NAME - He refers to himself as 'Longshot'. (Officially Sergeant Dominic Garrett of the NCR Covert Recon Forces)

AGE - 27 years old

GENDER - Male

APPEARANCE - Dominic has thick, scraggly brown hair, and a rough beard. He stands at about 6 feet in height, and weighs 200 pounds, giving him a muscular, stocky build. His face and body is marred with scars of various types, and he is missing a right ear. He wears an NCR Officer's green military beret, but with any NCR markings removed, to hide his origins. His outfit is an olive green long-sleeve t-shirt under a sleeveless knee-length brown trench coat, with a green military pouch bandoleer across his chest, green fatigue pants, and black combat boots, one with a knife sheath built in, occupied with a combat knife. For armaments he wields a 5.56 Marksman Carbine modified with a folding bipod, with a silenced 9mm pistol as a sidearm. He carries a backpack filled with ammo, food, medical supplies, and a mid-range radio that can be amplified with the right equipment. He also has a military-grade compass and a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, and a air respirator tied to his belt. He has a set of NCR dog tags with his name and information on them, but keeps them out of sight.

PERSONALITY - Gruff, stubborn, sarcastic, and generally not a people person. He much prefers to be out in the wastes exploring instead of interacting with people. He does tend to be extremely loyal to those he actually likes, however.

FACTION - Covert Scout for the NCR Military

BIOGRAPHY - Born in the capital of the NCR, Shady Sands, Dominic had a relatively decent childhood. His education was very good by post-war standards, and from a young age he idolized the military. His father taught him to shoot starting at about age 10, and he took to it almost naturally, becoming a skilled shooter by the time he was an adult. His only issues as a child were his tendencies to get lost exploring the surrounding area, and his constant disagreements with other children, the worst of which led to fighting. By age 18, he was enlisted with the NCR Army, and had begun training. His skill with long-range marksmanship, coupled with high performances in recon scouting, and spotting, had him placed in one of the Recon battalions, though he was still far from the coveted skills of the legendary 1st Recon. During one of his first field operations, as a Private First Class, he took a grazing shot to his right ear. The damage was unrepairable, leading to the ear's removal, which somewhat stunted his scouting abilities, though he worked hard to improve his eyesight to make up for it. Eventually, his service would raise him to the rank of Sergeant, though it took a bit longer due to his general distaste of people. As a sergeant, he was reassigned to a Covert Recon unit, designed to disguise as normal wastelanders, infiltrate remote areas of interest with limited NCR contact, before eventually reporting back with their findings. He was quick to jump on this opportunity, as it meant doing exactly what he enjoyed. This would culminate in his arrival to the Orleans area, under the guise of a wilderness rogue-for-hire nicknamed 'Longshot'

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH - 4
PERCEPTION - 8
ENDURANCE - 5
CHARISMA - 4
INTELLIGENCE - 5
AGILITY - 8
LUCK - 6

PERKS - [Up to Three]

- Ghost (Fallout 1 & 2)
- Pathfinder (Fallout 2)
- Sniper

OTHER -

Name: Sebastian Monroe
Typical Alias: Shadow
Age: 35
Gender Male

Appearance: Tall and quite thin Sebastian is a bit of a lanky fellow standing at 6'3. However just because he's lanky doesn't mean he's not strong enough to knock all your teeth out if he has to. He keeps his black hair cut short and can always be found clean shaven. His typical attire is his Chinese stealthsuit, over which he wears a double breasted black trench coat that ends just below knee height, as well as a make shift hood.

Personality: His childhood led Sebastian to be cold, calculating and efficient. When he's on the job he doesn't care about anything other than completing his contract, and quite frankly he doesn't care who gets in his way. However if you spend enough time with him he'll become a bit more friendly... well what Sebastian knows as friendly anyway.

Faction: Ex-Talon Company

Biography: The son of a whore and member of Talon Company, Sebastian spent the early years of his life simply trying to get by in the Capital Wasteland. His mother disowned him after a jet fuelled argument caused her to throw a bottle at him however, and the poor 7 year old boy tried to make his way in the Wastes eventually making it (by some miracle) to Rivet city. Here he spent the next few years of his life doing odd jobs here and there before eventually joining Rivet City Security at the age of 16. Eventually he heard about the whereabouts of his father. After several days he was eventually able to kill him with a shot from a sniper rifle before being knocked out and taken prisoner. When he awoke the mercs were ready to kill him, he told them who he was and offered them everything but the clothes on his back, if instead of killing him they let him join Talon company.

At first he got rather poor jobs, mainly maintaining the arms and armour of the other mercs. Eventually however he managed to get sent out on a few simple kill missions and earned a name for himself.

One of his more taxing missions involved ambushing water caravans. Not knowing whether he'd be facing brotherhood or rivet city troops Sebastian developed the Switch-Laser. He took his fathers old tri-beam (he'd taken the gear when he joined) and altered the barrel mounting to allow for quick switches between various barrel configurations.

Overtime he eventually developed the sniper barrel he uses today, which is more than capable of taking down brotherhood troopers provided the user knows what they're doing. He wracked up at least 5 confirmed brotherhood kills before his section chief transferred him.

However his most dangerous mission was stealing an Enclave vertibird from a group of remnants. Sebastian and a team of other Talons eventually managed to capture the vertibird's landing bay and seized the equipment there to boot. Cost a lot of lives though, only Sebastian and a few other mercs made it out of there alive, and its experience that has lingered with Sebastian, whether he likes it or not.

After years spent like this Sebastian was one of the wastelands most notorious killers, he was willing to kill just about anybody, but he still held himself to a few basic rules. Don't kill anyone but the target if possible, always leave a calling card where possible etc. It was this last vestige of decency that prompted two of his fellow mercs to turn on him during a routine tech recovery job. He killed both of the mercs with his switch-laser before looting their bodies and the building they'd been sent to sweep.

It was here he found the chinese stealthsuit that he now make use of, deep inside the ordinary looking office building he found the pre-war research lab that the building was actually intended to hide.

After this Sebastian left the Talons and set off simply trying to put plenty of distance between himself and Talon Company. He'd heard some of the other mercs talking about the chance of some jobs down south and decided that it'd be a good place to disappear.

During his treck to New Orleans the stealthsuit's inbuilt stealth boy effect has saved Sebastian's hide more than once. Whilst not as protective as his old combat armour in a sustained fire fight, the stealthsuit takes him from being an infiltrator of exceptional skill, to a ghost who can go just about anywhere and kill almost anyone.

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

Strength - 5
Perception - 8
Endurance - 5
Charisma - 3
Intelligence - 8
Agility - 10
Luck - 1

Perks:
Friend of the Night
Ninja
Scientist

Equipment:
Chinese Stealthsuit
Black Trench Coat
Chinese Officer's Sword
Switch-Laser (a laser rifle with a recoil compensating stock specially designed by Sebastian to use different quick switch barrels)
Sniper Switch Barrel (with long scope)
Tri Beam Switch Barrel (with reflex scope)
300 Microfusion Cells
5 Stimpaks

NAME -Nobdy “Boss” Duhmas

AGE -36

GENDER -Male

APPEARANCE -Boss stands at about six foot even with a rather muscular frame and a set of dirty hazel brown eyes. His face looks like it might have been handsome once upon a time but years of constant fighting have left many of his features scarred and battered. From his constant five o clock shadow to the way he seems to always have a fine layer of dust on his clothes there isnt anything about him that doesn't look rough. Of all his characteristics though the most memorable by far is the way his nose has been forever cracked to the right side-a permanent gift from a particularly “friendly” super mutant named Bo-jack. He keeps his brown hair cut short in no particular style and is rarely seen not wearing his armor. On one or two rare events he has been known to break out his “special occasion suit”, which is in all honesty just an old world fashion atrocity and the butt of many jokes among his fellow Caravaners.


**All credit goes to Danyi for the badass pic-I've no way to actually get ahold of you man, but awesome job. PM me if you see this and want it removed. (Post this for all my pics with named artists)**

PERSONALITY -Boss is a man who like many has a very shady past but these days does his best to simply make an honest living, because of this he is often closed off and reserved to those outside of his small group of friends. When he does interact with outsiders, often while on the job or trading, he can come off as harsh and almost cold-his words often blunt and to the point. Those that do know him however are well aware that most of this just stems from his extremely driven personality; when he's on a job or trying to barter its all cold cut business-he will chase his goals like a madman. He's also known for having a fairly dry sense of humor and spouting out monotone sounding sarcasm-which again, doesn't help his personal skills while interacting with new people at all. When he is off the job and hanging around with his pals he is much more laid back and sociable. Atleast as social as he can be.

He's not the type to go out of his way to help those in need but at the same time when confronted with an actual moral decision he normally makes the “right” choice.

BIOGRAPHY -
"Once upon a time in a Legion camp far far away a little frightened confused boy who had just lost his mother asked his tormentors 'Whats my name?' They responded, 'Nobody, Dumbass.'"

Nobdy was born in the far NorthWest of Colorado in a Wasteland very similar to the one he now resides in, both he and his mother Slaves of a large Caesars Legion Training camp. Being a male slave in the culture that was the Legion made Nobdy a prime target for constant beatings and mistreatment, a fact that was no truer then on his eigth birthday when he was given a machete and sent to the training pits-a place slaves went to die in an attempt to “Better the future fighting force of Caesar.” Most slaves didn't survive the first few days of fighting that occurred in the pits but those that did would only return time and time again until finally cut down in combat. Probably not surprisingly this became an anger outlet for years of mental and physical abuse: many of Caesars Legions trainees fell beneath his crudely crafted blade.

This was his life for about eight years, his muscles growing strong with use as his body became equally scarred and broken. Around the time he was sixteen the final local tribes were conquered under Caesars banner and after that it wasn't long before The Legion began pushing further West in yet another campaign of conquest. About halfway through his sixteenth birthday his own large settlement began to move away having apparently received orders to set up base further West.

Now, most people have never seen a Legion Camp pack up and move across the Wasteland but it is not an entirely organized process to say the least. Sometimes they cant take everything, sometimes they can't find everything they want to take, and then sometimes they just don't want to bother moving the cargo. Apparently Nobdy fit into the last category, a fact made apparent as the camp left with Nobdy still locked in a cage like an animal. Luckily for him the cage was made of thick wood-breakout attempts mainly deterred simply by the Legions presence. But now that there were no guards there was nothing stopping Nobdy from breaking out with his two bare hands.

His first few days of freedom were a complete blur-having literally never left the camp his whole life almost everything he experienced was brand new and exciting. Even the vast number of things trying to kill him he found interesting. When he finally came to terms with the fact that he was now a free man he just kind of...set off in a random direction, scavenging buildings along the way for loot, supplies, and tradeable items. For about three years he made his way West without knowing it, arriving in the Chicaghoul area wasteland around the time he was nineteen. When he hit Lake Michigan he assumed he had reached the Ocean, this made him quit walking, turn around, and start walking again. It was just by chance that on his way out of the Chicaghoul Wasteland he met a man named Joseph Redfield. They'd met in a bar in some town called Bilgewater and needless to say they hit it off over a few beers.

Redfield explained to Nobdy how he ran a caravan company, a line of business that could always use another hand holding a gun. Honestly Nobdy took the job more out of curiosity then anything else-he and three other men were to transport two heavily packed Brahmin to a place called “Craterside City” the next day. Now three important things happened on this little adventure that made Nobdy decide to stay here, if only for a little while.

1. He got paid to kill people. And not just kill people, but kill people trying to kill and rob other people. Something about the work felt slightly rewarding.
2. It was the most caps he'd ever received in one sitting
3. It was the first thriving City he had ever seen-and with a pocketful of caps the world was his oyster.

For about twelve more years he continued to run Caravans throughout the Wastes, eventually building up quite a name for himself by word of mouth with other Wasteland Wanderers. By the time he was about to turn thirty two he had survived enough caravan runs that he had more caps than he knew what to do with, a problem only made worse by his ever growing boredom of Caravan protection-after all one could only walk behind a two headed cows ass for so many years before it got old.

Clearly wanting a change of pace he toyed with the idea of retiring, but he disregarded that thought almost immediately. He wasn't the type that could just sit still and grow old. No, he needed new adventures and experiences: while still raking in the caps of course. He was drunkenly explaining all this to an old caravan buddy, an eccentric toothless old timer who went by Creo Joe, when his friend recommended a change of scenery: he suggested Boss head South along what he called the Miss's river. Atleast that's what Boss was pretty sure he called it-Creo Joe had a habit of speaking...odly, it was only because Boss had known the man for so long that he could understand half of what he said.

After that Boss couldn't get the idea out of his head and it was only a matter of time before he was doing his best to convince old man Redfield that the South was an untapped bounty of resources for the Caravan trade. As far as Boss could gather through stray bits of information not even their main competitors the Crimson Caravan Company had established trade routes there, and with the direct route the Miss's river offered only a fool would pass on the opportunity-At least thats what Boss kept telling himself.

Eventually Boss actually believed everything he told Redfield, wholeheartedly convinced that the South was some sort of promised land. It reached the point that Mr. Redfields main hesitancy in investing in the expedition was Boss himself, his once stalwart employee now seemingly hellbent on going South on some fabled adventure that, as far as Redfield was concerned, was just a death march (or boat ride, as was the case.) Finally though he relented when Boss made the irresistible offer to not only fund half of the journey himself but to map out the entire route-maps he would then turn over to Mr. Redfield upon his arrival back, an arrival they were both aware could take years or may very well never happen.

FACTION -Redfields Caravan Company

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH-8
PERCEPTION-4
ENDURANCE-6
CHARISMA-4
INTELLIGENCE-4
AGILITY-7
LUCK-7

-Perks-
Quick Draw:
Shotgun Surgeon:
Terrifying Presence:

OTHER -Many an unfortunate soul has made the mistake of thinking simply because Boss has run out of ammo he is defenseless: this however couldn't be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is the machete was not only his first weapon but to this day he can wield the crude piece of steel with deadly proficiency; something his attackers usually have to learn the hard way.

NAME -Reynard Woodwose

AGE -262 Years Old

GENDER -Male

APPEARANCE -Like most ghouls Reynard has a slight “skin problem”-large chunks having literally rotted off his now reddish brown shriveled skin. Due to his medical condition Reynard looks somewhat thin and lithe-a look that compliments his slightly smaller stature. Standing at about 5'8” he is usually found wearing the same scarlet uniforms that all members of the Order adorn themselves in.

Unlike some soldiers Reynard takes great pride in both how his uniform and his outwards appearance-even going as far as wearing wigs and applying large quantities of what a local saleswoman claims is “his shade of cover up.” It is rather apparent that Reynard longs to look just like everyone else: especially his King that he holds in such high regards.


PERSONALITY -Not only is Reynard extremely loyal but he is also very outspoken against those who oppose the Order in any way whatsoever: on more then one occasion he has challenged a fellow Orleans resident to a duel over insults to his King. To those who favor the crown however Reynard is somewhat polite and kind; often doing his best to imitate the obviously upper class. Despite his best attempts to dress himself up when it finally comes down to it Reynard is first and foremost a soldier; battle being one of the few constants in his life since prior to the bombs even falling.

More then a lifetime ago he was known by another name: Chang Wukan; a member of the Covert Overseas Infiltration Unit. This man, who lived in a world full of abundance and potential, was trained from birth to lead a double life. He would be given the lifelong assignment of fooling the world around him into thinking that he was in fact the one thing he despised most. Because of this he grew up guarded both socially and physically, quickly mastering both the effectiveness of a gun and a smile. Despite having lived among the enemy for years he held no love for his red white and blue compatriots; sabotaging them every chance he could clear up until the year 2077. To this day he can be a somewhat quite individual.

FACTION -The Order

BIOGRAPHY -Born in the year 2047 to a pair of parents he never had the fortune of meeting Reynard, who at the time was known as Chang, was quickly made property of the state just like so many other thousands of boys and girls at the time. Raised to put his country above all else Chang was practically the poster child for indoctrination; from the time he could walk and talk his days had been filled with learning one espionage trick after the other along with the basics of wilderness survival and hit and run tactics. Oddly enough he was also never taught to read, write, or speak chinese-as a deep cover operative it was always the intention that he would be planted in America as an undercover agent and because of this the powers that be believed it was in his (and more importantly, their) best interest that he seemed “as american as possible.” Which in reality meant not even being able to utter a word of Chinese under the duress of torture.

By the time Chang had turned Eighteen he had spent the better part of fifteen years training day in and day out for his inevitable mission overseas: a mission he was finally givein the honor of undertaking on his nineteenth birthday; three weeks before he turned twenty he was taking his first tentative steps on American soil (having been dropped off covertly by a submarine.) His assignment was actually rather simple and rather broad on how he could tackle the job-basically he was to sow as much dissent among New Orleans as he could before his Identity was discovered; upon having his identity revealed his following orders were to retreat to a pre established safe house within the thick bog to the East and perform as many acts of guerrilla warfare as he could before being subdued by American forces.

Over the years Chang, who lived in New Orleans under the alias of Dr. Woodwose, did a a rather splendid job of mucking things up in general. Not only did he infiltrate the local shipping yards on a weekly basis to misdirect and disrupt shipments of all sorts of goods but he also made sure to prescribe his own special blend of drugs that made all of his patients (which numbered in the hundreds) violently mad.

In the year 2046 Changs cover was completely blown-a committee of highly advanced intellectuals rooting out not only his identity but hundreds of other undercover agents across the country. Luckily one of his peers who was rather high up in the medical community got wind of all of this prior to anyone coming after or accusing the supposed Dr. Woodwose-of course Chang quickly dispatched his would be savior and bugged out for the local bayou as per his orders-naturally he set the entire hospital on fire before leaving.

The next year of his life was spent boobytrapping the surrounding area of the small two man bunker he now called home; located deep within the bayous just outside New Orleans it was the ideal spot for a man trying to lay low. Little did he know that in the following year it would also come to save his life.

In the year 2077 he was awoken with a start one day-the small concrete structure he called home underground literally shaking as the world above was bathed in atomic fire. Assuming his great nation had dealt a final blow to the enemy Chang was overjoyed-immediatley he hopped on his computer console, the one that was to be used in the event that Chang was ready for extraction, and input his verification codes. After confirming his identity the message read as follows-the words seared into his brain to this very day:

“You have done well to get this far, agent Chang. With deepest regret, however, your life must now be terminated for the good of the Peoples Republic. Go with dignity, honored solider!”

Before Chang had even finished reading the sentence a thick green cloud of smoke began pouring out of the very same vents that were used to filter and clean oxygen from the world topside-he didn't need to breathe any in to know what would happen if he did. He was well aware that whatever he did next would decide if he lived or died-and with all the mysterious gas closing in around him he chose to take his chances above ground. He thought perhaps if he let the gas air out of the bunker hatch while he waited above ground he could eventually return to the safety that was down below.

By the time the five families journeyed to what Chang still recognized as New Orleans he was a completely different man; years of fighting for survival among not only the constantly mutating creatures but growing raider gangs as well had turned him into a ruthless hunter, overtime even learning to live off the very land itself while avoiding the previously mentioned threats. Not only had Chang started calling himself by a different name (assuming his old undercover alias of Reynard Woodwose) but he also phsyically changed a great deal over the years; the almost constant exposure to radiation having ghoulified him years before he would come to know what a ghoul even was. For years he just thought he was a freak of nature; some undying old world spirit left to rot in this hell for his hand in causing its creation.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH -4
PERCEPTION -4
ENDURANCE -4
CHARISMA -7
INTELLIGENCE -10
AGILITY -6
LUCK -5

PERKS - [Up to Three]

-Hunter
-Laser Commander
-Computer Whiz

OTHER -Like all ghouls Reynard has the unique ability to not only be immune to radiation but is actually healed by the normally deadly exposure. He also has vast knowledge of Orleans itself both pre and post war.

NAME - Dr. Franklin Arlington III

AGE - 35

GENDER - Male

APPEARANCE - A man of average height, standing at about 5 feet 10 inches, and with an average build and weight of about 184 pounds. He has neatly trimmed and groomed black hair, with an equally neat beard. His face is completely free of blemishes, scars, wrinkles, or other marks or imperfections, and he is proud of it. His wardrobe consists solely of various color suits, as clean as humanly possible given global conditions, and a refurbished black bowler hat. He carries a .44 magnum revolver in a shoulder holster under his suit jacket, and has an accompanied pack Brahman laden with various items for sale.

PERSONALITY - A sly, cunning trader, Franklin is always doing his best to con people out of every last cap, usually without them ever realizing it until it is far too late. When speaking to potential customers, he is always polite, charismatic, and quite friendly. However, when threatened, shouted at, or otherwise receiving of hostile actions, he becomes cowardly, ducking behind his larger bodyguard, and only fighting as a last resort.

FACTION - Plans to manipulate both for the gain of himself and his partner.

BIOGRAPHY - Born in a lost-to-the-ages vault, whose experiment was to raise thieves, scum and other lowlifes in a high-class setting, Franklin was sleazy from the start. When he was 10, he managed to con just about every other kid out of their favorite toys, and only gave them back when they banded together to beat him up. By 15 he was constantly "obtaining" malfunctioning vault equipment and attempting to return it in "good-as-new" condition for a reward. By 19 he earned himself a one-way ticket to the wasteland, when his one of his cons cost a security guard his life via a broken 10mm pistol. Once exiled from the vault, he took to wandering the wastes, conning people out of their best equipment, and running for his life when they caught on. After several years alone, he found himself a true friend in his current bodyguard, the man simply known as "Scar". Together they continued their travels, Franklin parting people with their hard-earned goods, and Scar stopping them from killing Franklin with a simple cracking of his knuckles and a glare.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH - 4
PERCEPTION - 4
ENDURANCE - 4
CHARISMA - 10
INTELLIGENCE - 5
AGILITY - 4
LUCK - 9

PERKS - [Up to Three]

- Master Trader
- Speaker
- Scoundrel

OTHER - His pack brahman is laden with various broken, malfunctioning, or otherwise useless products that have been reworked to appear as high-quality goods. From overheating laser rifles, to stimpaks with fake needle tips, he has everything he needs to begin conning the Bayou wasteland out of every last cap it owns.

---

NAME - Known as "Scar", real name unknown.

AGE - 24

GENDER - Male

APPEARANCE - A large, burly man, at an impressive 6 feet 7 inches, and a whopping 245 pounds, Scar is a mass of tough sinew and muscle. His nickname comes from the large scar running down the left side of his face, narrowly missing his eye, and ending at the tip of his chin. He has stubble in place of head hair, and a gold left front tooth. His attire is mainly a rugged leather jacket with the left sleeve missing, a black long-sleeve shirt under that, black denim pants, tan combat boots with an occupied knife sheath, fingerless leather gloves, an ammo bandoleer, and a pouch bandoleer. He carries a light machine gun chambered in 5.56 caliber, with a .45 caliber handgun as a sidearm. He also keeps a pair of brass knuckles handy.

PERSONALITY - Gruff, crude, harsh, just to name a few traits. He's the epiphany of every mercenary, raider, and bounty hunter stereotype rolled into one giant package. He'll sooner punch your lights out for helping him than say thank you, then beat you again for apologizing. The only person he doesn't show any sort of contempt for is Franklin, though nobody BUT Franklin has any clue why.

FACTION - Franklin and his cons

BIOGRAPHY - Born in the raider-infested hellhole that is Detroit, Michigan, Scar grew up with death all around. His father killed his mother when he was 6, taking him to run with a raider gang. By 10, he had killed at least 5 people, and by 15, his father was part of that list. After that, he left, wanting to find a life where he could do things besides killing. Not much is known about his wandering, though there is one tale about him that both him and Franklin love to tell, and that is how he earned the scar that gave him his name. He was in the ruins of Indianapolis, when a deathclaw charged him and his small band of allies. Two of the four were slaughtered in a single swipe of its claw. Even after unloading an entire ammo box from his machine gun into the beast, it still charged on. So Scar did the impossible, he drew his knife, and charged right back at it, screaming at the top of his lungs. According to the other survivor, and a few other scattered witnesses, Scar ended up killing it with just the knife and his hands. The only supporting evidence is the large gash running across his face, and the severed deathclaw hand Scar keeps on his person. Shortly after, Scar would meet up with Franklin, and the two would become inseparable allies from then on.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH - 10
PERCEPTION - 5
ENDURANCE - 8
CHARISMA - 4
INTELLIGENCE - 4
AGILITY - 5
LUCK - 4

PERKS - [Up to Three]

- Terrifying Presence
- Iron Fist
- Ferocious Loyalty

OTHER - N/A

NAME - Nathan Crawford

NICKNAMES - Occasionally gets called Crawford.

ALIASES - Jack the Ripper; The Ripper

AGE - 39

GENDER - Male

SEXUALITY - Asexual


HEIGHT - 6’3”

WEIGHT - 165 lbs

BUILD - Lean & Muscular

EYE COLOUR - Emerald

HAIR COLOUR - Dirty Grey-Brown

SKIN TONE - Tanned

TATTOOS - None

SCARS - He has a small scar just underneath his left eye, and one that goes from his right shoulder to the middle of his spine.

PIERCINGS - None

FACIAL HAIR - He hasn’t got much in the terms of facial hair, just scraggly stubble, with each strand around three to five millimetres.

ATTIRE - Nathan wears Victorian-esque clothing, similar to that of which was depicted in the pictures of some of his books. You can be sure to catch him in the smartest clothing available, albeit not in exactly good condition. However, while he’s “The Ripper”, he reverts to wearing his old Vault jumpsuit, concealed by a heavy, black, leather duster. Meanwhile, his face is covered by a mismatch mask, created from different pieces of leather, in different shades of brown, with only two holes for his eyes, and a slit across the mouth for him to breathe through. To top it all off, he wears a battered, dusty top hat, with a triangular chunk missing from the back of the brim.


PERSONALITY - Nathan is cunning, deceitful, and sadistic. Turns out, being isolated from the rest of the world for quite some time has effects on your brain. He’s obsessed with Jack the Ripper, and being feared by all, that he’ll lie, manipulate and murder if it means he can have his dream come true. Of course, he’s incredibly good at hiding his “secret identity”, and he does what he must in secret so he can keep his good image sustained. This doesn’t mean he goes without his cock-ups, or occasional slip-ups, though.

Another “quirk” of his is that he can go into random bursts of rage, which isn’t surprising, considering he was lied to for most of his life. When he does this, he’ll often start off feeling slightly agitated, then slowly lose control, tearing up the place. Sometimes, the only way he can make it stop is to go on a killing spree, which he sees as “making a good thing out of something bad”. (Sick bastard.)

Crawford’s final quirk is that he can often go into full on, end-of-Alfred-Hitchock’s-Psycho, creepy-ass grin, followed by manic laughing. It often happens in public, and when it does, he has to rush to a secluded area. After all, it’s a little suspicious when a man just suddenly starts laughing like a maniac in the middle of the crowds, isn’t it? Even then, there have been a few close calls where he’s almost been caught. He’s trying to control both of his quirks, but it has so far proved ineffective.

FACTION - N/A

ALIGNMENT - Chaotic Neutral (borderline Evil)

BIOGRAPHY - Crawford spent the first twenty-three years of his live in Vault 68 - a twisted experiment, in which around ten to thirteen people were separated in sound-proof chambers, unable to see each other, completely unaware of each other’s existence. They were provided with only a bed to sleep in, food to eat, water to drink, and books to learn from. As well as educational books that taught them to read, write, and talk, they were provided with different fiction and informational books. The theme of Nathan’s was Jack the Ripper, the infamous Victorian murderer.

Once he’d learned how to do the three basics covered in his educational books, he began filing through the books, taking a genuine interest in them. He was amazed - the patterns in the murders, how Jack never got caught, and how the modern authorities couldn’t even fathom who it could’ve been. He was inspired, and he slowly began to plot his escape, being caught up in his own fantastic world of Victorian murder. And, one day, he did just that. He broke out of his cell, and went on a rampage, killing every last person in that Vault. How dare they lie to him; lock him away from the rest of humanity!

After that, he created himself some clothes other than his jumpsuit, and packed up his books and supplies, heading out. He exited the heavy, metal door of the Vault, and into the Hell that awaited him. He made it into the Savreaux District, and dug himself a little hole in the ground, which eventually expanded further underground and became his home. Inside, he pinned up pictures of different “targets”, and trained himself further and further with books and exercise. Once he was ready, he crafted himself the perfect outfit for his “Ripper” persona. Of course, he would have to wait before he could murder anyone, let alone the big targets. But his time is coming, and Orleans will fear The Ripper.

STRENGTH - 8
PERCEPTION - 6
ENDURANCE - 6
CHARISMA - 2
INTELLIGENCE - 5
AGILITY - 7
LUCK - 6

PERKS -
- Cannibal
- Night Person
- Awareness

NAME - Steeple Chase

AGE - 146

GENDER - Male

APPEARANCE - Steeple stands at 6'2, with narrow shoulders and a muscle bound physique, wrapped in scar flecked, milky white skin. On top of his head he has a coarse rug of hay yellow hair, short at the back and on the sides but long on top, combed to the right. He has a narrow head with a well defined, angular jaw and thin lips that always appear to be pursed; on the right side of his neck, he has tattooed the cog shape of a vault door with 121 at its center, just under which he had his Vault ID number tattooed in. Over top his body, he wears the remains of a vault suit, the trouser and belt parts mostly intact but the top, torso covering area, significantly tattered; so he ties that portion around his waist, with the knotted sleeves dangling from his belt buckle, tied to the handle of a Vault Tec lunchbox. Substituting the missing torso clothing, he wears a vault 121 t-shirt, wit the numbers boldly printed in yellow on the back. Stuffed into the back of his trousers, he has a blued .32 revolver and at his left he has a combat knife. However Steeple is no average guy, his entire left side is ghoulified, pale, thin skin draped over wasted, mottled muscle; the skin is slightly translucent and torn in some places, it doesn't appear to be fully attached to the flesh below, leaving areas that are loose and pliable and easy to tear off, hence the reason he has flappy patches of torn skin revealing angry, red muscle.

PERSONALITY - Steeple is a cocky and headstrong young man, who believes he can take on the world and whatever armor it is wearing. He often makes brash decisions and often comes out holding the short straw, but he bounces back just as fast and might just succeed the next time. He takes offense quickly and is often ready with a comeback, having studied you prior to a conversation, he may not always succeed but bless the boy, he plans. Though he is questionable in terms of how he perceives himself and others, he understand that when it comes down to business, he can’t slip up, saving mistakes for his personal endeavors and not when it comes to money. During jobs, he is often serious and highly irritable, wanting everything to go exactly as planned under threat of storming off and brooding. He is a gambling man, often taking risks by accepting impossible jobs and betting on impossible odds because he “had a feeling” and often against people who are much more powerful than himself. Though he would look like the person who would disrespect you in an instant, he has decent manners to those he feels deserving of them but not for those he has issues with. Apart from that, he knows how to have a good time, being a great person to be around when he's in a good mood.

FACTION - None Affiliated (Leans towards The Order)

BIOGRAPHY - Chase was born in vault 121, one of the few vaults that were actually meant to save people, to his drunk of a mother and a father of whom he had never met, as he died prior to Steeple being born. From the onset of his life it seemed that he was going grow up, live and die in the vault, If the mandatory tattoo on his neck wasn't enough evidence, he didn't know what was. But other then that life was normal, or as normal as life in a subterranean fallout shelter could be. Though at 10, his life started taking a turn for the worst; on his tenth birthday he wasn't presented with a PipBoy as others had been, there were none left in stock, instead he was given a pen and a book and was sent off to begin with his first vault responsibilities completely and utterly miserable. Life after that point was hell, he was the target of all the other children's malice, they poked fun at him for not having a PIPboy.. Or a father.

Years passed though, scars opened and closed but one thing was constant, his mother's sorrow. She had been utterly miserable, even a child could see that, the death of his father - her lover - had never left her. After he was old enough to care for himself, at the age of 14 or so, she had dropped mothering all together, instead favoring the bitter rim of acrid, home brewed alcohol. His childhood and young adult life was a depressed mess of disappointment and caring for his mother. Upon reaching 16 years of age he sat the GOAT, the Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test, "You can't fail this." he recalled his teacher telling him but the outcome sure did feel like a failure. Maintenance, where they put those who were good at nothing, he reported downstairs the very next day and his bad luck chanced by him once more. Steeple and the other apprentices were stood in front of a large projector screen, as the instructor explained something; as he stood, he caught fragments of a whispered conversation from behind him. His blood went cold. Apparently the two had taken a route that took them past his and his mother's quarters and had heard a commotion inside. Slowly he turned and started to push his way through throng of his peers, his instructor noticed and ordered him to get back into line, he kept pushing until he was out and dashed to his room. His mother was inside, yelling and struggling against the restraining grip of a large man; in fear and rage Steeple didn't think, picking up a pencil he and lunged at the man, pushing the sharpened implement into the man's back.

Eventually the man died and Jingo was in big trouble, he was held in solitary for months and when he was released for his disciplinary hearing he was greeted with bad news. He had to leave the vault, 'we can't have a menace like you continue to be among us.' They told him before unceremoniously shoving him out of the vault. At first he found it hard to cope he was crippled with fear but slowly, over weeks, that fear turned to resentment and that to anger. He didn't last long in the wasteland, after a few months he had gotten into trouble with some unsavory types and they were after his head for not paying his tab; they chased him into a pre-war power plant where they snuffed him out, shooting him and dumping his body into a waste vat.

Though that wasn't the end of the story.

He woke up with a groan to find himself still alive, walking out he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface and began flailing and screaming in anger. He was a ghoul. After a hundred years, all his anger and hate simmered down into a dull throb, everyone he knew in the vault were now dead, replaced by their descendants and the people who ghoulified him were also most likely dead. He had no one to get revenge on.. So why bother?

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH - 4
PERCEPTION - 8
ENDURANCE - 9
CHARISMA - 3
INTELLIGENCE - 5
AGILITY - 9
LUCK - 2

OTHER -

PERKS -
- Bloody Mess
- Awareness
- Party Boy