Name: Sarah Sinclair "The Ghost of Anchorage"
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8
Weight: 134lbs

Motto: "Words have power."

Appearance: Born and raised in the cold of the Alaskan wastelands, Sarah has incredibly pale skin which is often plagued by egregious sunburn when she journeys further south into mainland America. Her hair is a muddied dark brown, with striking hazel eyes set in their angled sockets. A pair of large, jagged scars runs perpendicular from each other across her cheek, staring at the bridge her nose and bottom lip, to the right hand side of her face.

Equipment: In terms of ranged weaponry, Sarah carries with her a retrofitted Colt Navy, which has been rechambered in .44 magnum and features a built in block suppressor and laser sight. Whenever she has been questioned about this weapon, she merely signs "Charlotte." and refuses to elaborate any further. In addition to this, she makes use of a scoped Type 24 Chiang Kai-shek sniper rifle. Which belonged to her father.

For when things get up close and personal, a large curved machete is her weapon of choice and she is almost never seen without one on her person.

Pre-war Chinese issue military backpack
Water Flask
12 feet of paracord
Brotherhood of Steel Holotag
Three sachets of vegetarian instant ramen
1 cast iron cooking pot
Tinderbox

Past Affiliations: Brotherhood of Steel.

Likes: Virgil, Charlotte, Nuka Cola, Ramen, The Brotherhood of Steel, Ghouls.

Dislikes: People, Alcohol, The Sun, Music.

Key Character Traits: Sarah is seemingly mute, whether caused by trauma or she simply chooses not to speak; Sarah Sinclair instead communicates through sign language. With her trusty companion bot "V.I.R.G.I.L" translating her communique into words.

Background:

Born in the harsh, frozen wastes of Anchorage, Alaska to nomadic parents. Her father, descended from Chinese soldiers whom were stationed in Alaska when the bombs from both sides fell in the frozen north, and an American mother. The wastes of Alaska were unforgiving, even by post-war standards. With very little in the way of clean water available across the entire state, she and her parents would often be forced to trek across the nuclear tundra and into Little America in order to trade fangs, antlers, pelts and meats for ammunition and water. It was a near never ending cycle, hunting two headed Caribou and fending off the gargantuan mutant wolves known to the Alaskan wasters as Langshen. Before harvesting what they could from the beasts and making the trek once again.

Sarah had supposed she had made this journey some forty times before she was even a woman, but it was on the day of her seventeenth birthday that for the first time, she had begun to question her family's way of life. Her parents had always forbidden her to speak with any of the settlers, their lives were that of nomads, and outsiders could never understand them. Or their way of life. The reverse, was also true. So what was the point of interacting with such people beyond what was necessary? This had always been his narrative. And it had always made sense.

That was, until that day. There had been a ghoul merchant by the name of Handsome Jack, whom she would often take her share of their wares to in the capital of Little America. The ghoul had obviously taken a platonic liking to the young girl whilst they had bartered back and forth over the years; as she had also to him. Although due to Sinclair being barely capable of speaking English, the language barrier had been quite the hurdle. Yet, the two managed to overcome the issue over time through his teaching her of American Sign Language. Which she took to as though it were natural to her.

Eventually, her father discovered the friendship the young womam had formed with Jack and heavily chastised her for the entirety of their journey back into Alaska. Threatening that should she wish to live like a sheep and merely await death in a pen as the settled tribesmen do, that he would happily leave her to such a fate the next time. This set a fury into Sarah's heart, and still in possession of her father's rifle, stormed off back towards the border. Abandoning both her father and mother.

Though, she had not thought very far ahead in her anger. Whilst she was an experienced tracker, and marksman; her father had always been the one to build their shelters. To light their fires. As the black of night began to creep over the Alaskan wasteland, Sarah Sinclair began to realise her mistake. Panic set in, and with great haste she made her way back the way she had came, forgetting all she had been taught to never travel at night, lest she fall prey to the even nastier beasts that hunted in the night time of her homeland. What could be more terrifying than the Langshen? One might ask, but that was a very simple answer. Much like anywhere in the world, Alaska was plagued by the dreaded Deathclaws. However unlike most other places, those in the north were Nocturnal, and their frosted black hides made them impossible to spot in the bitter cold darkness.

The young woman had succumbed entirely to terror, sprinting in bursts with no regard for her stamina or noise profile. Chasing down her parents' tracks in the night. Although her eyes were highly adaptive to the night, as all Alaskan wasters were, without a source of light she may as well have been blind to her surroundings, operating purely on instinct. It was in that moment, that she
was set upon by a nightmarishly large Deathclaw. It's eyes a burning crimson against the black of night. With a single strike across her person: her right orbital, her jaw and her right shoulder were all broken, and Sarah was certain that she was as good as dead.

And the Asian-american would have been, had it not been for the timely intervention of her parents. Her father leapt onto the beast's back, slamming his ice pick into it's head to latch himself to the monster, and repeatedly shoving his knife into it's neck, causing it to begin wildly flailing and bucking, attempting to remove the man from it's back. But to no avail. As the chaos, and frankly idiocy of her father attempting to single handedly kill an Alpha Deathclaw continued, her mother dragged the mortally wounded Sarah away from the fight, before heading back to aid her husband. Letting loose arrow after arrow into the Deathclaw's chest.

Though, any whom know the monstrosity of these creatures, knows that such wounds are nothing to them. Eventually, her father was dismounted, being crushed between an ice cliff and the creature's back. Killing him instantly. Her mother fared no better, being swatted aside like a fly not long after. Profusely bleeding and barely able to move, Sarah had managed to prop her rifle up on her knees, using her left hand to wield it. The second she was able, she pulled the trigger.

The round sunk deep into the Deathclaw's skull, but even still the behemoth lumbered forward. Sarah had thought for certain this would be her death. But as she closed her eyes and awaited death, the spooling of miniguns whirred in the distance, accompanied by the blinding searchlights of a Vertibird. The weapon roared to life, ripping the heavily wounded Deathclaw to shreds. Moments later the aircraft landed, and three figures clad in T-51b power armour. She had been saved by the Anchorage chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.

-REDACTED: FURTHER AUTHORISATION REQUIRED FOR THIS DOSSIER-

It had not been long before she had found herself promoted to Paladin after a period of time in the Scribes. With Virgil speaking on her behalf. A young woman now, and a member of Task Force Delta; a group dedicated to the clearing of Feral Ghoul infestations. Sarah Sinclair would participate in multiple operations until the Maxon reforms in 2287, having gained extensive experience in the operation of the T-51 Ultracite pattern power armour. Due to the airborne nature of Task Force Delta, she would be reassigned to the Lancers and given the rank of Lancer Sergeant. Her relative skill with computer interfaces thrusting her to the helm of her own bird and away from her friends.

She didn't fly for long after the reforms, her bird was shot down during a raider tribe incident on the border of Anchorage. It was here that -REDACTED: FURTHER AUTHORISATION REQUIRED FOR THIS DOSSIER- her trusty revolver at her side she -REDACTED: FURTHER AUTHORISATION REQUIRED FOR THIS DOSSIER-

In the aftermath of the Anchorage incident, Sarah was transferred to the Citadel in the Capital to work as a scribe once more. It was here that she became disillusioned with her future and the Brotherhood. One day, she simply had enough and set out into the wasteland on her own. Building relative rapport in the NCR, especially among the ranks of First Recon. It's alleged that she has been providing the division and Rangers support. Although such things are simply hearsay.

-REDACTED: FURTHER AUTHORISATION REQUIRED FOR THIS DOSSIER-

SPECIAL: 42 points from Zero. You were chosen for this mission for one reason, you're SPECIAL. Always remember that.

Strength 4
Perception 7
Endurance 5
Charisma 3
Intelligence 6
Agility 8
Luck 9

Skills: 285 From Zero. Min-maxing is not banned, however I will highly discourage it. Folks who aren't well rounded, one way or another; typically don't tend to last too long in the wasteland. Consider that your first, and final warning.

Barter 10
Energy Weapons 5
Explosive 14
Guns 53
Lockpick 35
Medicine 10
Melee Weapons 10
Repair 15
Science 31
Sneak 35
Speech 15
Survival 43
Unarmed 10

Theme Song: White Glove

V.I.R.G.I.L.
Vocalisation and Interpretation Robot, Given in Love

Virgil is a heavily modified EyeBot, complete with a stealth field generator. It's primary function is to translate Sarah's sign language into speech. He speaks with a cartoonish, posh pre-war British accent. Although it's apparent that Virgil can use other voices, it seems to choose this voice to amuse it's master. The name on Virgil's vocal setting is listed as "Marvin the Martian." It seems to lack any form of armament, and exclusively serves reconnaissance and translation purposes.

Name: Raven Rivers
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Height: 5'8
Weight: 70kg

Motto: "For a better future."

Appearance: Raven looks younger than he actually is, but not so young that he can be accused of lying about being 30. Black-haired, black-eyed, and clearly well-muscled, Raven looks every bit the soldier, especially in his uniform, but can fit a number of other roles if needed, although his body language clearly shows the marks of a military career. And finally, Raven conciously attempts to look 'sharp' and perceptive, even when he actually isn't, which comes off as hiding that he does not know what he is doing...

Equipment:

- NCR Service Rifle.
- 10mm Pistol.
- Hunting Rifle with Scope.
- Trooper Armor.
- Switchblade.
- 2x Stimpak
- 1x Rad-X
- 1x RadAway
- NCR Dogtags.

Past/Current Affiliations: New California Republic, Slaves (Legion, then The Regime's New Vegas), New California Republic (again).

Likes: The prospect of a new family once this is all over, Rescuing People, and Solving Problems with a mix of diplomacy and brute force.

Dislikes: The Courier and Yes Man, Being reminded of his ten years in slavery, and the Legion Remnants.

Key Character Traits: An unusually handsome man who appeals to both men and women, with experience in endurance and survival, but very unlucky, such that he cannot be trusted to handle anything that depends on random chance, like gambling.

Background: Raven was born in a small farming village close to Shady Sands, and had a formal education from the local branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse. His life was uneventful until he signed up with the NCR Army at the age of 16, aiding them in counterattacks against raiders. Two years of moderate combat experience later, he was sent to the Mojave, then to the NCR outposts in Arizona a few years before the Battle of the Arizona Spillway, one of two battles where the returning Legion attacked the NCR and forced it back across the Colorado River. Everything seemed safe at that time, though, as it was assumed that it would that some time for the Legion to return.

Then the local commander ordered a reconnisance mission further east, to investigate rumors that the Legion were indeed coming back. These rumors were accurate, and the then-18yo and his squad found themselves ambushed and overwhelmed by a larger group of Legionnaires. As this was before the Legion campaign proper was to begin, it was believed that crucifying him and the other survivor of his squad, Timothy, would not have any effect on NCR morale and so it was decided that it would be 'merciful' to enslave them instead. And so they were sent to Flagstaff itself, where he and Tim were put to work digging irrigation canals, mining ores, and eventually being put to work building walls for Caesar's 'Capital'.

There, he and Timothy fell in love; a dangerous thing as Caesar's Legion was against homosexuality. Nevertheless, he and the other man managed to sneak in a few moments, until the latter was suddenly crushed by a large stone during construction work. No time was allowed for him to grieve, as he was put back to work a few months before Caesar began his campaign to take the Mojave... And it was ordered that he be brought along, to see the 'Fall of the NCR'.

The NCR didn't fall, but the Legion didn't win either; in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, the Courier fell to the temptation of power and had Yes Man give him control of the Securiton Army, and the Legion were defeated and broken... But that merely meant a transfer of ownership, with Raven, now 24, being nursed back to health only so he can be used as a slave in New Vegas itself, where he served a variety of duties, including a stint at Gommorah where he was barely able to avoid getting 'hooked' on drugs before being transfered to an arena where in emulation of he defeated Legion, the Courier held prize fights.

It took ten tournaments - Not ten fights, ten tournaments, before he won his freedom, and even then he had to escape New Vegas and go back to the Mojave Wasteland to avoid being re-enslaved or killed once it was clear that he was coming back to NCR and NCR service.

He was half-starving when he returned to NCR territory, and many people didn't believe his story until it was corroborated by his surviving family and superior officers. Now, however, he has recovered and is ready to return to take revenge!

SPECIAL: 42 points from Zero. You were chosen for this mission for one reason, you're SPECIAL. Always remember that.

Strength - 5
Perception - 6
Endurance - 8
Charisma - 8
Intelligence - 7
Agility - 7
Luck - 1

Skills: 285 From Zero. Min-maxing is not banned, however I will highly discourage it. Folks who aren't well rounded, one way or another; typically don't tend to last too long in the wasteland. Consider that your first, and final warning.

Barter - 20
Energy Weapons - 20
Explosive - 23
Guns - 25
Lockpick - 10
Medicine - 25
Melee Weapons - 25
Repair - 20
Science - 10
Sneak - 30
Speech - 25
Survival - 25
Unarmed - 28

Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=yPjeNtf_ZTs

Name: Nemet Arann Galea
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Height: 5ft 10"
Weight: 195lb

Motto: J M M

Just Make Money

Mend

Mojave

Appearance: Standing at 5ft 10 and weighing 190lb Nemet is of stocky build and broad shoulders. Well built but not overly bulky, he carries himself with a certain aura of strength and confidence due to his internalised idea that if he can wrastle with the baddest creatures in the desert, what can man do? With near shoulder length, and often filthy blond hair from the mud, dust and sweat of from his work and with a wry grin and a warm and welcoming demeanour, his piercing blue eyes cut through the grimy exterior to give a friendly window into an otherwise wild unkempt apparel, but show the fiery intellect of a driven man.

A single long and deep scar breaks the otherwise clear (of injury not dirt) face of Nemet starting just below the left jawbone and extending upwards across the cheek towards the left eye, and continuing a few inches up through the eyebrow and onto the forehead. A lasting wound from an old adversary and a timely reminder that the creatures of the wasteland have had to become monsters in our wake.

"Let those curse it who curse the day, whom are ready to rouse Leviathan" Job 3:8

Equipment: He wears assorted hides and chitin taken from fallen creatures over the years to fashion what to most looks like a gross imitation of vault dweller suits crossed with raider armour. Thick braimen leather has been cured amd stitched into a trouser and long jacket and the joints, knees, shoulders and waist have mirelirk and radscorpion chitin sewn, or sometimes, melted onto the clothing to provide some basic ballistic and impact protection, but more so to help absorb radiation from the wasteland, as his occupation leads him to spend extended stays in the wilds and wastelands and as such, rad protection ends up being the most crucial when one's own skill can cover the other risks.

He also carries a pocket switchblade, a larger Bowie style hunting knife, a small single breach loaded dart pistol with 3 tranq rounds, and his pride and joy, his modified (and sort of pipe) ssk "deliverance" 950 jdj rifle. This monster of a weapon can only load 1 round at a time with a similar to a Henri Martini loading mechanism, though improvised and tinkered over the years she still needs constant care, and chambered in .95 calibre using custom hand cast bullets, each round is capable of penetrative even the most armoured creatures easily and if well placed can fel even a death claw in a small handful of shots; it can even pose a danger to people in power armour, though more modern and heavier weaighted and modified designs will still more than hold up the user will still feel it. As the bullets are all hand made and cast he only ever has 7-12 on him at any given time and will not often expend them in one encounter. A small radscorpion dagger made from the stinger is his final item of note as it acts as a Melee option for tranquilization, or to deliver fatal and dangerous chemical mixes into assailants.

Past/Current Affiliations: Has lived his life primarily as a freelancer, but due to the nature of his work he has decent relations with the NCR rangers and is known positively by many other factions peacekeeping forces. He has been known to previously rub the Brotherhood of Steel and Casers Legion the wrong way as they have vyed for dominance and the building of a new world in which Nemets action and conservation works have directly clashed. Currently acting as an honorary ncr ranger as the recent conflicts and Yes Mans influence spreading, much if the wildlife has fled the local area and before moving on, Nemet needs to acquire the resources to survive the trip and as such is taking jobs as he can get them.

Likes: Any time he gets to spend in the least irradiated areas of nature is precious beyond compare. His final dream is to be able to relocate so far from mainland America he might find a small patch of the world unburdened by humanity's greatest and most terrible war. He enjoys routine and rigorous workloads.

He also likes to gamble, finds thrill in the heat of a standoff, and often pushes his charisma too far on purpose to get to the real grit of a man/woman when they act out or against his influence. Also enjoys learning about people and their histories, especially those that work with him (even if it's motivated by nefarious intent) as it has both the desired effects of helping to endear him to his peers and the wider world, and giving him information he can use if necessary to secure his wants or safety.

Dislikes: Despises heavily industrialised factions/settlements for both their additional pollution, and their ability/tendency to annihilate any wildlife nearby.
Refuses to use laser weapons and disapproves of their use for anything other than anti human self defence. They inflict horrific injury to targets before being lethal and unnecessary suffering to wildlife even if theyre known aggressive species is abhorrent to Nemet. He dislikes people who are extremely intelligent for fear of his truer nature being revealed publically. Not fond of cramped indoor spaces. Not claustrophobia necessarily but the idea of being stuck or trapped in built up spaces where all his experience is useless generally speaking makes him uneasy. People who strive for the revival of nuclear technology as the path for human growth. Its what caused the catastrophe we live in now, and what's caused all the horrific changes to the ecosystem that means his services are so necessary. And he blames he industries of the old and new world causing inflicting these changes onto the world

Key Character Traits: 2-faced; Anxious, exploitative, mistrustful, pragmatic. OR Extroverted, quirky, compassionate, resourceful. *explained in background.

Background: Not entirely sure of the exact date of his birth but highly confident his age is 31, Nemet This side of him and ways of expressing these thoughts come from a furiously religious upbringing where, as a child, any time he expressed any kind of desire for anything like a machone or technology to assist in the labour and workload of the town, he and other children were beaten, isolated, starved etc. This small cult like settlement contained a hopelessly misguided revived sect of pseudo amish x evangelical Christian faith. Based from incomplete findings of old books and bibles, as well as a few generations of misunderstanding and altered interpretations; their faith centered on the ideas that we as humans should inheret the earth, but we are being punished with a twisted earth for the creations of the old world and the nuclear movement. Intepreting the mutant and irradiated world they now inhabit as hell brought to earth, and the industrious nuclear movement as the devils work on earth; being that it was the nuclear arsenals that broke the world and tore down the sanctity of our responsibity to nature as its inheritors and rulers. From this dogma, a festering disgust towards any digital and nuclear technology was near bred into every citizen, and the mistrust of outsiders led them to be a cruel and mistrustful people, closeted from much of the Mojave and its goings on. Tucked away in a small valley by the Great salt flats, the only way for it to stay afloat was to live in as close harmony to the wilds as possible, herding what little livestock they could and attempting poorly to farm in yhe arid and salty climate and also to periodically sell of or trade their least productive community members for resources from nearby raider camps.

Over the generations this settlements population declind as raider attacks rose and birth rate fell. As the population dwindled their faith became ever more twisted and savage, eventually leading them to preach the idea that the Lord was punishing us for our hubris bending the world out of shape so and twisting the natural order. It was this doctrine that instilled in nemet as a child, the notion that the industrious man was the devil on earth, amd that the way humanity reclaims its rightful place is to live with not in spite of nature. However at the age of 15 something would happen that would change his life forever. One day on a cold Winter night a radar attack came into the settlement radar attack came into the settlement and not only took the usual type of young people to serve as additional members of the radar population simply steal the last remnants of resources and stores from the settlement and burn it to the ground, murdering much of the population of the process. As the attack hit, nemet and his family ran to a nearby barn with some other to take shelter. Nemet climbed up into the rafters to try and further remove himself from the danger and shelter himself from tje smoke and screams. In the chaos and confusion many of the populace cried out to their God in hopes that though he would deliver them from the death and destruction that was being wrought around them but nothing was heard and no deliverance was given. Dozens were cut down as they knelt in the streets or in their homes. After eventually seeing the raider chief kick the door of the barn down where the last citizens were hiding and unload a laser rifle into the crowd, burning the flesh and searing a smell forever into Nemets memory; The traumatised 15 year old simply hid in the rafters silently and watched as the bodies of his family and his people writhed in the agony of laser burns until eventually passing. By the end of the ordeal, the raiders eventually began piling the bodies into the barn and eventually lit it. The flames nearly engulfing nemet before he eventually Leapt from the barn's rafters and darted through a small opening in the back as the walls collapsed getting charred and singed on his way out he sprinted out into the sprinted out into the darkness away from his driving village, knowing that he could never turn back. No knowing that his only remaining options were to die in the desert autumn make it to the next settlement that wasn't a radio camp and knowing that settlement was an NCR radio radio station at least 2 dozen miles away it was going to be a arduous trip through the desert with no resources and nothing but the clothes on his back and the pocket knife in his trousers, But using his knowledge of livestock and wildlife he tracked some of the remaining herd braimen that had fled their field when the gunfire and fires started, and led them along with him as best he could through the night on the long march to the station. Exhausted from a night march and shivering to his core from the cold, dawn eventually broke to reveal nemet was not where he thought he'd be, he wasn't even within sight of any landmarks he recognised to orient himself to the path he was trying to take.

He was lost.

Beginning to panic and looking all around for any signs of life or civilisation as little as a road, he spotted in the distance what looked like a small shack with a tall fence around it. Approaching Cautiously he eventually noticed that some of the fence had been smashed down certainly by some kind of large creature many of the fence links were taunted by some incredibly lodge call he also noticed the one of them he also noticed that 1 of the walls had been smashed in of the shack there's heartbreaking but knowing that he had no choice but to take shelter here or die in the desert, he took each step as though he were on the thinnest ice, and carefully entered the shack. Being about 12ft by 18ft Square, the interior of the shack seemed to be so.e kind of living quarters that had been torn apart by something massive. Huge claw marks were rent all over the walls, tables, floor and appliances, and there was blood and scrap and soot everywhere. Digging further. He overturned a fallen section of wooden wall to uncover a large hole in rhe corner of the floor about 8ft in diameter, with a ladder rusted and bent but just functioning leading down to another chamber. Upon inspection, nemet came to see and understand what had happened here. Whomever this place had belonged to had lived in the path of a migrating death claw matriarch. She'd perhaps smelt him as a food source or perhaps he agitated her in some way, Regardless the death claw had clearly decided that she was going to take this man's life and had smashed through his fence smashed through his walls and attempted to murder him clearly a lot of the blood of her and explosions and bullets and claw holes were from him to attempting to defend himself with whatever arms he had until he retreated into the underground chamber, where the death claw followed him and was subsequently killed by the weapon Nemet is most known for now.

It had turned out that this underground chamber was essentially actingwas essentially acting as the survivalist's paradise it had clearly previously been stopped with lots of tin food and supplies there was a workshop and a workbench there was a propane tank attached to a small forge and all of the capacities and tools necessary to cast and produce bullets and replacement parts as well as a small welding tool at the maintain, produce and look after arms and ammunition. Unfortunately for the poor man who'd lived here, he'd under prepared for such a monstrous beast smashing into his home and had died in the attempt to defend his home. His skeleton laid out with and arm detached and an enormous bite wound in his armour. On his lap lay Nemets famous Ssk 950 jdj. A lidcirous calibre of rifle designed as a potential alternative to anti armoured personel rifle for military purposes, but was considered obsolete by the time of its release due to power armour and the heavy weaponry that allowed the US to bring en masse. As such it was sold as a sort of a joke of a hobby and range rifle. Whilst sold in short supply's and deemed too impractical for the very modernising US military, but pragmatically speaking, the round it fires is so heavy it can still sit down a man in power armour, even if not penetrating. And it's effect was clear to see as the death claw matriarch had in addition to tradition bullet wounds from other weapons, a gaping wound through her upper torso and out her back. The exit wound being wide enough to fit an entire fist into.

After discovering a desperate survivors treasure trove under the now hollow corpse of man and nature's greatest killing machine Nemet hastily used what remaining and unbroken tools were there to rebuild a semblance of a wall on the shack and herded the braimen inside, staying himself in the bunker and searching frantically for clues as to where he was, eventually coming across an overturned Steel cabinet with some maps and diaries in a drawer. Contained within them were the owners own hand written instructions and diagrams on how some of his tools and machines worked for creating the bullets. Clearly the process was fairly precise and having the notes meant they'd not be forgotten. But now they would serve as the basis for Nemets rebirth from a humble mistreated zealot of a lost era, into the pro wasteland wildlife protector he's now known for.

After a solid week of study, self discipline and practice (and more than a few Powder burns) he successfully replicated the process for producing the ammunition and crafted from what remained, a measly 3 rounds. Each powerful enough to end a fight before it truly began; And with the remaining 2 braimen loaded up with all the tools and supplies too Cumbersome to carry, he set back out into the wasteland. Near unrecognisable in temperament and demeanour from the boy who'd stumbled away from his burning village, now marched a man of purpose.

Driven voraciously by a cruel sense of self preservation, and a disdainful disposition towards any overly industrious (in the sense of pollution and nuclear power, not necessarily productive people for the sake of other people) whom may disregard the sanctity (or what little remained) of the natural world that he now felt, as the seemingly last survivor of his settlement, was his sole responsibility to rebuild.

Strength 5
Perception 7
Endurance 4
Charisma 7
Intelligence 5
Agility 8
Luck 6

Barter 15 ,
Energy Weapons 5 ,
Explosive 25 ,
Guns 45 ,
Lockpick 10 ,
Medicine 25 ,
Melee Weapons 15 ,
Repair 17 ,
Science 35 ,
Sneak 30 ,
Speech 30 ,
Survival 35
Unarmed 25,

Theme Song: Fistful of dollars