Milo has worked hard to change his personality to what it currently is. In the past milo hunted humans, robbed, and stole what he wanted when he wanted. He was a proficient hunter, and killer. He has a warped sense of right and wrong, though slowly he is understand what they both truly mean.

He ran aground early in the morning, it was raining. He managed to find shelter in an abandoned building taking what meager supplies he had with him. Over the next year he moved from location to location taking what he could and surviving off what little food he had. He took to stealing from the unfortunate souls he came across often robbing them and stealing their goods. More often than not he left them dead so they couldn’t identify him. Eventually he pieced together his rifle, from parts at abandoned military outposts, the dead servicemen, and other various locations. He came across a small settlement near the coast, he watched them for several days remembering the training he received from the holo-tapes and the books he read. He monitored their routines, found chinks in their defense, and eventually found out who the leadership was. The following morning, he began his assault, his rounds would tear its target apart, painting those next to them in the blood of their loved ones. They’d built a wall with one exit, and it took him almost two hours to kill everyone settlement. There were only eight people, as he searched through the dead he found that one of the women were pregnant, and she was holding onto life, his bullet had shredded her abdomen. He sat next to her, and laid her head in his lap, she told him everything as she lay there dying.. At this moment in his life he decided things had to change, for some reason this woman had, had a profound impact on his life.

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Name/Nicknames: William (or Will) Humphrey Edwards
Age: 133 Years (Ghoulifcation having occured at age 34)
Race: Ghoul

Personality: Having grown up in a world that had only recently seen the devastating, life eradicating, power of the atomic bombs dropped upon the United Kingdom by various foreign powers, William knows too well the desperation and sheer risk that even the most logical of humans allow themselves to be clouded by in their struggles. He is a somewhat worldweary man, prone to certain bouts of cynisism and what to an outsider would look like utter boredom towards things that may make even some veteran humans squirm. William also shows something of a 'do-gooder' streak, in that he would whole heartedly assist any seriously harmed individual he comes across - provided he knows they aren't going to shoot him in the back moments after.
Despite what the many think of ghouls in general, William is an overall quiet and rather peaceful person, that doesn't favour violence all that much. He is quite soft-spoken, and gentle when dealing with peaceful people; at any circumstance, he tries to avoid violence, even if he is rather competent at fighting against other, more base ghouls. He has a remarkable level of self-control, which he utilizes mostly to live in peace with humans (despite their constant beratement), though should the need arise he will dwell with more... unhinged creatures provided they aren't ones to attack. Though of course he will always prefer the company of a fellow ghoul. To the outsider, he comes across as emotionally distant and perhaps a little harsh in the way he distains a large amount of other, more base, mutants, particularly ferals.
Perhaps if one were to delve deeper, and get to know him, then they may find that he is a fairly friendly and loyal person.

Appearance: Extremely tall in height, reaching somewhere along the lines of 197 centimetres, William possesses the raw, rotting, and necrotic frame that all his ghoulish kind share. His body is, actually rather well muscles for a ghoul - which is still not saying much in particular. He has sharp, edged, and most certainly noble features, in the form of high cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, thins lips, a straight and thin nose, thin eyebrows, and rather perfectly shaped eyes. Though, these have all seen better days due to the ravaging ways of radiation and the agony of ghoulifcation. These features are thin, but not to the point of appearing gaunt and sickly, if anything they are brimming with life when compared to others of his sort. His eyes have a rather icy, bright blue/grey colour, in contrast to his necrotic skin which runs the gambit from pus yellow to scabby reds.. His hair, what is left of it, is a bright ginger mane which covers the most of his head (akin to a man with a receeding hairline). His facial hair is similar, but not patchy surprisingly, it is in a style similar to Lord Kitchener's mustache. Perhaps notable, are his teeth. Rather than some manner of pearly white or rotten, his teeth are extremely sharp and almost a blurred yellow in colour...how or why they are sharpened is best to left to more private talks, however.

Facial Hair - farm1.static.flickr.com/40/87788938_a6..
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He is most often found in a rather scuffed up suit of traveller's clothing, that being composed of: A tattered up old off-white shirt, a pair of similarly filthy trousers, a surprisinly clean and new looking pair of shoes, and a beat up old grey trenchcoat. Some old combat armour resembling that used by the old British army is worn under or over all this.

Skills/Attributes: Swordsman - William is rather adept at using swords and other manners of one-handed bladed weapons. His ghoulish nature prevents much in the manner of outright brute forcing a person, hence the lack of blunt crushing weapons and favour of a more easily wielded (for a ghoul) weapon.

Marksman - In accompanying his knowledge of blades, William is also a fairly good shot with mid-sized hunting bows. A skill that was more on the side of being forced to learn as many creatures of the wastes grew in size and ferocity. His skill is not the best, nor the worst, able to hit a moderately sized object from a moderately far distance.

Rad Resistance - As with all Ghouls in the wasteland, William is entirely uneffected by nigh on all forms of radiation, though he has yet to see if that extends on to the more...man-portable, means.

Perceptive - Despite rotting tissues and necrotic nerves which dimish strength to slightly below human averages, William is highly perceptive of the wastelands and boasts rather keen senses even for a ghoul as old as himself.

Medical Professional - During his life in the Havens, William learned much about the human body and ways in which it can be treated or otherwise healed.

Back-story: Born during a time which had only somewhat recently felt the awesomely destructive potential of the atomic bomb, William and his familiy lived in one of the many 'Havens' which dotted the United Kingdom. He and his family were of a northern stock of the Yorkshire variety (one of the Havens of York, to be exact.) and much of the populace of their Haven where similarly from the local area. His early life was a promising one, he was smarter than most and had a rather grande future being planned as some manner of doctor, or perhaps even engineer for the Haven itself. Needless to say, the early years were certainly golden ones.

Over the course of his life, William stayed much within the norms of his Haven. However, it was not untill now that he began to notice certain things, certain rather shady actions. Things which usually were sturdy and well constructed began to suddenly fail or falter in some manner, and even the water purifcation systems became less and less useful as an increasingly drastic amount of radiation and dirt began to seep into the water supply from the outside. It became so bad that even the Haven itself was breeched eventually due to a malfuctioning generator. The situation became desperate, and with desperation became the first of the ghouls.

Unbeknowst to the populace of the Haven, the amount of rads in the areas where systems vital to the Haven's continued self-sustainability had become sufficient to...warp, the people that worked there. Their facial, head, and even body hair began to fall from them and some compained of skin irritations. The Overseer, a slave driver of a man, cared not. Such was his complete contempt for the people under him, that when the engineers began to die or were so in pain as to become bedridden he would merely send more down there to keep the vital systems in working order. No price was too high, and William was among those whom were sent down there. To certain death.

His week of work were short at the very most, William now had grown to be a man of thirty-three years that was fit in mind and body. He had worked as a medical professional, or as professional as the Haven could make them, and he had seen firsthand the effects of the radiation upon the workers. Skin was necrotic, cartillage became weakened or outright became useless, and their apperance resembled more akin to classical zombies than actual people.

It was not before long that William himself succumbed to these illnesses, skin became to crack and resemble a whole mass of burnt or necrotic tissues. Hair began to fall out. His mood deepend to outright depression, and visions of something...better.

While only the security of the Havens had any access to more 'viable' weapons such batons or even the odd firearm, they were not a match for the groups of disgruntled workers... when they themselves were part of the newly ghoulified members of the Haven. Numbers of the 'normal' and ghoul became roughly even, and a Haven-wide civil war began. On one side, the human elite (for all of them held prominent positions within the Haven, while Ghouls were forced into worthless jobs) that feared these "zombies" and on the other the ghouls themselves. Fighting was brief and violent, with many being slain or visciously wounded by the onslaught. William himself led a half dozen fellow ghouls as they fought off against the hostile guard forces. The overseer himself, along with his whole family, was forced into the most radiated of areas of the Haven where they themselves simply died slow agonised deaths.

The now ghoul-controlled Haven was, drastically different from the pre-take over. While previously the Haven was ruled by a central, increasingly small human upper caste. It was now a more equal society, but it was not viable. Numbers were small, and the populace found themselves lacking ability to have children. The outside was needed, and needed drastically.

It was a heavy idea, one which no one truly wanted, but one which they needed to complete. And that, is why William now wanders the wastes.

Other: Nothing really to note...

Over his clothes, but underneath a duster, Logan wears a set of ballistic pads and plates- thick, sturdy plastic plates backed by Kevlar and leather, not uncommon amongst 21st century motorcyclists. These thick pads provide Logan with protection against potentially flesh tearing, sharp edges, along with relative protection against blunt force impacts. While these plates won't protect him much from a giant club of concrete and rebar being swung at him, they do provide him with ample protection against fists, the occasional shiv, and the flailing limbs of feral ghouls while being lightweight enough to more around in without much difficulty. A few parts of his armor has been replaced with metal, either due to damage or because of its usage.

In regards to armament, has a crude blade without a guard, as well as a variety of smaller blades hidden on his person. His primary armament is a pre-war crossbow he found while scavenging around the outskirts of the old military base.

Lux's tattoo extends from her face all the way down the left side of her body, ending at mid-thigh level, all in dark Celtic patterns. Anyone familiar with the Daughters of Ishtar will recognize the marks, though many that come in contact with them don't live to tell the tale.

Lux was born to one of the Daughters of Ishtar, her father being a slave that belonged to her mother. She was raised among the group of entirely female raiders, and learned most of her skills from her mother and other members of her clan. Lux was always closer to her father, however, an awkward situation given his brutal treatment at the hands of his captors. When she was able, she would spend time alone with him, and learn of the home he once had, now destroyed by slavers. She came to despise the alliance her people held with other raider groups, and their willingness to work with slavers. At 19, an incident occurred which led to Lux abandoning her clan in the night, and leaving to make her own way in the wastes. She keeps almost entirely to herself, but has taken a liking to the village of Silvershaw, and helps it how she can from a distance.

Wigstan's parents were well into their thrities when they finally resolved to have a child, far above the "safe" age in the virulent and tumutltous wasteland which has kept life expectancy to a barbaric minimum. They had metas travellers, his mother in the ethnic sense, the daughter of the remenants of the English rooted sect of "Irish travellers" turned to horse-cart trading and roaming once more with the destruction of the roots of the cities. Wigstan's father had been a soldier-of-fortune for a decade of his twenty-eight year life when he stumbled into to the trading forum of his future-wife, Rosy, and whilst the travellers were habitually insular, marrying their offspring only to membersof what now constitutes a tribe, the air of the foreign, of individuality about a man who made a living apart from a family and a band drew Wigstan's mother to elope.

Together, they roamed the crumbling "Great Em-Six" as far north as Manchester and Carlile and south to where the severn met the irradiated sea and was absorbed by it, where bone-ridged, cripple-like dolphins could been seen poking a long,irradiated snout from beneath the foam. They became a couple of some fame, and oftetimes being sought out by desperate town-dwellers beset by maddened ghouls or those who would much rather take than wait and let grow their sustenance fora swift, and invariably deadly solution.

This notority, however, begot a bitter price. To thrive, the famously chaste Ordinem demanded tribute from those it ministered to, including, with pious generoisty, the Traveller clans. It had been many years since the Ordinem last exacted their gambit, and tales of a mercenary couple, one half sporting orange-tinged locks and an almost alien manner of speech provided the promise of a renege on their investment. They sent a lone emissary to track down Wigstan's parents, demanding that Rosy forsake her roving spouse and devote herself and her skills to the service of the Lord - no other candidate suited their needs and if she refused, the Ordinem would forsake the patronage and protection they affordedRose's family and declare them "ungodly". Backed into a corner, Wigstan's father sought to exploit and bargain the Ordinem's fatal flaw. Devout Catholics, the Ordinem celebrated the gendered theology of the ruined Church, the claimthat humility, receptiveness and nuturing were the cornerstones of the female, not the body-giving, protective nature of the man, and for this reason, very few women were accepted into their Knightly ranks. To this end, Wigstan's fatheroffered a deal - he claimed his wife was "with child", not a week or two past, a child who a "wizard" master of the old world discipline of "medicine" had confirmed was male. Wigstan's father promised that when this child was old enough to walk, that he would personally carry him to the Ordinem's nearest hearth.

Satisfied, the Knight departed, eager to report news of the boon reaped from his endeavour, but Wigstan's father had lied - there was no child, and he knew of no way to know if it was male, at any rate. It seemed a faultless ruse, the mercenary would keep his beloved wife and travelling companion, and the ordinem would never bother them again, in return the couple would simply dissappear into unremarkable ignominity.

To this end, Wigstan's father slowly lead the couple to the north, towards a settlement he had promised himself that, one day, he would settle himself in - Warwick Castle. Far from the nuclear blasts that had levelled so much of England'smonuments, Warwick Castle stood, an uncrumbling, thousand year old fort, walled, watered and protected against anything Wigstan's father had heard of beseting it. Too, the settlment, grown around the encircled green, was exceptionallyselective when admitting reisdents, and largely ignorant of its ducal past. In the shadow of this settlement, Wigstan's father professed his exhaustion at what he called his "hollow life", and his enduring desire for an honest family to care for. Rosy accepted the proposal, and, discarding their weapons and donning more humble attire, they approached the gates.

Both were accepted without much deliberation - goodly, toughened people, strong enough to police and protect the settlement were in far too short supply, and they were both given roles as watchmen. The settlement was generally peaceful,and over six years of living, they had scarcely seen a hostile soul crest the only accesible horizon and between the half-burnt trees to assail the enormous fortification. In their security, Wigstan neglected his oath to the Ordinem, and he and his wife finally sired a son, Wigstan himself, though that was not his original name.