Post your CSs here, if that wasn't ridiculously obvious.



Faction Characters

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Well, since I'm presuming you want us to actually post them here, I shall.

Name:
Jones Abrams.

Age:
Twenty-two.

Gender:
The opposite of female.

Race/Ethnicity:
If compared to Earth standards, Jones would be somewhat of a mix between Polish and German if there were a place of similar geographical and cultural backgrounds on Obit. If I were to guess, I would say on the northern parts of Meda if the landmasses are similar at all.

Burden:
Luckily enough, Jones is only twelve percent affected. A sheltered upbringing and extreme caution have led to him being rather healthy in terms of being Burdened or not. Really though, even without being Burdened, Jones is extremely anxious and afraid of many things. Can you blame him in a world like this?

Faction:
Jones doesn't really belong to any faction. If you were to peg one on him, he would probably be in DERB, but really he only travels from settlement to settlement, preferring to stick to the safest places. He has no real affinity to any of them, and no hate for any either. DERB helps him get along, he enjoys trading with Avant Garde, and Voyagers make good body guards.

Appearance:

Tall and lanky and with only a bit of muscle, you might call Jones a person who was never suited for the apocalypse. Well, in truth, he never was. The lack of sufficient food supplies lead to him being even thinner, but recently he's been getting good meals in. His body is more or less not suited for combat in the slightest. Any fights he got in as a child always led to him getting his ass kicked.

However, that doesn't mean he isn't very handsome. He has a generally handsome face with his dark brown eyes and black hair. He could use a shave, though. Razor blades are fairly hard to come by in this day and age, but he usually tries to keep his facial hair trim and neat. He's the kind of guy who'd rather talk his way out of a situation than use blades and brawn to fix things.

Personality:
Jones is a likable person. He has to be, if he wants to try and make a living out of this world. While not ultimately charismatic, he has his own charm of just being nice. Charity and gifts are things of the past, but Abrams tries his best to keep good morals. He helps out his trading pals when their caravans are attacked, he tries to lower prices for people who really need it. Still, at his best, he's a coward. A pacifist who is scared of his own shadow would find it extremely hard to live after the Hailstones fell. He was generally terrified of the Lost and all of the crime and depravity that now inhabits the world of Obit.

In turn, his sanity has taken a fairly big hit. Being outside of any safe zones is a hard thing for him to do, but bless him, he finds a way to do it. Even a coward like him has a bit of courage stuck in that heart of his. Just don't expect him to go jumping into burning buildings, or taking out entire camps of Lost to save a few orphans. That's just asking for too much.

Synopsis:
Jones was only five when the Hailstones dropped from the heavens. With his father being gone, he and his mother only got just by. At a young age, in those barely walled off communities, Jones learned that he was alone save for his mother. The other children in the camps just didn't like him for some reason. They ridiculed him for all sorts of reasons, especially his only real talent. His mother was a seamstress, and that was the way they got by. Naturally, the talent for sewing was passed down to him, but that just separated him from the other kids.

Still, he quickly gained skill in the trade his mother passed onto him, and they somehow survived in those starved camps in the beginnings. He was quite the sewing artist, being able to easily mend any sort of clothing given to him. And eventually he learned more. It started with simple things. When he dropped off mended things, he would get requests to get things. Usually it was small stuff, like find some baby bottles, or look for a pressure cooker. But eventually he became the person to go to in his little bubble if you wanted something. Eventually that led on to actually trade of shipments of food, weapons, or whatever things were needed.

Of course, it all couldn't last long without a hitch. When attempting to make the move to a major trading hub with his mother, they were attacked by the Lost. Jones watched his mother get ripped into pieces straight in front of his own eyes. He barely lived himself, being heavily wounded and having lost a lot of blood. He lived by hiding underneath two corpses while the others were all killed. His fear of the things outside the walls has always been with him since.

As for recently, his name has only just become widely known around the major cities. Abrams Caravan is a small, but popular choice among people if you want reasonable prices and quick delivery. The only member however, is himself. Really, he doesn't need anyone else. The only people he needs are the guards and the drivers, and things get done. It usually requires a bit of personal effort, but his use of specialized routes through little used areas and just hiring the right people gives his caravans a high success rate.

Strengths:
He is a natural in the economic systems. To him, it all just clicks. Two hundred bluebacks for a hundred pounds of food. Twenty bluebacks for that stereo. Five CDs for a flash drive. He is also quite skilled in sewing, seeing as he practiced it constantly throughout his childhood. Often enough his caravans will have a supply of fixed clothing on them, self mended by Jones himself. He is also pretty fast. Even though he wasn't in Track, his long legs let him get away from most things that have two feet. He can take a bit of a beating too, with a bit of endurance for such a thin body.

He's also good for sewing you up in a pinch. Want pink string or purple?

Vices/Weaknesses:
He is absolutely awful with a gun. He flinches when he fires, he has shitty aim. Any of the times he's attempted to learn have failed spectacularly. He's not a fighter, either. Pacifistic by nature, he never really got to learning how to use a melee weapon properly. He can swing a pipe just fine, but don't expect much more than that. Swords, flails, and the like would just cause an accident in his hands. Jones is also a coward, with all of his instincts narrowing in on the flight aspect rather than the fight. Still, that doesn't mean he won't help his friends, but don't wish for a Bruce Lee, as you'll only get a man flailing around a weapon in the hopes that it might hit something bad.

He doesn't really have many other skills other than sewing and trading. He can't fix up a broken car, he can't field strip a weapon either. Other than stitching up a bad cut or in the best case staunching the bleeding, he's not much of a doctor, either. Jones isn't the brightest of the bunch, with an average intelligence. He won't be solving and super complex equations or figuring out how many grams of sulfuric acid it would take to create a bomb.

Equipment:
Jones always carries around his sewing kit. You wouldn't believe how many things would need mending after the world went to hell. Inside the rectangular kit is many different kinds of string, various needles, and his own handy dandy thimbles. He also carries around other things like duct tape, rope, and a few soldering irons. He keeps precious batteries as well.

In terms of actual equipment, he wears a backpack. Really, that's it other than his pockets. The only weapons he carries are two things. A double-barreled shotgun because it was the only thing he could effectively use and a battered, old iron pipe. The thing has lasted him years, and he never got around to swapping it for anything else. He carries a small amount of food as well, and water if he's going on trips. Oh, and a few medical supplies. Clean-ish bandages, a few moderate painkillers, and some other things. (His blood type is B+.)

Other Things*:
His favorite flavor of cake is Carrot.

Name: Percival Elsby

Age: 10

Gender: Male

Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian

Burden: 50%

Faction: None

Appearance: Percival is a young boy, with tanned skin and dirty black hair. His whole body is generally quite grimy, as he has spent most of his life outside of settlements. His unfortunate situation has turned the veins in his arms and legs black, a show of how "unclean" he truly is. His eyes, when not blackened with rage, are a hazel color with flecks of grey in the irises. Although the "burden" does not show very much on his face, the results of living a nomadic life of squalor are very evident in his poor dental hygiene (including several noticeably missing teeth) and disheveled wispy hair.

Personality: Percival is an optimist, through and through. Though his situation from birth has been an entirely negative one, he has found a way to remain positive through all things. He seems to believe that there is a "greater good" that will right all things in the end, and that kindness is the most important virtue. He is, however, relatively timid, and frightens quite easily. This fear does not mix well with his rather severe burden, resulting in a sort of primal emotional state of self defense when frightened. He has a very difficult time bringing himself back to reality after these "episodes", and it has cost him greatly on more than one occasion.

Synopsis: Percival is an odd case, being a post-Hail child born to those who lived outside the settlements. He and his family survived by scavenging where the "clean" would never dare to go: Near to the stones. He learned much from his father and mother, such as how to hide his "burden" from those who would harm him for it, and how to find the best goods. It was in a way, a comfortable life. Not easy by any means, but Percival was never hungry or cold.

Unfortunately, it was not a sustainable lifestyle, and family member after family member died or became Lost. In the end, Percival found himself alone, living out of the wreckage of a sacked caravan, surviving from day to day by picking through the goods left behind when the civilized folk were attacked by the Lost. With little to do in his spare time, Percival took to using whatever trinkets he could find to "fortify" his ramshackle abode. Bayonets, splintered wood, whatever he could find to surround his "perimeter", and poorly made dummy figures meant to scare off any scavengers. Once again, his life entered a sort of routine: Fix the fort, search for food. Hardly an existence at all.

Strengths: Percival is an excellent scavenger, surviving for nearly two years on his own simply by knowing where to look and how to make things last. Years of nomadic living taught him where people tended to stash goods and hide valuables, making his own existence easier. Not all the places he picked through were entirely "abandoned", however, leading Percival to become particularly good at hiding.

As a result of the surplus of trinkets and trash in his possession, Percival also became quite good at "crafting" items from relatively useless junk. Springs, cans, metal shrapnel, all became useful goods to Percival. His home is made up entirely out of materials he scavenged, and he is rather good at creating rudimentary tools for a variety of uses.

Vices/Weaknesses: Due to how heavily burdened he is, Percival is rather extremely sickly. It is rare for him to go a minute without coughing, often with unidentifiable liquids being produced as well. Being a child, his frail body is extremely susceptible to disease, though he tends to survive most things. He is very slow physically, and somewhat slow mentally. Though creative, Percival is not in any way "book smart". His social skills are practically non-existent, though he does know how to speak. His fears and physical condition have prevented nearly any outside human contact and made him into a sort-of "child hermit".

Equipment: Percival uses a rusted bayonet tied to a splintered shovel handle as a "weapon", although it has seen more use against wild animals than against Lost or bandits. His clothes are typically too big for him, ranging from slightly loose to comically oversized, though he almost constantly wears a pair of torn overalls, the only outfit he has that truly "fits". He has a messenger bag he wears at most times in which he keeps the goods scavenged on any particular day, usually including food and water, sometimes medicine, or other seemingly interesting supplies.

It's short, but hopefully sweet.

Name: Catherine Rola

Age: 20

Gender: Female.

Race/Ethnicity: Her great-great-great-etc. grandfather was the world's Spanish equivalent. However, after many generations she has essentially whited out to basically have lost all her Spanish heritage, excluding her name. She is this world's equivalent of American/European in every way possible, and is as pale as a ghost.

Burden: Unfortunately, at the time of the hailstone's landing, she happened to be almost crushed by one. Thankfully, she did manage to leave the area rather quickly, but not fast enough. She is almost lost, but not quite, at 62% burdened. Her eyes have almost permanently stuck to the black hue, though whether this is caused by the excessive burden or Catherine's own constant anger is uncertain. They only lighten back into their normal color during moments of happiness. The left side of her face and body down to her leg are covered in the dark color, due to having brushed the hailstone with her left hand during her close encounter with it.

Faction: She heavily supports The Unburdened, but mostly sticks to herself as her extremely-burdened state tends to make even other burdened ones ostracize her. Other than that, she's basically unaffiliated, though she has a rather low opinion of DERB.

Appearance: If she were fully human, one could describe Catherine as rather pretty. She had golden blonde hair and a slender face with a smattering of freckles. Her hair was rather short and tomboyish, not even long enough for a ponytail yet extremely unkempt, in an almost bed-head fashion. Her body is long and thin, if a little on the lanky side, as she reaches almost 6 ft. and only weighs roughly 120 pounds. Her eyes used to be a strangely fierce hazel color, and she always had a countenance of determination, regardless of the situation.

Now, she is strangely split. Her short hair didn't change at all in style, however the blackening effect from the burdening darkened her hair, but only on the side affected. Almost straight down the middle her hair now is half blonde and half charred black. Her fierce hazel eyes now look constantly angry, and almost like she's about to go for your throat at any moment.



Personality: Seeing as before the hailstorm she was a whopping 4 years old, she had little time to develop a personality, though she tended to do a lot of roughhousing and got into trouble a lot for beating up the other kids when they so much as gave her a sideways glance. The burdening helped as much as throwing oil onto a fire.

Now, she's a world-hating cynic that generally sees every person she meets as "someone to dislike until proven otherwise." She's heavily sarcastic, quick to voice her own opinion, beligerent, irreverant, abrasive, and just plain rude a lot of the time. She's also extremely quick to fly off the cuff, and usually responds to anger with violence, which tends to get in her trouble more often than not. Oddly enough, however, she has a strong sense of morals, which she manages to cling to entirely by being incredibly willful. She will never kill someone that wasn't trying to kill her first (punching them in the face isn't killing them, however) and never steals from people that need it. She's also incredibly brash, and is generally the first to jump at a situation if it calls for action, regardless of how well thought-out the plan is.

Synopsis: When she was only 4 years old, she was surpised when, during her vacation to a larger city, she looked up and the sun was blotted out by a large object falling towards her much more slowly than she thought it should've at the time. Thankfully, she managed to have the good sense to fucking book it and managed to avoid getting crushed, her left hand brushing it as she got away. The next morning on her way home when shit hit the fan she found herself horribly sick as well, as the blackness grew over her body. As the world went to shit, her parents were thrown out of their hometown that was taken over by DERB due to Catherine's burdening and her parents' unwillingness to give her up. As such, they lived mostly by themselves as nomads, who stayed alive by scavenging from towns, making sure not to get too close to the hailstones, and selling whatever loot they got for food.

Her parents eventually died due to the disease, since they were always the ones that insisted on going farther into the city than Catherine, and not letting her follow them. They were killed by a group of Lost, and Catherine managed to escape. At the time, she wasn't quite as burdened and therefor managed to keep her sanity, but after that she started taking more risks as well, but mostly because she had to in order to find anything since the outer parts of the cities were getting looted too much.

Strengths: Catherine can be best described as a bruiser. She is almost unnaturally strong despite her slender build. Not quite able to tear car doors off their hinges and throw them at someone a mile away, but perfectly able of knocking someone out with one punch, if she's particularly mad. Also, her excessive burdening has given her the ability to harden her left hand in a way, turning it into a bony spike by straightening her fingers out and locking them in such a way she is able to pierce right through people with some force. And she certainly has the force to do so. She can even unharden her hands inside of someone, and has at least once literally ripped someone's heart out of their chest. (It turns out, ripping someone's heart out of their chest is a great way to scare their friends off.) She also shows rather remarkable athleticism otherwise, and can be quite sneaky if she needs to be.

Vices/Weaknesses: Aside from being excessively tempermental, her strange left hand is oddly jittery. This isn't normally a problem, it just means she has to drink with her right hand, conveniently her dominant one, otherwise she'll spill everywhere. But it does make it almost entirely impossible for her to aim any kind of rifle well at all, and many smaller tasks that need good hand-eye coordination are rather difficult. She also reads at a first-grade level at best, since when the world went to shit there wasn't a large demand for elementary schools.

It should also be noted that if she panics too hard, due to either an extremely dangerous situation or something traumatic happening, she tends to go completely nuts. She doesn't "hulk out" and go on a rampage so much as completely detaches from reality, as the burdening takes over her weakened psyche. She can recover, but when she does depends on the situation, and while she's like this she tends to do a lot of the stuff you'd expect a crazy person to do, such as mumble to herself, attack her friends, and occasionally pretend she's a lemon. (She eventually got bored of pretending to be a lemon.)

Equipment: She wears a blue sports hoodie, with a darker blue bandana across her face, which has the effect of hiding her burdening pretty decently to someone that doesn't look too closely as long as her hood is up. She couples this with a pair of baggy cargo jeans and an old pair of sneakers that still manage to hold together despite all the time they've been worn. She keeps an old revolver at her side, as one of the few firearms she can use due to the inability to aim with her left hand, as well as spare ammo in a pocket. She also wears a rather large hiking backpack, which almost always carries some spare essentials, namely some bullets, water, and food, though she tends not to use her gun much. Mostly, the backpack is there to hold the stuff she scavenges.

Quirks: As brash and depressing and angry as she is, she doesn't spend her entire life wallowing in misery. A good joke tends to cheer her up, and she actually has a tendency to laugh much, much more than the joke warrents, usually having a hard time stopping. She also snorts.

Theme Song: Downward Sprial - Nine Inch Nails

Other Things: One thing rather strange to note is that while she is very quick to fly off the handle now, and even as a young child before the burdening was rather rambuctious, when she gets angry now and violently knocks someone's teeth out, she's actually being incredibly patient. Due to her burdening, she basically wants to murder the life out of anyone that looks at her funny, and it takes considerable effort on her part to just be "Extremely abrasive" rather than "outright murderous." Were someone else less willful at her stage of burdening, they'd've snapped a while ago.

She also really likes bacon.

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Name: Dave Thronton

Age: 22

Gender: Quite the man.

Race/Ethnicity: White, with a small bit of the Obit-equivalent of Native American.

Burden: 48%. To his convenience, the large majority of noticeable black veins appear on his back and upper leg, making it hard to not hide them unless he decided to go streaking. His "powers" are that he emits minor pheromones, which are explained down in the "strengths" section, and that he is almost entirely incapable of feeling intense emotion, due to his brain getting a bit of the burden right on the prefrontal lobe. Note that he isn't a lobotomite, just that it is very difficult to panic or anger him, or for him to emote beyond a chuckle.

Faction: He's much too selfish to care about any faction, and is generally disinterested in the going-ons with DERB, Avant Garde, and the Unburdened.

Appearance: A young man with parted, medium length hair and a certain rugged attractiveness to his face, Dave looks like quite the charmer. He also has the most standard of frames and rather toned musculature, standing at 6'. He has a pair of soft, hazel eyes and generally wears a leather jacket with several white chevrons running up the sleeve, and a gray undershit, with a rather generic pair of dark jeans and boots.


Personality: Dave is... rather strange. He's inherently extremely selfish, and almost every action he does is motivated by this. However, inbetween robbery sprees he's perfectly amiable to people he meets and is generally a very nice person. Until he can betray them for profit, anyway, which he will invariably do at the drop of a hat. He doesn't really care about anything, but whether this sociopathy was caused by the burden or is innate is rather unclear. Despite this, however, he almost never resorts to straight murder or rape, as even he has a few lines he won't cross. Aside from this, he has a tendency to be extremely smarmy and not stop making jokes, which annoys some people and endears others to him, which he usually uses in his favor.

Synopsis: N/A because MYSTERY.

I'm kidding. Dave, surprisingly as aloof as he is, isn't trying to be mysterious. His past life before the hail lasted... not very long at all, really, as he only managed a few years in Elementary school before the Monolith and all of its cousins decided to land on Obit for vacation. His parents died soon after the fall, getting taken over by a bunch of Lost and Dave was only saved by the grace of a random stranger. Dave had always been a good liar, being the type to break a lamp in his house and blame it on his sister, if he had a sister. (He usually instead defaulted to blaming whichever parent wasn't scolding him when something broke, causing quite a bit of marital strife with his late parents.) This proved to be an invaluable skill, as he managed to, even at such an early age, convince several DERB to let him in with his random benefactor into one of the earlier SZ's.

Here, he managed to eke out a living after said random benefactor stopped being a benefactor once Dave's burdening become known mostly by either picking pockets or taking random odd jobs around the town. Eventually, he had to leave the SZ once he had picked everyone's pockets at least once before they started to notice a pattern between Dave showing up and their savings suddenly vanishing. He wandered from one town to the next and found himself making a slightly more honest living by scavenging and only stealing from other scavengers rather than just every civillian he came across.

Strengths: Dave is the quintessential "rogue" if there ever was one. He's able to charm the pants off of the world's richest businessmen and can pick a pocket or a lock more easily than he can get an actual job. It should be noted however that his persuasion isn't entirely his own ability. While he is naturally a great schmooze, he also naturally excretes pheromones due to his burdening. They're not overly powerful, they're just a minor help and are about as effective as a particularly nice-smelling deodorant, so most of it is actually his own natural ability. He is also extraordinarily difficult to panic, so despite not being a tactical genius by any means, he's still able to think through most situations.

Vices/Weaknesses: Unfortunately, however, most rogues tend to have some sort of combat ability. Dave, however, while having a decent amount of muscle from living the rough life is about as good in a fight as a wet noodle. The burdening left him with low-grade Osteoporosis, making his bones rather easily broken, and that's not getting into the fact that he's just easy to bruise and slow to heal in general. His reflexes are also, to put in eloquently, shit. His aim with a revolver is, at best, mediocre, but he can get lucky, especially since he has 6 shots and usually only needs one to hit. He's basically just frail, and usually tries to sneak, talk, or steal his way out of situations rather than fight. Also, while not panicking is generally a great thing, he has a tendency to downplay major emergencies and not have the urgency that he should have for various tasks. If his friend's leg was blown off, he'd probably react by saying, "Gee, that looks like it hurts. Want a bandaid?"

Equipment: Aside from his clothes, he carts around a wheelbarrow with a tent and whatever supplies he may need at the time, as well as a hiking backpack for when carrying around the wheelbarrow is impossible. He also has a revolver, but the action is slightly busted so he has to manually cock the hammer back after each shot as the trigger doesn't pull it back. He'd rather get it replaced, if he could.

Quirks: Dave is actually bisexual, though he, as well as most of the post-hail world, tends to not find that very interesting since people stopped giving a shit about sexuality once people started getting eaten by their loved ones.

Theme Song: Darude - Sandstorm.
I'm just shitting you again, he doesn't have one.

Other Things: Despite not having much of a formal education, he has a ridiculous grasp of the English language (or whatever they speak on Obit) due to reading basically any book he came across, even post-hail. Even textbooks, so he's surprisingly well-educated. Not that knowing calculus or what happened during the War of 1447 or whatever helps even in the slightest.

Name: Tobias Smith
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian
Burden: 35-40%
Faction: Vanguard mechanic/techie

Appearance:
Tobias is a couple of inches below average height, with a stocky frame and solid build. He has messy brown hair and a rough beard which he keeps more or less under control whenever they start getting too long. He has blocky features and brown eyes, with a slightly crooked nose where it wasn't set properly after being broken.

Black veins are visible at the corners of his eyes and along his forearms and the backs of his hands. His canines might be a bit more pointed than usual and if his skin has become paler its hard to tell under the clothes and layer of dirt and grime that comes with his job.

Personality:
Tobias is a devout member of the Vanguard, and believes that if everyone could pull together and pool their resources that they could rebuild civilization, if not the way it was then as something equally fair and equitable to all. Time and experience have added a hefty dose of realism to that outlook, dulling his optimism, though he is still somewhat hopeful that one day they will regain what they have lost.

Fairly open and talkative, he is prepared to give anyone at least the time of day; happily chatting away as he works on some engine or other. He works hard to deal with the anger and aggression that comes with his Burden, preferring to channel it into his work or at the people he feels deserve it. He can be loud and boisterous at times, putting on a brave front to deal with the prejudice and abuse he encounters.

His workshop is a mess, with piles of spare parts and scrap everywhere, though he always seems to know exactly where he left that one part he needs. While he is certainly prepared to fight for what he believes in he is reluctant to kill, often holding back in fights to his own detriment.

Synopsis:
Tobias was eight when the Hail fell, living in one of the major cities with his parents, At first they decided to stay up, holing up in their apartment in the hope it would all blow over. For a short while it looked like this might be the case, then all of a sudden things seemed to escalate and the world descended into anarchy. One night their apartment building caught fire and in the ensuing chaos Tobias was separated from his parents, becoming another hungry, lost face on the streets.

He probably would have fallen then and become truly Lost, but he wandered out to the edge of the city and was picked up by a refugee convoy that was heading for one of the DERB camps. As he got older he found he had a natural talent for machines and got a job in one of the camp workshops repairing the different vehicles that rolled in and out. It was here he also started learn about electronics as well, working on different types of machine.

When he was older, and dissatisfied with what he saw as a lack of progress on behalf of DERB in restoring technology and order to the world he joined up with the Vanguard. He currently works as a mechanic at one of their bases, but also accompanies their convoys and helps set up communications with distant settlements and locations. It was on a scouting mission to the edge of one of the major cities that he gained the most visible of his Hailstorm-taint markings.

Strengths:
Tobias is a gifted mechanic and tinkerer, repairing and maintaining the technologies that keep people alive in the post-apocalyptic world. He works mainly on ground transports such as cars and trucks, though he has some skill at electronics, and often works on radios and the occasional solar array. In the course of his work he has also picked up some skill at metal working and low level fabrication, as it isn't always possible to find the spare part you need.

He has an active lifestyle, going to and through, lugging around parts and wrestling various machines back into working order, so he’s fairly fit and strong, though he isn’t particularly quick on his feet.

Vices/Weaknesses:
Most of Tobias’s knowledge comes from experience, trial and error, and hanging around other mechanics. This means he has very little actual theoretical and book knowledge about the machines he works on. As he was very young when the Hailstorm occurred the inner workings of the technologies of the past age, such as Lumid, Mirage and USD’s are pretty much Greek to him.

Although he is fairly strong he isn't very fast and hasn't had any dedicated combat training, relying instead on natural brawn and a hefty wrench if things come to blows.
The black veins visible in his eyes and arms mark him out as a Burdened, with all of of the prejudice and abuse that entails.

Equipment:
Tobias is rarely without his toolkit, which lives in a beaten up old duffel bag on a long strap he slings over one shoulder. it contains a rather eclectic mix of different tools, usually a combination of whatever he’s been working on recently and what he thought he’d need that day. He has a wide range of different tools for various situations, though is favourite is a hefty metal shifter.

He has an old CB-style portable radio with antenna that he can use to listen in to different wavelengths and attempt to communicate with other settlements or parties.
He dresses mainly for practicality, usually in coveralls or jeans and an old t-shirt, with the Vanguard logo proudly displayed and a solid set boots on his feet.

Quirks:
Although he isn't much of a singer he has a habit of singing to himself while he works - scraps of doggerel, old drinking songs, half remembered tunes.

Name: Icarai Lee Buchinsky

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian

Burden: 45% consumed.

Faction: Voyager in league with the Unburdened.

Appearance: Icarai is a tall, slender man. His hair is jet black, combed and parted neatly to the right--and the sides are buzzed. He has hollow, charcoal eyes, which exude wrath and suffering. The face of the man is clean-shaven and a pine-scented cologne is usually lingering about him. A golden necklace dangles from his neck, resting upon his pale skin, which is revealed with an unbuttoned long-sleeve white dress shirt. Said dress shirt is tucked neatly underneath black dress slacks and black dress belt. Dark veins trickle from his jugular and spiderweb throughout his body-- a prime display of the Hailstone's might.

Pearly whites gleam when Icarai smiles; which he nearly always does. His canines are sharp, and often are intimidating. Crow's feet stretch from the corner of his sunken eyes. His cheek bones are high and set upon an angular jawline. Beneath his clothing, he is adorned with various tattoos. "Redemption" is displayed beneath his collar bone, on his taut pectorals. On the right shoulder, down the length of his bicep and tricep, stopping at the elbow, is a half-sleeve depicting a battle between angels and demons. A crescent moon over a dark forest is artistically placed on his left bicep. "LIVE" is inked across his right knuckles; it is the only visible tattoo besides: "Redemption"-- if the shirt is unbuttoned further.

Personality: Icarai is cryptic and wise. He usually is sulking in the shadows like some ancient Nosferatu, waiting to lash out with killer precision. A Mercenary, Icarai is only concerned with seeing the job through and receiving payment. Before the Hailstone's influence, he was murderous and cruel. The notch has only been turned up..

Synopsis: Icarai was a military pawn of UNO. He was a disciplined soldier and was trained intensively in subterfuge, survival (especially in aquatic terrain), and of course, murder. He was crafted over fourteen months from simple infantry to assassin. Why you ask? Simple. To eliminate SIP leadership.

Sent airborne in the cover of night, Icarai left Legus and crossed into SIP borders.. Then everything went wrong. SIP anti-air pummeled into the aircraft, but not entirely destroying it. The first pilot was killed instantly, the second was showered with shrapnel. The aircraft filled with black smoke and flame, the surviving pilot maintained course, then fell limp, placing the aircraft into a nosedive. Icarai remained calm. The mission was supposed to be too secret, but spies were active in both factions so he assumed that's how he was made.

Icarai ejected himself, and pulled his chute, as the smoldering aircraft crashed into the ocean. The wind was warm, the air sticky and humid as he glided slowly towards a lagoon on the south side of an island. He suspected he was many, many miles (not sure what increment of measure was used by DERB) from his destination. He landed softly on a golden beach, although it appeared dark grey in the moonlight. Many of his supplies were lost in the crash, besides a few survival utensils and a curved, military knife. The moonlight suddenly was blotted from the sky. Icarai lifted his sight to a colossal, glowing object rocketing past. Whispers of torment filled his mind, a buzz filled his ears, his eyes burned. Nausea and fatigue overcame him and he fell to his knees, his hands buried into the sand, and he squeezed so tight his knuckles popped. Then, everything turned to darkness.
(The remainder will be revealed in my posts.)

Strengths: Murder, subterfuge, weapons expert, no USD (he surgically removed it.)

Vices/Weaknesses: His appearance, he is near-consumed by the Hailstones. Greed, and a fear of heights (possibly from the crash.)

Equipment: A curved knife, fancy clothing, a cigarette perhaps?

Quirks: He handles his affliction quite well, it actually seems to strengthen him.

Theme Song: Check out: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4ska3C80ysk

-Removed until properly written and approved.-