Name: Endre Volksfar
Race: Tiefling
Age: 28
Appearance: Endre is rough looking Tiefling, by some he may be considered handsome but to most he is just intimidating or in some cases terrifying. Large horns sprout from his forehead and sweep back alongside his skull before rolling sideways before rising to a point similar to those of a bull, forcing his shoulder length black hair back away from his face. His face is largely humanoid, with high cheekbones and a scar tearing along the smooth flesh of his nose cutting down below his eye before ending along his cheeks. His chin is slightly elongated, and looks to have a few bone protrusions pressing against his skin.

His is muscularly built, however a life on the road with sometimes limited supplies takes their toll so while being muscular he is not overly large. He is often dressed in a long sweeping roughly stitched leather duster coat with a riding slit up the back. His shirt is a simple bit of black cloth often covered up by a thick slab of metal that serves as his only true armour when he goes into battle. His pants match the duster, clearly made of similar materials however the knees are reinforced with padding. The pants end in hardened combat boots of a hardy design the toes of which are clearly metal shod.

Skills and abilities:
•Long range fire support
•Stealth
•Scouting
•Riding
•Minor Illusion Spells

Weapons:
•Rugged Sniper Rifle
•Large Caliber Handgun
•Machete
•Focusing Necklace
Other Equipment:
•Motorcycle
•Travelling pack (Rations, Fire starting equipment, Tinder, Swag.)
•Saddlebags (Personal grooming kit, change of shirt, Tire repair, Small mechanics kit.)
•Goggles
•Throwover Ghillie rug/Camo netting

Background:
It can be a hard life being a Tiefling, as much as people out in the wastes will fool you they ain't all stupid they know what it takes to make a Tiefling. They know what Tieflings are after all. So of course in the end many of them banded together. Endre was born into one such band, a band that had taken to the road with only each other for company, only relying on each other, their bikes and their weapons.

For awhile life was good, or at least as good as it gets out here. Sure there was injuries, some major some minor, even death every now and again. But they managed alright, they looked out for their own. Scoured the wastes looking for anything of value they could barter with in the next town for whatever they needed before moving on. Forever moving, made it hard to round up a posse and come to kill them if they were gone just as suddenly as they appeared. Besides peoples greed often overrides their hate.

But in a world like this all relatively happy stories come to a horrible violent end and this one is no different. They didn't even see it coming. Mutants that hit them in the dead of night while they were asleep around their fires, their watchmen killed before they could let out as single cry. It was a slaughter. A slaughter Endre had no hope of surviving as overwhelmed and outgunned as they were until one of the elder Tieflings lost control of their magic in the chaos and pain. Then everything was just...bright.

Endre awoke in the morning, a savage cut across his face and blood leaking from his eyes nose and ears. There was nothing he could do, the rest were gone. He packed up whatever he could find, buried his extended family before finally hopping on his bike and rode off along the broken road. Since then he has kept to his way of life, except now he is alone. Just him and the road, or at least that's how it was.

Other stuff:

Name: Zimble "Zim" Spannerspin
Race: Gnome

Age: 63 (That's still young, dude!)

Appearance: Zimble stands at 3 and a half foot tall, with a lithe frame and unusually large ears. He has naturally purple hair, which he keeps neatly trimmed, just like his goatee. He wears an enchanted grey coat covered in pockets, which is where he carries the majority of his things, as well as a gas mask which hangs around his neck whenever he isn't wearing it.

Skills and abilities:

• He's a highly skilled mechanic and tinkerer, capable of dismantling a city bus and putting it back together as a convertible, if he has the time. He can repair cars and craft things using just scrap and spare parts.
• In the same vein, he's a highly talented driver so long as the car has pedals designed for smaller folk.
• Despite his small size, he's very capable in a fight. Many a raider's shin has been shattered by his lug wrench, and he crafts makeshift bombs whenever he has the materials. He has a few guns stored away in his Coat of Many Pockets, but doesn't have the greatest aim, so he tries not to waste ammo if he can avoid it. His sawn-off shotgun is good for emergencies but the kickback is harsh.
• His small size allows him to fit into places others can't, and helps substantially whenever he has to remain hidden. It also means he doesn't need as much food as everyone else, and can be carried with ease by most adults of human size.

Weapons:

• Lug Wrench
• Various homemade explosives (molotovs, nail bombs, occasionally smoke grenades) and 3 sticks of dynamite he's saving for a special occasion
• 9mm pistol
• sawn-off shotgun

Other Equipment:

• Various tools
• Coat of Many Pockets
• gas mask
• scrap metal and junk for crafting
• Scissors.

Background: Zimble was a car mechanic and part-time inventor before the bombs dropped. Although in truth, every gnome you'll ever meet is a part-time inventor, so that isn't saying much. He loved to travel, and was on a trip when it happened, cruising around the globe. The good news is that his ship was far enough away from land at the time for him to avoid being caught in a mushroom cloud, but the bad news is that he's terribly far away from his home; A Gnomish Burrow by the name of "Badger's Hollow". He has no idea if his home is even still there, let alone if his family and friends are alive, but he's optimistic. After all, the good thing about living underground is that you don't need a fallout shelter in the basement, your entire town is a basement! And besides, if he's able to do some good and help some big-folk survive while he makes his way back, the journey will be all worth it in the end.

Other stuff: Zim Spannerspin is, truthfully, only one of his names. Gnomes love names and most have over a dozen, but they choose one and stick to it when they deal with other races, since big-folk seem to get annoyed having to keep track of more than one.

Name: Mercy LaCroix

Race: Aasimar

Age: 26

Appearance: Mercy is an Aasimar, with appearance that might belie natural beauty in better circumstance, but is often caked in the dust and grime of the roads traveled. Ivory skin, blonde hair tied back, and with deep blue eyes, the young woman exudes an air of confidence beyond her years.

Often those very same features are concealed beneath the shade of a well-worn 'cowboy' hat and the simple draw of a bandana over her lower face. Perhaps the truest evidence of her femininity is her slim perfectly shaped figure, A toned and flat belly blends into a slim waist and then gives way to the curvy flare of her hips and long, powerful legs. Even so, her form is often hidden beneath the padded duster she wears.

Around her throat rests a cold pendant in the shape of the sun, a symbol of her driving faith. The 'instruments' of that faith are far more striking; a pair of well-maintained revolvers rest in a classic 'gunslinger' belt.

Skills and abilities:
Marksmanship/Gunslinging
Short to medium firefights.
Magic: Smiting shot, 'Lay on hands', can channel some positive energy.
Healing: Mundane wound tending.
Decent musician

Weapons:
Gunslinger revolvers
Pump-Action shotgun
Survival knife
Sun pendant focusing necklace.
Stock-whip

Other Equipment:
Traveling Bag (Rations, Water skin, bedroll and fire-starting equipment.)
Leather Long coat
Weather Poncho
Notebook
The Hat.

Background:
There was a time when the birth of an Aasimar was a good omen and cause for celebration, these days it can be a burden. There was plenty in this world people were willing to blame the gods for, and plenty of people who decided that someone who had the slightest hint of their blood was good enough. Even so, early life was as happy and safe as it could be for a time.

Mercy grew up in a small settlement to parents who ran a small tavern within called 'The Oasis' for its location near a well of fresh and clean water. Serving what drinks they could and patching up travelers, their family enjoyed earning a living and the protection of the settlement. She'd sing in the tavern, learned to stitch wounds with her father and went to bed with a full belly surrounded by warmth.

Monsters come in all shapes and size, but it wasn't mutants or infected that brought the destruction of her home, but men. For as long as there have been people alive, someone has wanted what another has. The men that came to town played the part of travelers, enjoying their stay until late in the night.

Mercy awoke to the sounds of screams, gunfire and death. They'd opened the gates and let the wolves in. The raiders took what they could, burned what they couldn't and the noise drew in the infected. The settlement became a ghost town above her while she hid in the cellar below. It took her days to dig her way out and even then she collapsed amidst the smoldering wreckage certain as her eyes closed that something would come for her life in the night.

But the sun rose again for Mercy LaCroix, as dawn broke her eyes opened and her hands closed upon a new weight resting in her palms. A pair of revolvers, old-fashioned and yet in perfect condition. As she stood with the weapons, there was purpose like never before. Such wickedness would be punished; justice would be delivered for the Oasis.

Three years had passed, hands that had one held their weapons with shaky determination were now firm, eyes wide with fear now carried clarity. Tragedy had brought her path to her, but the wastelands had no shortage of people in need and monsters that needed to be put down.

Other stuff:

Name: S’Hraa
Race: Serpent Folk (also referred to as Serpent People)


Age: 37
Appearance: S’Hraa stands 6’8” tall and is 11’ head to tail. His scales are a pale green on color with a finlike dorsal appendage consisting of spikes connected with a thin membrane running along most of the back. He wears a small enchanted silver necklace depicting a human-like face and carries several pouches filled with various alchemical ingredients poisons and potions.



He also has an alternate appearance with the aid of his enchanted necklace. With a little bit of focus, he can almost instantaneously take the appearance of (though not the form. He still has the same physical ophidian form but visually appears differently) a 6’4” tall Human with a lean build and pale white skin. This illusion appears like a human in every way except for the eyes, the only thing the necklace does not alter, which still betray its beastly origins. In addition, other clues may betray the illusion such as the footsteps not matching (for a particularly observant individual) or the odd mannerisms of S’Hraa (as sometimes he may forget or be unaware of how a typical human would react to a particular situation such as his preference to consume live prey, though this might be attributed to eccentricity) This is the default appearance S’Hraa takes with those unfamiliar with him and often uses this disguise to blend in unnoticed with society. This Human form often wears a hooded robe concealing most of his features, especially the face. As the overall size of this illusion is smaller than his physical form (owing mainly to the extra length from the tail) S’Hraa attempts to keep as liberal distance between others as possible and will regularly be no closer than 5’+ when possible.

Skills and abilities:

Alchemical expert. He is fully capable of crafting beneficial potions and crippling poisons.

Stealth.

Due to a slow metabolism, he eats much less often compared to others. Fully fed (with large enough prey like the occasional bandit), he can be sustained for weeks at a time.

His potent venom can incapacitate a fully grown human in minutes, and often death in about an hour provided no treatment is given.

Adept at illusion spells.

His scales provide some resistance to weapons like sword or daggers and small arms outside of close range.

S’Hraa is surprisingly agile for his size. While by no means untouchable he does a good job of slithering out of the way of some attacks and hazards.

Weapons:

An ornate dagger with grooves for storing and injecting poison in any wounds inflicted.

A drilling with side by side shotgun barrels over a rifle barrel.

A pair of Fangs that can inject venom from his glands.

Other Equipment:

A wooden staff with a pair of snakes intertwining near the top which is used as a magical focus.

Various ingredients and containers of potions and poisons. Some empty, some filled and all contained within three pouches S’Hraa carries with him.

A metal tool resembling a fang meant to inject potions/poisons while minimizing tissue damage (like a syringe). Primarily used for medicinal purposes like injecting a healing potion directly into the blood stream rather than having to wait for it to normally be absorbed through ingestion for example.

Enchanted necklace that disguises S’Hraa as a Human (The disguise is ‘bound’ to S’Hraa and will not work with any other wearer unless they have the know-how to enchant it to them specifiacally).

Background:

S’Hraa was a little different than the rest of his kin. While most were content to live away from the other races, S’Hraa had a curious nature and sought to learn a little about these other beings he shares the world with. The only problem being he resembles a very large snake. Something often tied together with venom and a quick grave. Not ever hearing of Serpent Folk before, most people reacted negatively at a snake the size of a man.

S'Hraa quickly realized the solution and enchanted a necklace to cast a spell he would use often. With the convenience of appearing as a Human at a moment’s notice he began to mingle with society. After a few awkward encounters (Learning a language is tricky, learning the slang is trickier) he quickly acclimated and only occasionally slips up.

Of course, with the whole battle for survival thing going on now most anything resembling society would tell strangers to get lost unless they were trading or were adept at something, which fortunately for S’Hraa was alchemy. With the usual potion to cure a sickness, heal some dismembered fingers, and the occasional poison, S’Hraa became a highly regarded figure. Or, at least the Human form did. With the occasional bandit corpse (following a raid) going missing, like anyone cared, S’Hraa was content for the time being.

Eventually S’Hraa had an urge to move on. Satisfied with the stories he gained from socializing he decided to look for a new group with new stories. He never did feel close with any of them, feeling trapped in a form unlike his own, having to monitor his words and actions. Perhaps with others he might reveal a little about himself, might act like himself, or perhaps it will be more of the same. Regardless he decided to leave, to see where the road leads him to next.


Other stuff:

As one might expect, S’Hraa has a fondness of snakes and takes great care to not harm one. He thinks less of those who harm snakes intentionally or not and may even outright attack anyone who does so.