Name: Henry Direson
Race: African-American Human
Age: 32
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 150

Appearance: Henry is a well shaven handsome chap, short black hair with cuts and scars on his crown from an unpleasant experience with a super mutant whose nails really needed a cut. His blue eyes would peirce the wall of dark Henry likes to hide in if it weren't for his shades; he wears a long black trench coat with black military boots, dark green dyed leather armor beneath a dark blue shirt and a grey weathered baseball cap which he turns backward when he is using his rifle. His black loose military-camo trousers have many pockets and straps.

Equipment: As well as the above apparell, Henry has a medium sized rucksack with primary and secondary storage areas - as well as a few pockets. He keeps food and water supplies in his primary , along with a few repair kits and practicals like a hammer, saw, wonderglue and his hatchet in its sleeve. He also keeps the more valueable peices that he finds and/or takes from others in his primary. In his secondary are a few changes of clothes, his cooking equipment and ammo as well as a handful of RadAway and Stimpacks. The various pockets of his rucksack have bottle caps and cigarretes in them, the pockets of his trousers, however, are mostly filled with ammo and his left side hip pocket contains his camera.
Weapons:
9MM pistol, laser sight, improved iron sights. ( 10 magazines of 13)
Marksman carbine no-scope - 5.56 mm rounds. ( 4 magazines of 20)
Sniper Rifle - .308 rounds. Silencer or flash suppresser. (3 magazines of 5)

Specializations: Henry is a deadly shot. His aim is unwavering at long distances, but does begin to weaken at close range.
Other: He has a thing for lots of pockets.
Negative Attributes: Henry is terrible in any hand-to-hand combat and isn't too good a shot if the target is with spitting distance.
Biography:
With no military training of any kind Henry is a self taught marksman. Being brought up by a traveling trader he had plenty of time to practice his shot and learn how to deal with money, as well as trouble. Although the trader was not his father, he did know that his father was a military man of some kind who had left him with the trader - along with a large sack of bottle caps and money. When he turned 18 Henry was given this large amount of money, which the trader had so kindly added to over the years, and went out into the world.

Around ten years ago now, Henry found out that Phil had been killed by a ruthless gang of Caesars bastards. He has worn to kill every last legionary he sets his eyes upon. At first Henry travelled around, killing the scum of the land as he went.
Age, however, grants wisdom. Henry found himself being overcome with bloodlust and so fought against his inner ambitions and settled down; close enough to Memphis to trade and find supplies but far enough from people he is afraid he may harm - atop a collapsed freeway inside a small home of which he has made himself comfortable.

His home is humble and looks up towards what star light there is left. Basically a lot of cars piled up upon each other in square shape, with a few ramps and firing holes. His tent and fire place stay in the centre - beneath a makeshift canopy. A few crates and boxes lay scattered around with various items inside of no substantial value. He liberated the place from a few wasteland raider: who had been picking off passers by from the many sniping nests the area provided.

Name:
Vincent James Clarke

Race:
Ghoul (formerly Caucasian American)

Age:
238 (ghoulified at 27)

Height:
5' 10"

Weight:193 lbs

Appearance:
For a ghoul of his age, Vincent doesn't look too bad. He is on the shorter side for a man, with an atheletic build from Army drills. His strong cheek and jaw bones made him quite the looker in his early years, but most of his good looks are behind him now. His skin, once fairly tanned, is now mottled with rot, fleshy browns and reds covering his body. His blonde hair still grows in patches, though Vincent always keeps his head devoid of hair. The pinna of his ears and his nose have long since fallen off his face leaving only the nasal cavity behind, though his voice somehow managed to remain its normal deep and smooth tone. Thanks to constant attention Vincent has managed to keep most of his muscle mass. His eyes are still a brilliant deep green, though his right eyelid has fallen away as well. Under his leather armor Vincent wears a pre-war white button up shirt, pre-war denim jeans, and a pair of pre-war black leather shoes.

Equipment:
Leather armor, Alpha Deathclaw hide hat (fedora), Alpha Deathclaw hide rucksack, 5x bottles of Scotch, box of 20x bobby pins and screwdriver, 20x 12 gauge slugs, 60x 10mm bullets, 250x Bottlecaps

Weapons:
Sawed off shotgun, 10mm SMG, Army issued trench knife

Specializations:
Knows all there is to know about traps to capture or kill as well as about surviving off the land, rarely misses a shot at close-medium range with firearms through fault of his own, can pick all but the most difficult locks without much trouble, knows a good amount on how to persuade and decieve through speech, has an understanding of haggling and gambling enough to come out with more caps than many people, knows how to hide in the dark and hides fairly well in low light, can steal decent items from less perceptive people and can usually successfully pickpocket small items

Other:
Due to being a ghoul, feral ghouls will not attack Vincent, and wild super mutants seem to not have much interest in him. Along with this, he can not only survive in high radiation levels, but is also healed by them. In his many travels Vincent has heard all the rumors of pre-war treasures, weapons, and artifacts, knowing much about them and even having found a few in his previous years.

Negative Attributes:
Unskilled in melee combat to the point where he can barely weild his knife and cannot fight with his fists, accuracy drops noticeably at long range, doesn't know much about technology only just having started learning about computers and energy weapons, cannot hit a target with thrown weapons, never studied explosives, knows just enough of repairs to mend his clothing and armor, doesn't know basic first aid, alcoholic

Biography:
Vincent was born in 2050, in The Commonwealth. He grew up as any other man would, going to school and watching the technological wonders of the world come into creation. The war effort weighed heavily on his mind, and he was worried how it would end. Vincent was drafted out of school at the age of 17, soon finding himself being sent to Alaska in the year 2068.

The next six years were brutal on Vincent. He quickly learned his way around a gun as he protected trenches, not often being sent into open battle. During his time spent in those trenches Vincent killed many men, his conscience eventually fading to help him cope with his deeds. Despite the blood on his hands though, Vincent knew he was helping his country. This changed in 2074.

Vincent heard news that America was sending troops into China. This information outraged him, as he knew it would lead to further conflict and tension. Vincent felt as if he was betrayed by his government, who had said their only intentions were to retake Alaska. He continued fighting reluctantly, not wanting to go AWOL and abandon his mission. In 2077, he had completed that mission, officially driving the Chinese out of Alaska.

Shortly after the reclaimation of Anchorage, Vincent received an honorable discharge and was once again able to live a normal life. Upon his return home Vincent was celebrated as a hero. Parties were thrown, families asked to have pictures taken, but Vincent wasn't as excited as others were. He had been trying to have his family move into a vault to protect them, but they insisted that because of Anchorage there wouldn't be any bombs. In October of 2077, those bombs fell.

Vincent woke the next day. Having ran to the basement as he saw the bombs falling from the sky, he had survived, though his family had not. Most of his house had vanished, and climbing out of the rubble it was clear the rest of the town had too. Vincent saw others crawling out of their former homes, noticed some walking the streets. A handful of people were all that was left. Not knowing what else to do, Vincent stayed Iin his town with the people he knew.

A small settlement formed. Some would go to fetch food while others explored, finding supplies. Everyone able helped to contribute. The black rain came a week after the bombs, killing the remaining plant life and most animals around. Life continued, though became increasingly difficult. After a little more than a year, the survivors began to notice their skin becoming dry, flaky. It wasn't long before everyone had become ghoulified from the radiation, both in atmosphere as well as from their water and food.

Most of the new turned ghouls died quickly, either going feral and being put down or by suicide because of their new existence. Vincent merely gathered his meager belongings and left, wandering the wastes left behind from the nuclear bombs. Living only by what he was able to scavenge was difficult, Vincent discovered. Because of this he was forced to learn how to survive with what the land could provide, as well as how to build effective traps for animals, including the new dangerous abominations. In his next two centuries he would master these skills.

After some years passed, Vincent began to see humans around the wastes. He knew the vaults were going to be opening, and it seemed those from the vaults were free of his condition. Keeping his appearance in mind, Vincent thought it best to stay out of sight when he could. Life continued this way, more people surfacing, and Vincent became better at sneaking around. Eventually the wastes became too populated however, and he came to be spotted. Unfortunately, the men who noticed Vincent were slavers.

While Vincent put up a decent fight, the slavers had numbers on their side and managed to take him in. Vencent spent the next few years of his life in a slave camp. Nobody seemed to want to buy a ghoul for a slave though, and so he stayed in the camp, thinking up a way out. During his time, Vincent began learning how to steal objects while the slavers weren't watching. He developed this skill, eventually getting to the point where he could pickpocket small items from the man guarding his cage, never getting lucky enough to snag any keys though. What he did manage to collect were the occasional bobby pins, along with a screwdriver on one of his errands. With them, he began formulating a plan.

To get his plan moving, Vincent needed freedom, as much as a slave could get anyway. The next few months Vincent spent making conversation with his captors, slowly figuring the subtleties of speechcraft as he began prying gossip and secrets from his guards. Eventually he had managed to talk his way into being able to run errands unsupervised. During these errands, Vincent often snuck off to practice his lockpicking. He had tried on his own cage door many times, but always broke the pins he used. By starting on easier locks Vincent was able to actually practice. This process took him a few months more in order to work his way up to the point where most locks were a breeze, and even more difficult locks didn't provide too much challenge. Now armed with a set of skills for escape, Vincent was ready.

With all his time spent in the camp, Vincent had learned the routine exactly. In the night, a little before the shift change, he made his move. The guard assigned to his cage had been yawning for a while, and with his persuasiveness Vincent convinced him to leave the post early and get some rest. While there was nobody watching him, he managed to pick the lock of his cage. Vincent moved silently through the camp and kept out of sight of the patrolling slavers. In that manner he made it to the camp entrance. There was no gate here, only two armed guards. Vincent held back until two others began approaching the entrance crew. The shift change at hand, the two slavers left their post and met with the replacements, chatting for a bit. Vincent didn't stay to eavesdrop, instead leaving while nobody watched. Having successfully exfiltrated the camp, Vincent crept away in the cover of darkness. He made his escape quick, putting as much distance behind him as he could.

After some decades more wandering the wastelands Vincent began to see large settlements rising up. Eventually, figuring he couldn't avoid new civilization forever, he approached one such settlement he encountered in his travelling. Upon entering the walled town Vincent was greeted roughly by a guard. He was treated with a pat down and his scavenged firearms were confiscated, though his trench knife was concealed enough to remain safe with him, not that he could make too much use of it. Vincent noted that he would need to improve his ability to conceal his guns, and continued into the town.

Everybody seemed to treat him with disgust because of what he had become. Merchants barely wanted to trade with him and would offer unreasonable prices, making it difficult to properly buy goods or sell Vincent's own. After making out with what he could from his encounters with street merchants Vincent had gotten a decent feel for haggling. He headed into the local bar and took a seat. After ordering a few drinks Vincent felt rather tipsy, and had gotten over the insults from the townsfolk. He ordered a few bottles for the road and headed out. On his way out the entrance of the town, the man who had taken Vincent's weapons resentfully handed them back. Vincent thanked him and stumbled out into the wastes.

The next century was mostly uneventful, as Vincent roamed around, trying to support himself and a newly acquired drinking habit. In a search for an income of currency he began taking on the art gambling with travellers and townsfolk he came across. He learned the common card games that he found being played around the wasteland and began collecting playing cards he could find to build decks with. Eventually in his travels he came to the Mojave wasteland and visited New Vegas. He wasn't used to such a place, lit up with bright lights as it was. Vincent learned the games of the casinos as well, figuring out even how to cheat every now and then. When he left the city behind, he had made out with a decent amount of caps, having spent most on new weapons and ammunition at a Gun Runners vendor outside they city wall. With his new 10mm SMG and sawed off shotgun, Vincent traveled on.

As he was leaving the Mojave, Vincent had a run in with a wandering Alpha Deathclaw. It was a good chance to test his new weapons, he thought. With a magazine loaded into his SMG Vincent ran at the beast, training the iron sights at the head while closing the distance. By the time the deathclaw noticed Vincent was unloading the bullets into the abomination's skull. Not all the bullets hit the target, and fewer found their true mark in the head, but enough landed to weaken it. The beast lunged and swiped with its claws towards him, and his reflexes from the days with bayonets in the trenches kicked in. With a leap back he drew his shotgun, two slugs loaded in the double barrel. As the creature recovered from the missed attack Vincent placed the barrel right to the skull and fired both shots, destroying the brain and killing the Alpha. With his knife he skinned a decent portion of its hide, taking a while to tan it into a leather and shape it into a fedora for him to wear, as well as a rucksack in which he could store belongings.

In all his time living after the falling of the bombs, Vincent had travelled nearly all of the wastes of America. From east to west, north to south, and back both ways a few times, he had seen more than many ever would. Ghoul cities, giant mountains and canyons, irradiated graveyards of thousands, he walked them all. And through all his journeys he had heard every rumor there was to hear. Eventually he wandered into Memphis, Tennessee, in the year 2285.