Name:Isaac J. Vurweigh
"Hell must have gotten tired of waiting, because it's come to us, now."Phys. Description:Standing at just shy of five and a half feet in height and built rather stocky, Isaac is not a figure that most would find very intimidating at a glance. Most, in fact, seem to look him over entirely due to his size. His face and body, if seen uncovered, prove to be marred by the scars expected of somebody who has spent more than their share of time outside of the city walls.
Most of these scars are small in size, likely gained just in wandering. But, two scars in particular are of note- first, the three long and ragged lines that run down one side of his face and neck. They appear to be from some sort of animal- as do the similar scars that run down the entirety of his back, from shoulder to hip.
Looking past the scarring, his face could be considered conventionally handsome, with fair and even features framed by mid-length, roughly cut brown hair. His eyes are a deep green in color, and habitually cast down towards the ground. His nose is just faintly crooked, as if once broken and poorly set- giving what he has been told is a 'Mischievous' air to his features.
Psyche:Isaac is a careful man- he always has been, even before he was tempered by the outside world. Often, he is seen as being just a bit...
Slow. This would be an incorrect assumption, born by the fact that he takes his time to carefully consider everything he does, and everything he says. This isn't to say he can't act with urgency, of course, should life and limb depend on it- Merely that he would always much prefer not to be so hasty.
Motivation:Isaac chose to join the group out of a sense of responsibility. He has spent more time outside of the walls than most outside of the Army due to his career, and believes it is his obligation to put that experience to use in assisting what very well may be his peoples' last hope, lest they perish in the harsh wilds of a crumbled country.
History:(I write this history assuming that the city is already a generation or two in. Correct me if I'm wrong, and I'll alter it according to that. :3)
Isaac was born to a pretty regular, if somewhat poor, family in the city. They did what they could to make his life a pleasant one- putting him through school and going to lengths to make his childhood as 'Normal' as was possible in a city like theirs. He enjoyed it, of course... but always, it was tainted by a wanderlust brought on by the looming shadow of the walls that surrounded him always.
As he grew older, he started taking risks, and acting upon that need to explore. At first, all was well. He'd slip out of the walls during the day, claiming to be in classes, and score the area immediately arou d the city. He always made it home by nightfall, and the worst trouble he ever encountered, he was able to run away from; until came the day he couldn't. Rare as encroachments of the fog had become in recent years, he was unlucky enough to be caught by a wave of it during one of his daylight adventures.
To this day, he remembers very little of the experience. Only fear, and pain. Overwhelming, crippling fear and pain. He had run until his legs gave out, and then he had crawled. Even still, the creatures of the fog left their marks upon him, raking claws across his face and his back, scarring the boy for life. He escaped only due to his size, cowering in an abandoned, crumbled home until the dogs parted, late that night. He waited there, bleeding and afraid, until he was saved by pure, honest luck- a soldier, broken off from his platoon to take a piss. He found Isaac, still curled up under the rubble, and rushed the boy back to the city.
Isaac awoke hours later, covered in bandages and laying in a hospital bed. For years after that, he was like a different boy. He never strayed from home or school, locked firmly into his studies... and strangely, a new passion. He studied the outside relentlessly, learning every scrap of information he could about it, about how to survive... and about the fog. When it came time to take on a job to support the city, Isaac became a hunter, living at the very edge of the city, tracking and killing game to provide the city with fresh meat. And all the while, he watched for curious souls like himself, hoping to prevent another incident like his own from ever happening again. Now thirty one, he continues that mission... every day.
Equipment:First aid kit-
Arguably his most important tool, Isaac always keeps basic first aid supplies handy.
Colt 1911-
It was his father's, his great grandfathers, and so on. Immaculately cared for... At least, when he can afford the parts. Whether or not he ever has ammo for it, however, is far more debatable.
Bow-
Guns are expensive, and ammo is rare. So, Isaac hunts the efficient way: old school. A handcrafted longbow of elm, with a sinew string and a grip of worn old leather. His weapon of choice for any prey worth eating.
Knife-
It's big, it's pointy, and it's sharpened every day. Mostly, it's used for skinning game- but steel really doesn't get picky about what flesh it's cutting into, now does it?
Bag-
A big ol' leather bag. It holds some camping equipment, a change of clothes, his tent, a canteen, and his coat when he isn't currently wearing it.
Coat-
A genuine fur coat, made from the hides of a pair of wolves he once hunted to feed folks. It's rough, and not particularly clean, but it's warm and long enough to use as a blanket. Rough, too.
