Name/Nicknames: James Weatherly, ‘The Trailbeater”

Race: Human.

Age: Twenty-Nine.

Appearance: Standing at a touch shy of six foot six, James stands out amongst his fellow humans and most other bipeds (Super Mutants being the main exception) as a remarkably tall fellow. This, combined with his average, lean build, makes him a noticeable chap in a crowd. His skin is tanned from long exposure to the wastelands and he sports a few bullet and knife scars from various adventures, mostly on his torso and arms, with the upper edge of one knife wound peeking over his collar. He keeps his dark brown hair tied back in a short ponytail and his facial hair as neat as possible for being out in the wastes for extended periods of times, though of course this does leave him looking a bit rugged and unkempt. He views the world through deep green eyes.

Sexual Preferences: Heterosexual.

Perks:
• Gun Nut.
• Prospector.
• Size Matters.

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

Strength: 3

Perception: 8

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 5

Luck: 4

Personality: A true believer that if you want to survive in the Capital Wasteland, you have to take life by the Brahmin horns, James is a go-getter with a measure of calm and patience that many years exploring the wastes has bestowed upon him. As a prospector, trail-blazer, guide and bodyguard, James has dealt with all manner of people in his life and knows his way around a conversation. That isn’t to say he’s entirely open or without prejudices. While he will work for most people, he is wary of Ghouls (although not entirely against them as a whole) and absolutely abhors slavers, raiders and the Enclave. He has had limited contact with The Institute, but believes them to be perhaps even more dangerous than the Enclave and deals with them with a great amount of hesitance and trepidation.

Around the settlements of the Capital Wasteland, James is known and liked by most, having built good connections with trading posts and communities throughout the years and this is reflected in the good nature with which he will approach most people and how easily he can fit into a group. If you end up what James would call a friend, he would wrestle a Deathclaw for you.

Equipment:
• Leather Armour, with some modifications cobbled together from other sets of armour James has found in the wastes, a metal plate here, a pouch there, that kind of thing.
• A Regulator Duster, beaten and patched. It is worth noting that James himself is not part of the Regulators and due to the continued wear and tear on the garment and the endless patching, it is more a practical item now than a symbol of the group.
• Combat Helmet, personalized with the number 21 one the side (already on the piece when James got it) and tally marks of his confirmed slaver kills, currently at eleven marks.
• Sunglasses.
• Binoculars.
• Lever Action Rifle that James came by whilst on a escort job to Point Lookout some years back. He uses this rifle sparingly, on ‘big game’ and slavers, as it is harder to repair than his other weapons due to parts.
• Hunting Rifle. James’ bread and butter weapon, easy enough to repair, accurate and powerful enough to put down most threats.
• .32 Pistol. Kept as a holdout and last resort weapon, as James prefers two-handed weapons, his .32 pistol rarely see’s use unless he is out of options or needs something smaller. Often, he will allow traders and the like that he escorts, to use the weapon so they are not defenseless themselves.
• Four boxes of .32 ammunition.
• Three boxes of 10mm ammunition.
• Four Stimpacks
• Six Radaways
• Map of the Capital Wasteland.
• Three bottles of purified water.
• Makeshift bedding.
• Supply bag for his gear.


Biography: Born in unassuming circumstances to unassuming settlers in Rivet City, James Weatherly has led a mostly normal life, well, as normal as you can get in the post apocalyptic wastelands of America anyway. He gained a basic education, as did everyone else in the city and once he was old enough, he began accompanying his father on trade caravans out into the wastes. By the time he was fifteen, James had visited a majority of settlements in the Capital Wasteland. He showed a natural affinity for being out in the wastes, far more comfortable in the wild than cooped up on the carrier he was born on and spent more and more time out with his father or indeed with other trade caravans running out of the city. It was on these trade runs that he honed his shooting skills, helping defend them from mutated beasts, raiders, slavers and even Enclave scouting parties at times. By the age of twenty, James was a regular on the caravans, heading up security for the long trips to Canterbury Commons, Megaton and other settlements dotted through the wastes.

But soon he found it wasn’t enough. Much to his parents disapproval, James began to venture out on his own into the world and more and more he found himself on the roads, protecting traders or escorting settlers, until the road just became a way of life for him. He gained his leather armour in this time, as payment for a transport job and with a strong sense of wanting to not only explore the wastes, but try and make it a little safer for those who simply wanted to survive, James threw himself head long into a life of a self appointed wasteland protector. He would offer his services to all those who needed them, to begin with, even working with ghouls happily for a time.

Unfortunately he was to learn lessons about the wasteland the hard way. His trust of the ghouls was severely shaken during a job he had undertaken to help a family of settlers move some distance away from their home, having decided to join a small community that had been building themselves up. The group included three ghouls who were apparently hired hands of the family he was helping. Whether it was simple greed or a predetermined desire to punish the community, the mission went south upon arrival, the group being besieged by a group of ghouls on the border of being feral and the three in the group, that James had worked along side, turned on their employers. Thankfully James and the family were able to fend of the ghouls and only a handful of lives were lost, but James found himself untrusting of their kind from that day on.

Over the years, James has travelled the Capital Wasteland extensively and has even visited other areas, spending a couple of months in the Point Lookout area, where he picked up his lever action rifle on a job there escorting a scientist who wanted to study local flora and fauna. The previous owner of the rifle had no further need for it after an ill-conceived night ambush on James and his charge. He has had limited dealings with the Institute in his travels and now they are in the Capital Wasteland, he is ever wary of their influence. Worse still than the Institute though, in James’ mind, are the salvers and raiders of the wasteland. He has seen, far too often, the effect of these groups on families and settlements and as they pose the biggest organized threat to the safety and security of the people of the wasteland, he has decided that justice needs to be administered one bullet at a time. His recent decision to actively target slavers and raiders has added to the tally marks on his helmet, as he wages a one man war on their despicable practices.

In the years since leaving home, James has travelled, built up relationships throughout the wasteland, visited other areas, both for work as well as to sate his curiosity for exploration and honed his skills to become a competent and accomplished wanderer.

Other Notes/ETC:
• Enjoys a good smoke, and a strong drink now and then.