed there, but after putting his helmet back on and deciding to leave the Enclave for good, he set off towards another land. He would have to find his place in the Wasteland again. His heart was still with the Enclave, but they would have executed him after finding him in this state… He was sub-human now, a ghoul, unworthy of serving Eden or America.
It was a hard decision to leave, but choosing where to go was not. He had heard of New Vegas and its status as a bastion of civilisation so there was no question in his mind. It was a gruelling journey that took years, but he eventually found himself in a land that had just recovered from a major conflict between two rival factions known as the NCR and Caesar’s Legion. With the NCR’s victory and the Legion’s retreat, it seemed that the area had gained some kind of semblance of civility and peace. He chose to inhabit a shack in an extremely secluded area where any factions, specifically the BoS, would not bother him in relation to the armour he wore. Although he had accepted his ghoulification, he had not come to terms with it and still, to this day, keeps his promise of never permanently removing his Hellfire Armour. It would be mutinous to forget his roots, especially in a world which would greatly benefit from the Enclave and their vision: a return to America’s former glory.

Perhaps he could be the one to do that under the name of the Enclave. After all, patriotism is ubiquitous, and the Mojave is no exception…

Other: Freedom has been painted with the colours of the American flag. Although Samuel hides himself under his armour, it is not for deception. The reason he hides it is disgust. His voice clearly gives away that he’s a ghoul, so anyone he talks to will be able to tell. He can be very intimidating, hence the tag skill of Speech.

Name: Delilah Hendrix

Appearance:

Race: Human/Hispanic

Gender: Female

Age: 23

Profession: Gun for Hire

Main Skills: Medicine, Repair, Small Guns

Weapons: .357 Magnum, Cowboy Repeater.

Attire: Boomer's Cap, Wasteland Fatigues

Equipment: Stimpak (5), Purified Water (2), Pork and Beans (1), Pre-War Books (2), Teddy Bear, .357 Magnum Round (15)

History: Born to a doctor and a merchant from the Crimson Caravan, Delilah grew up in a settlement near Freeside, raised by her mother who was with the Followers of the Apocolypse. Heavily influenced by the Kings, she grew up to be a fiery and rowdy young woman who had even punched a girl and took her teddy bear which she still keeps to this day. Since the age of sixteen, she would always lie about her age to get in to the peep shows... and not just for the men. Taught about medicine and science by her mother, she always saw bigger opportunities. Though she is at a very certain peace with a neutral karma, she has still done good here and there with what her mother taught her. Though she sometimes performs these well-meaning acts, for the most part, Delilah is usually a very dominant liar and cheat who wishes to either one day take the Lucky 38 for her own or build an entire army to take the Mojave by storm and show the others who's boss. Unfortunately, she finds herself at an all time low, becoming a gun for hire since the age of nineteen where she had met her father who taught her how to shoot during one of his caravan routes. Living from a trailer somewhere near a garage, she also repairs junk in her spare time, including an old pre-war motorcycle. Delilah has proven herself a match to meet, escaping slavers and taking down raiders wherever she goes. One of the things she had always wondered about was taking one grand journey in to the Sierra Madre, hearing of a grand treasure beyond anyone's wildest dreams. For the most part... she believes it to be a hoax.

Name: Cavana Breen

Race: Human

Age: 21

Appearance:

Profession: Chef



Main Skills: Survival, lockpick, guns

Weapons: Nothing but her fists baby.

Attire: Vault 24 jumpsuit.

Equipment: A Pip-Boy.

History: Vault 24 was a test vault. Its purpose was to see just how greedy people could get. Every year the vault would have a lottery. The winner was to be escorted to a blocked off section of the vault known as Heaven. It was rumored that the walls were made of gold here, that every meal consisted of lobster and steak, and that your every need was attended to. That was your life goal in Vault 24. You wanted to win the lottery to get to Heaven. The catch was that you alone could go, and you could never go back to the other parts of the vault again. No more family. No more friends. Just you, and the other lucky bastards that made it. That’s what happened to Cavana’s father soon after she was born. His name was drawn, and he just couldn’t refuse.

She was raised by her mother then, who did a good enough job. Eat your vegetables, wash behind your ears, do your chores, it was an average upbringing. Cavana’s mother was the one who taught her to cook, and even passed down a few lockpicking skills from her time as a young ruffian. It was mostly due to the fact that the bathroom door lock would get stuck seven times out of ten, but mother would look the other way if her daughter decided to sneak out at night and swipe a few ingredients from the cafeteria.

When Cavana was twelve, a swarm of radroaches thought it would be a good idea to make a nest in the Breen family quarters, and killed her mother before help could arrive. When they finally did, those little monsters were all over the young Cavana, and wounded her pretty extensively. She’s been petrified of anything with an exoskeleton ever since. After that, the local mechanic and his wife decided to take her in, mostly because they couldn’t have children. The Stevens, they were called. Mr. Stevens mostly fixed the guards guns, and gave an old rifle he fixed up to Cavana for her fifteenth birthday. She could have very well been a guard if she wanted too, but was instead assigned as a cook.

Well, Cavana was living life until the age of twenty-one, when her name was drawn from the lottery. The Stevens insisted she went to Heaven, for it was a better life. Little did she know that upon accepting, trouble was afoot. The blocked off section of the vault was just a simple hallway. The guards proceeded to knock Cavana out, drag her down the hall and through the vault door. There was no heaven. Only purgatory.

Other: N/A

Remember, for all information Fallout, go to: http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Fallout_Wiki

[BloodVendetta]

Kael Braddock's wounds had almost healed completely, the Followers of the Apocalypse had taken damn good care of him, by his standards at least, and the physician currently re-wrapping his abdomen with fresh gauze bandages had told him that he would most likely be able to leave in the morning. It would be good to get back on his feet and re-apply himself to his profession in private security; he was ready to leave his past behind him and get back to what he really loved to do...protect people.

He had never considered himself a very lucky individual, for the most part having to fight, scratch, and claw for everything that he had ever accomplished and everything that he owned, he had earned, but this time things were different...this time, his survival truly was a gift of luck. He thought of the most current years of his life, all that he had done, the trail of blood he had left in his wake, an almost decade of vengeance and bloodshed. He actually smiled at the thought, for he was relieved that now it was safe to say that those days were behind him. No longer would he dedicate his life to acts of murder and revenge, but to his job as a guardian for hire. He was unsure of where it was exactly that he would go next, but as his father had taught him, 'you go where the job takes you'. Kael had always considered his father a wise man, the wisest actually, but he was sure that's how every little boy and girl felt about their parents. He missed him, his father that is, and thinking about him was always a bittersweet experience. He pulled out the personal journal that his father had left him out of his pack, it was a lot like the Wasteland Survival Guide that had been produced two and a half decades ago, but better. Not only did it have a priceless amount of sentimental meaning to Kael, but Cade's journal also had tales of his journeys, and pages upon pages of descriptions of locations and personal notes that had saved Kael more than a few times. Yeah...he missed his father.

Flipping through the journal, Kael found the page describing the horrific tale of the first time his father had ever come into contact with a Deathclaw, one of his favorite stories in the journal, and began reading it for probably the thousandth time. A wide grin formed on his face as the words he read were being narrated by his father's voice in his mind. A few moments later he paused for a moment, reaching for his pack again, that was placed against his bunk, and pulling out a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla as well as a flask of whiskey. He took a large swig of the bitter alcohol, then chugged the delicious soda afterwards...a ritual of sorts that he did frequently. He loved the bitterness followed by the sweet, refreshing flavor of the Sass, they were his favorite drink, hell they were probably one of his favorite things about life besides breathing and his job; damn did he love that beverage.

After finishing up his drink, he turned his attention back to his father's journal, "Hmm...I'll finish it up later." He said to himself, referring to the story he had began reading, bookmarking the page and placing the book back into his pack, which he then grabbed. He stood and stretched, happy that there seemed to be no more pain coming from the critical gunshot wound that he had received weeks ago, now nothing more than a nasty scar covered in bandages. He was glad to be better, and he was getting stir crazy as hell just sitting around all day, so Kael figured that he would walk around the Old Mormon Fort and see what all was going on.

[Gray Requiem]

A long-haired man gradually awoke from a mostly comfortable sleep. He was allowed and given temporary lodging with the Followers of the Apocalypse at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside, New Vegas. The man name’s was Elias Smith, a New Canaanite missionary, who had just made his way to the Mojave Wasteland from Zion Canyon. Elias had come to the Mojave seeking to help those unable to help themselves as well as spread the word of God. His mission was clear: protect the innocent and provide aid to good people in any way he could. The adherent believed this was his calling and that he was truly serving a greater purpose.

Despite his pious tendencies, the cleric had a moral code different from the normal religious person. The beliefs and principles Elias followed was something he had witnessed from a fellow New Canaanite. That disciple’s name was Joshua Graham, also known as the Burned Man. The philosophy was that in order to save a life, sometimes another needed to be taken. Elias came to understand this way of life quite well. Even though he followed this code, the cleric would only resort to violence if it was his last option; hence, he preferred to resolve any conflicts through words before actions.

Elias was now here in the Mojave Wasteland, hoping to continue his work as a spiritual advocate and a Good Samaritan. And the Followers’ base of operations was a great place for Elias to start off. The Followers were always altruistic humanitarians willing to help, treat, and educate any wastelander who came to them. The missionary arrived from the Northern Passage and had quickly made his way to the Old Mormon Fort. He had been in the area for only a few days, providing spiritual guidance to those who asked for it and praying for those around him. During his stay, Elias would often volunteer with any work that the Followers needed done, usually helping tend to the sick or wounded as well as dealing with the occasional misfit or troublemaker. The cleric had come to like his line of work for the most part, but in his mind, he felt he could make more of a difference.

After having taken care of a few vagrants from earlier in the day, the missionary was getting up from a small, well-needed rest. As he made his way over to a nearby end table, the long-haired man was considering possible tasks and deeds he could perform for the day. Once seated in an old sturdy chair, Elias retrieved his personal Bible from his pack and began reading the worn book.

[BaneThanatos]

A large man suited up in an old T-45d, that has obviously seen more combat than it should have, Walks out of the Elders room after having a heated argument over what the BoS should be doing as of this moment. Darren was insisting that they push an advantage over on the NCR since they are very thinly spread and would make for some easy targets, But the Elder insists that it isn't the time to be doing this that the Mojave isn't ready for such a large change. Everyone besides the elder had stopped listening to what allot of people were saying that Darren had lost his mind, well at least until now the elder denying everything that Darren says harshly. After an argument that seems to have lasted around an hour Darren ends up storming out of the crappy bunker and is on his way out. As he is leaving he gets the attention of some of the other BoS members most just shake their head in disgust at him, as Darren isn't the most praised out of all the BoS, he hasn't even been promoted to a knight as no one trusts him enough leaving him a journeyman. As Darren exits the bunker in Hidden Valley and out into the Mojave he straps on his helmet and there he decides its time to go against the will of the elder just this once. Darren swearing to himself that he will end this time of 'peace' as he wants the BoS to their former glory and to stop hiding, and Darren doesn't care how he achieves it he will do anything in his power to get to the Brotherhood back in power.

As Darren is walking out of the fenced off area he turns back in shaking his head slowly "why can't they just see that we need to get back in power." Darren turns back around looking out onto the empty Mojave wasteland and sighs "they are just a bunch of fools.." patting his Trusty ole Tri laser rifle on his back he heads out only having enough food and water on him for a couple days as he eats very sparsely he chooses to not carry much food on him, but instead of the food he carries more ammunition as he finds that it serves him better. Darren mumbles "I'll show them all" as he heads out into the Mojave not having any real idea on where he should be going so he just heads off into the direction of Prim. Remembering some of the paladins saying there are some slavers or what not there. Darren couldn't think of a better place to head off to first. Stopping in his tracks as and thinks to himself 'me vs a bunch of slavers..I may need some more people with me..and i doubt they will be any of my Brothers or Sisters'. Sighing Darren turns around and starts to head on the road to New Vegas. Darren prefers to take the main roads now since the NCR and the BoS have been sending patrols out to clear the Mojave to make it safer for trade, but still its not always safe from everything especially bandits, but from his experiences in the Mojave bandits avoid anyone with power armor. With all that aside Darren sets out on his journey to New Vegas maybe to find some other people with the same ideals as him.

(Meh First posts gotta love them x.x)

[Frizan]

It was high noon, and Alexander was at the top of the Jacobstown watchtower, as he usually is. He stared down the sights of his laser rifle and peered down the road. Big horners, mantises, a radroach....it was a very slow day. He grabbed his pistol and spun it in his hand, something he did when he was bored. He saw someone else do it in an old holo....what was his name? Revolver something? Bah, Alex couldn't remember. It was snowing in Jacobstown again.....hell, it was the only place in the Mojave where it EVER snowed. No wonder it was such a successful resort before the war. Something caught his eye.....but it was just a Nightkin skulking about. Marcus was talking to some of the other supermutants about going out and hunting and other things. Well, even if it's boring, at least it's quiet, and nobody bugs him.

Well, one person does, but Alex is fine with her. He heard Alexis climb up the ladder to the nest of the watchtower. She sat down next to Alex on a small bench that was fitted in the tower. She was wearing her armor more for warmth than anything. "How can you stand to be up here all day? It's freezing!" Alex chuckled and shrugged. "My coat gives me plenty of warmth. Besides, I'm naturally sturdy. I can handle the cold just fine." Alexis rolled her eyes. "You boys and your tough-guy routine...You thirsty? I got some sarsaparilla from the machines." She hands Alex one of the cold beverages. They both loved the stuff. "Thanks a lot. I am parched, actually..." They both opened up their bottle and took a long drink. "You know, Alex, I think we have a very good life up here...we can both make a living..." Alex spun his gun again. "And nobody's dumb enough to attack a supermutant settlement, not to mention we've got Henry and Calamity. But..." Alexis raised her eyebrow. "But....? What?" "Well....I kind of want some...adventure, you know? We can't stay here forever, right?" Alexis leaned on the railing. "But where would we go? It's called a wasteland for a reason, Alex, there's nothing there." Alex sighed and leaned on his laser rifle. "Yeah, maybe."

[PoisonLilies]

Judith woke up stretching as she did so, sliding out of the beaten up bed, she walked over to her old rusting desk. Picking up her blue jeans and slipping them on before walking out the door to where her brother was sitting. “Good morning.” She spoke with a bright smile. Her older brother looked at her with an irritated face. “Why are you so happy in the mornings?” He asked Judith with the same expression. She just smiled and rolled her eyes before picking up her bag before heading out the front door. “I think I will stay over a little late to volunteer this time as I had to come home so early yesterday.” Judith walked out right as her brother yelled at her to stay safe and not to wonder around while heading to her destination. Judith however was not very good at staying on the path to Old Mormon Fort as she loved to try and find new locks to pick. She sadly could not find anything to lockpick, not for lack of trying, but she did find a couple of things to use to pick locks. All in all not such a bad walk to Mormon Fort as she could always use picks because just one slight move could break the pick off in the lock.

Judith finally made it to Old Mormon Fort walking to the one in charge she got her first orders. A small child had fallen and most likely broken something in her right arm. So she made her way to the tent that they had left him in. In her most soothing voice Judith talked with the child while she examined his arm. This kept the child calm but he still would weep out when she pushed down on certain spots. “Good news little one it is not broken but I am going to wrap it up for a week.” Judith got to work with wrapping up the boys arm while she spoke to his mother on the importance of not letting her child do too much with his arm until it was fully healed. Judith smiled as the boy and his mother left the tent. One of the other volunteers walked in asking if Judith would help her change some bandages in another tent. “Of course I will just give me a moment to put some things away.”

After she had finished up around the small tent Judith walked with the young girl to another tent not too far way. Judith loved helping people and doing whatever she could to make sure they did not suffer in pain. She did have a down fall as she could not stand the site of large amounts of blood. Her mind was back to the tent were six people lay in cots her co volunteer worker ask her to change three while she did the other three. Judith just nodded the first two were normal cuts that were healing very well that just needed fresh wrappings, yet the third man wounds seemed to be getting an infection this was always a great worry to Judith. She went to the young lady who brought her to this particular tent asking her to fetch a doctor. The young lady went to do what was told of her. Judith only could do what she was trained she walked back over to the man and started to wash his wounds the best way she could without hurting him while she waited for the doctor.

[3Dog]

Samuel groggily lifted himself off the bedroll he had been sprawled over with such haphazardness, grabbing the helmet at his bedside and fitting it onto his head tightly. He reflected glumly on the days where he used to be able to sleep with the helmet on, but it was something about being a ghoul that made it extremely uncomfortable to lie down for prolonged periods with the dense metal weighing him down. He reasoned that this personal curse of his had affected the strength of his neck muscles, but it could have been a whole host of other reasons. Was he becoming claustrophobic? Or had he just lost his nerve?

It couldn’t have been claustrophobia, he thought, taking in his surroundings and sighing. He had inhabited this dark and gloomy cave for the better part of five years and had not even considered the possibility of the confinement making him uncomfortable. Although the cave did have a certain pressing environment, it was fairly spacious and provided a perfect hideout for him since it was located directly northeast of a town full of super mutants. Their presence kept any troublemakers or snooping looters away from the cave. He had watched Jacobstown and its citizens from afar, admiring their civility yet thoroughly confused on how they were able to subsist so successfully without The Master’s guidance.

If he recalled correctly from the Enclave logs he had so often perused during his time at Raven’s Rock, The Master was a twisted and hideously mutated being who had formerly been a human, only changing after drastic exposure to the Forced Evolutionary Virus. He was also responsible for the creation of these Super Mutants, although these ones displayed a much higher intelligence than the ones he had fought in the Capital Wasteland. The Enclave had always looked down at ‘sub-humans’ such as these and considered them inferior and unworthy of living, as demonstrated by Eden’s attempt to make the water provided by Project Purity poisonous to any being affected by radiation. Ghouls and mutants were all the same and deserved to be exterminated in their eyes, even loyal patriots like himself.

As he pondered the Enclave’s tenets, he realised that they were far from coherent and it was perhaps due to a lack of unison and shared ideology between the former leaders and their subsequent replacements. Eden’s goal, one he followed religiously, was the eradication of all sub-humans. However, if the Enclave was so hell-bent on destroying ghouls and mutants and those poor humans affected by even minuscule amounts of radiation, then why would they throw away their beliefs to create a super soldier via the FEV virus? It was something not many of them spoke of, but his ventures through the massive backlogs of information stored on Enclave computers had informed him of a man named Frank Horrigan, a human soldier that the Enclave purposely infected with the FEV virus in 2236. He was a talisman of destruction and ordered chaos before he was cut down by a tribal warrior, but his existence proved that the Enclave was not beyond using mutants for their own gain whether or not it conflicted with their beliefs. If they had no qualms in employing the aid of a super mutant like Frank Horrigan, then why was it tantamount to a death sentence for him to have returned to Raven Rock as a ghoul? As long as he was willing to serve the President and the country he loved, was that not all that mattered?

Samuel slumped down against the wall near the mouth of the cave, holding his face in his hands as weak beams of sunlight shone through and illuminated the battle scars on his armour. He flipped open the panel on his arm and navigated through a few menus before finding the audio log he wanted. Memories of a better time filled his heart with pain and joy at the same time.

” Did you know, there are those amongst us who would shatter our hopes of peace, order, and security. These radical malcontents don’t care about you, they don’t care about America! All they care about is fulfilling their own selfish desires. Let’s take a tally of these agitators, shall we? There are of course, the raiders. Those anarchistic ruffians who roam the wastes, preying on any and all, stealing, murdering. The so called Brotherhood of Steel. Don’t be fooled by their pseudo-knightly nonsense or supposed connections to the United States Army. These power armoured Boy Scouts are nothing more than common criminals with access to some antiquated technology. Criminals, who have had the audacity to claim this country’s most important military installation, the Pentagon, as their own personal club house. And don’t be fooled America, those who have left the Brotherhood of Steel, branded Outcasts, are just as dangerous, even more so, being in exile. And what about the slavers of Paradise Falls? The frighteningly irradiated ghouls of Underworld? And last but not least, the hideously mutated super mutants that have completely overrun the entire downtown D.C. area? Lawlessness, terror, murder, they're all around us, I know, I know. But not for long, sweet America. Not for long. Oh, no. The Enclave will restore peace, order, and prosperity, to this great nation. And those who oppose us will be removed... forever.”

How he missed President Eden. Even as the words he spoke should have incensed Samuel, he could not help but feel motivated and willing to die for his country. Even as Eden lumped in a bunch of peaceful ghouls who never bothered anybody with murderous scum like raiders and slavers, he wished he could turn the dial back on time and return to Eden and his Enclave. A dark shadow crossed his face as he realised Eden’s ultimate fate, the one no one believed to be possible, was an indirect cause of his own actions. He had extended mercy upon the innocent, grieving teenager who had to fight his way out of the Jefferson Memorial after witnessing the death of his father. At the time, Samuel was proud of himself for retaining his humanity, but now? The only thing he regretted more was venturing into Vault 87’s exclusion zone. It was the Lone Wanderer whose actions led to the destruction of Eden and Raven Rock. What a cruel twist of fate that a completely unremarkable teenager would be the end of America itself.

He attempted to brush his melancholy off by getting back up to his feet, almost stumbling over a glint in the ground. Frustrated, he reached down and grabbed the object firmly, pulling it out forcefully to reveal a nightstalker skull. He frowned and discarded it: he had heard rumours of yet another Wasteland wanderer, the Courier, and his battle with the beasts in this very cave years and years ago. Charleston cave was the birthplace of the terrible plague of mutated beasts that tormented the Wasteland, but at least the Courier had cleaned it out for Samuel’s future comfort. It would hardly be fit for habitation with those monstrosities around.

He traversed to the back of the cave and picked his weapons out of his safe, hoisting them onto his back and attaching them firmly to his armour. He equipped his Sniper rifle and left the cave, crouching down and sneaking into the local woodlands where he would get a better view of the inhabitants of Jacobstown and, hopefully, some fresh game nearby. It would be more than delightful to be able to hunt a bighorner, but in his situation, even a radroach would be fine. His food supplies were running low and if he didn’t find something to kill soon, he would have to trade with Jacobstown. It had been a long time since he had interacted with any intelligent being, but his thoughts in the cave had left him with a much more positive impression of the peaceful super mutants than ever before. After all, the word ‘Evolutionary’ comprised part of the FEV acronym… if they were the next step in evolution, then how bad could they really be?

[Kilo6]

Marcus marched up the old dirt path bordered by pine trees. He was told by a source he had met on his travels that he should explore the near by mountains if he needed some allies in the up coming plan against Pandora's Box. He has been searching for help against them after seeing for himself how heavily guarded the slaver's camp was. Currently was exploring what he thought was a random mountain, but as he followed the road, it seem to get colder and colder as the appearance of pin trees became more common. Then he saw white flecks fall from the sky and land on his outstretched hand.

"Snow..?" He wondered to himself. He had not expected to find any out here in the Mojave Wasteland, so this was a bit of a shock for him. He continued to ascended until he reached the entrance of a resort. He noticed the two super mutants guarding the entrance and immediately dove for cover behind a near by boulder. Marcus retrieved his binoculars from a pouch on his belt and slowly peered over the boulder with him. Apparently he hadn't spotted by anyone yet and he began to observe them. He noted that there was an odd lack of gore and it appeared that the mutants had set up a community under the name of Jacobstown, guessing by the sign. What was most surprising for Marcus was the was the young man and woman chatting in the watch tower.

"I guess I should take this in a cautious manner, they don't seem like normal mutants, but....." Marcus then decided he should just be calm and focused. Slowly, Marcus came out from behind the rock and began to approach the entrance, waving his assault rifle over his head. He did this to make himself noticed, but stayed near the tree line on the side of the road, so he could dive to cover if need be.

"Hello!' Marcus shouted as he came closer.

[Frizan]

Alexis peered off at the treeline bordering Jacobstown. "Hey, hey, Alex! Look! Over there!" Alex picked up his laser rifle with one hand, and picked up a pair of binoculars someone left out on one of the watchtower benches, and used them as a makeshift scope. "Who is that...?" Alex examined the man that was waving his arms. Alex and Alexis heard him shout "Hello!" to them. Marcus, along with the two supermutants at the gate, marched to a respectable, but still visible distance of the stranger. Alex kept his rifle focused on the man, and Marcus shouted out a greeting. "Hello over there! What business do you have here, traveler?"

"Alex, have you seen this guy before?" Alexis asked her brother. "No...never. He doesn't look like a merchant, either. What do you think he's here for?" Alexis shrugged. "Maybe he's looking for a place to stay? I dunno." As Alex became more accustomed to the man's position, he set down the binoculars and held his rifle with both hands. This steadied his aim substantially. It would be a challenging shot if the stranger were to cause trouble, as he was hiding behind the treeline, but this didn't really worry Alex. Marcus had a super-sledge which he was VERY good with, and the gate guards were sporting light machine guns. Even if Alex missed, Marcus and the guards were not only much closer, but had rapid-fire weaponry at their disposal. Marcus spoke again. "We are a peaceful supermutant settlement. If you behave yourself, you can enter Jacobstown."

[Zadkiel]

The audible sound emitted by Dresher's .308 could be heard off in the far distance as the bullet made its way through the yards across from him, and his unfortunate prey. The bullet whipped through the air, pierced the metal plating of the Raider's helmet, and rip the insides of the raider's head up so violently that there was hardly anything left that resembled the man's now grotesque head. His comrades that were around him, now just only three left in this small raiding squad, began to behave in a chaotic frenzy, searching for the signs of their assassin. Another round plopped off from the distance, punching through the chest-piece of another raider's leather armor, tearing through the insides and ripping straight through, shutting the body down almost instantly. Two dead bodies, two laser rifles on the ground, with gore and organs scattered about from the .308's deadly penetration on the first head shot. The two remaining raiders had already began running by the time the second bullet had landed its mark, and not but a few seconds after the second death, a third shot was heard. This round lodged its self deep in the third raider's leg, crippling him and sending the raider face-first to the earth. A four short sounded, the grim reaper's evolutionist's herald, and landed right in the crippled man's other leg, effectively preventing him from fleeing, submitting him to having to crawl away in a painful, bloody, mess. The fourth raider kept running, and running. Two dead, one left for dead, and one only being left alive to tell the tale, and scare away any future raiders from hitting the Las Vegas Clinic, posted just a short ways out from the main hub of humanity on the Strip -- if one could call it a bastion for humanity, for monsters and demons in the flesh of men and women receded there, in Dresher's mind -- and with that, he scoped the visually exposed area around the clinic, keeping a vigilant watch around, posted safely on top of the room with a self-made sniper's perch formed through an eroded portion of the upper wall.

-

Several boxes of .308 ammo -- supplied by the good doctor in the room beneath him -- was organized neatly to his right on top of very short end-table, the legs having been cut drastically low to provide the necessary height for them. The wall its self, was reinforced with a wooden frame of about three inches thick, supporting several crudely cut and fashioned sheets of metal of varying length in between the wooden frames and the wall its self. His canteen was rested on the ground to his left, with an empty can of pork and beans discarded behind him. There were several empty .308 casings scattered around the roof near him, indicating that he'd either been very active for that day, or had been posted there for quite a while. Just a few meters behind him was his bedroll, sprawled out along the roof's top. In the center of the roof, a recently cut out expansion which allowed for the roof-top sniper's position to be reached was found, with an equally crude wooden ladder attached to the top lip that ran down the wall which made the center hallway of the clinic's inside. The wall ran around the entire roof's frame, requiring anyone who wanted to target him with small-arms fire to gain a height advantage over him, which was near impossible given the lay out of the buildings around him. His revolver, was safe at his side on the ground, easily within reach if someone tried to climb up the hatch behind him. It was required that anyone who wanted to come up, had to call out first. He could hear anyone climbing up the steps, more than fair enough warning for him to prepare for a flanking attack. Just an old professional's mind assuring perimeter defense at work.

-

A female's voice could be heard from below, calling out to Dresher as it grew louder when a second call was heard, the doctor's weight on the ladder barely making a noise as she climbed up. Once her head was peaking over the top of the lip, she called to him again in her soft, friendly voice. "Hey! Uh, mister "308", sir. More bandits?" It was an often asked question between him and Dr. Usanagi, and it was always met with the same answer from the man, though partially altered this time. "Yeah, two dead, one critically wounded, fourth one allowed to run, this time. Fourth scouting party I've seen this week. Maybe letting one escape alive, this time, will make them stop. For awhile, anyways." His voice was heavy, lined with plenty of gruff, and was mixed in with a type of accent that some folks might have called "wholesome, friendly, warming" if you'd minus out the fact he never turned to face the doctor. She was silent for awhile, before simply returning down below. The Follows of the Apocalypse hired him on as a freelancer, to keep the clinic safe from recently increasing raider activity, especially from Fiends. There had been, for some reason, a lot more hostile activity growing in the past few months, before Dresher ended up there. Rumor trailed around about the mysterious individual known as "308" and his talented abilities with his trade-marked gun, so landing a contract with a local organization wasn't too difficult. In fact, he got the contract quite easily due to him happening across the clinic during a Fiend raid on the place. They were dragging Dr. Usanagi away by the hair, and one of her guards, another female, when he spotted them through his scope when he noticed the glint off one of their helmets. He easily dispatched them with his rifle, having moved into an abandoned building along their path and took them out before they even knew what happened, all six of them. From there on, he sort of just held a static position. He didn't ask for much in regards of caps -- he was an honest, working man who didn't need much to survive -- and his only biggest requests were a place to lay his head at night, some food in his belly, and a drink when he was thirsty. Most of his caps went to ammo, being used to scare off the occasional feral ghoul that wandered off too far during the night, or the random pack of geckos looking for easy prey on the outskirts, and of course the Fiend scouting parties. He took naps off and on regularly throughout the day and night, only lasting about thirty or so minutes. When he did sleep, he would have one of the recently hired guards come up top and keep post for him. None of them were very sharp, or skilled with a long-range rifle, so none of them really took it upon themselves to take the shot when they spotted a possible threat, waking him up to decide on what to do.

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It was a rather simple job, and far more comfortable than many of his previous jobs. It might not have paid that well, but he had no complaints at all. He was doing the area a public service, keeping that clinic safe and in service, as well as the Followers. It was one of their outposts, after all, and they get plenty of travelers who stop in for a rest instead of heading into Freeside either medical attention, or simply a place to rest before heading out again. Word of 308's perched spot up on the clinic started to spread, too. Not in some big, fancy tale mind you. Just a few rumors here and there, about a well-aged man that was quite deadly and proficient with his rifle. Dresher didn't care much about fame or glory, though. He just cared about helping folks who worked to get by day in and day out. Or putting down someone who wanted to abuse other's for their own gain. Some might have called him a saint, and angel, a hero, for the selfless acts he was known for in his many years as a freelancer. To him, he was just another man with a rifle, doing what he had to do.

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As he reached over for his canteen, taking a few sips of water before capping it and placing it back to his left, he resumed his vigilant watch about the area, always hunting for any threats, or anyone who needed that "guardian angel" to pluck them up right out of the big ol' blue sky and save them from the demons at their flanks. I am way too sentimental at times....