Name: Jugo Pisk
Age: 21
Description: Lanky build, stands around 5'9. Tanned looking, with scruffy black hair and a bushy black beard. Wears bloodied bandages around his eyes, initially. His clothes are a dirty assortment of denim and leather.
Bio: Until six months ago, Jugo was your average healthy young man. Though the war raged around his home, and his place of work, he carried on his life with the steadfast enthusiasm so often found in youth. He had plenty of close calls in this time, from market bombings to stray artillery fire, but always felt that "what will be, will be". Needless to say, it took more than a trigger happy military, and a gung-ho rebel crusade to get his spirits down.
That was, until a Government jet bombed his home, killing his family and causing severe damage to his face. Blinded from the attack, and left without family, he haunts the ruins of Pogoren as a starving spectre. He relies on the good will of others for his survival, but is gradually learning to teach himself to survive alone, despite his crippling disability.
Former job: Factory Worker
Stuff brought along: Cane crafted from a broom handle, 25 grams of Golden Virginia.
Misc: Though still coming to terms with his blindness, Jugo has learnt the importance of utilising his other senses to bridge the sensory shortfall. He makes for a good lookout, because he can readily pick up odd sounds more so than his peers whose eyes still work.
Name: Emanuel Gabor
Age: 47
Description: Emanuel is a small man, with a podgy build. His hair has balded on top, though black frizz covers the sides of his head. He shaves when he can, but is often fronting salt and pepper stubble. He wears a tattered brown suit, with matching loathers.
Bio: Emanuel was a second hand car salesman with a thousand dodgy sales under his belt. He was never known as an honest trader, and more than once, he found himself on the receiving end of a few angry fists as a result. Still, his cousin was a lawyer, and his medical bills were always covered - and then some - during these little disputes with clients.
When the rebels rolled into town, Emanuel's car lot was turned into a tank depot. They promised to compensate him, but such funds never came. Not to worry! He had himself a sweet little penthouse just down the road, where the towels smelt of lavender, and the call girls of cheap perfume. He decided he'd hunker down there when he heard the military were turning up to oust the rebels from the city.
Six months and a hundred inconveniences later, Emanuel counts himself amongst the thousands who are without shelter, food and water. He scavenges from the city's ruins, sometimes to the loss of others, and sometimes to their benefit. Like many, he does what he can to survive, takes when he has to, and gives when his conscience demands it.
Former job: Second Hand Car Salesman
Stuff brought along: Crowbar, six pack of Heinz beans, broken handgun.
Misc: Far from his physical best, Emanuel finds running a chore. Not that this has ever impeded him. "Let the snipers shoot the eager," he often says, "I'll go when they're out of bullets, or watching those dying on the ground."
