[OOC] Fallout: Land of the Sky

[Apollosarcher]

For anyone interested I just finished up our characters tabs, which will either list NPC's with links to what said NPC looks if they are ones created for this RP or if they are a canon character used here. It will also link any character submitted to the RP so that if you need to check the sheet you can click the hot link to that sheet.

For those curious the Expedition Attaches, Enclave, and BoS tab is not yet complete and I am holding off on what NPC's to add based off further interest and what characters are submitted.

That said, I will also be doing a better write up on North and South Carolina soon to help with further character creation.

Again if you need anything let me know!

[Rhona W]

Jon Marshall

Jon Marshall

_{{ "History is something you make happen, or happens to you. You're the one who decides which way it is" }}

- General Characteristics -

| {Full Name: Jonathan Alvin Marshall} |

| {Nickname: Jon} |

| {Age: 35} |

| {Gender: Male} |

| {Text Colour: DarkKhaki} |

| {Appearance} |
Jon is fairly average in height, coming in at around 5' 7" but with a wiry, firm build, built over years of survival in the wasteland and outdoors. He has a body built for stamina rather than strength, and his complexion reflects his outdoor life with a tanned and weathered look that is complimented by an ever-present small smile. The same lifestyle has left him with various small scars and blemishes, with the most notable being one from the back of his jaw to hairline on the left side of his face. Otherwise his has short, dark, spiky hair and dark eyes.[.hr]

- Psychological Profile -

| {Personality} |

Jon is generally toward the opinion that, for the most part, people have the potential to do and be good. Individuals, however, are another matter. He generally tries to be helpful and do the best he can to help others, but past events of being betrayed and stabbed in the back (occasionally literally...!) have left him with a suspicious streak and his loyalty and trust hard to gain. If they are earned, they are firm and he will do a lot to help friends and allies. By the same token, however, anyone who turns on him or double-crosses him with be an enemy for life, and he will do his level best to hurt them, leave them hurting, and ensure whatever they betrayed him for never gets into their grasp.
Being a generally decent guy, and one who exhibits compassion and kindness, he has little time, sympathy or understanding for those who choose to bully, abuse, or mistreat others such as raiders and slavers, and will go to effort to aid anyone hurt by them, and to ruin or destroy their operations wherever he can.
Despite having lived and grown up in a fairly comfortable settlement, he has always had a sense of wanderlust and adventure, and a long-burning curiosity for exploring the ruins of the past, something that has lead to him enjoying his own company, and the open freedom and expanses of the wasteland, as well as the creaking canyons of ruined buildings.

| {Fears/Limitations} |
Jon has a lingering fear of being captured and/or being enslaved as a result of past events. Seeing how slaves can be treated, abused and how even fierce, strong and independent fighters and survivors can be left a shattered shell has left him traumatised at the idea of being turned into the same thing, and he will violently and vigourously resist, to the point of near hysteria. This likely is tied to his being able to come and go as he pleases and to roam, and being tied down without even the freedom to leave a building is an idea full of dread. The added thought of being traded and owned like property is even more horrifying to him, and is like a panic or berserk button for him.

| {Place of Origin} |
Jon is a descendant of the Vault Dwellers from Vault Thirty-Five. As such, he grew up relatively comfortably in a relatively developed urban environment, with a lot of modern conveniences and comforts, and is well aware what civilization can look like.

| {Background} |
Jon is a descendent of the original inhabitants of Vault Thirty-Five. Educated with the latest patented Vault-Tec resources and with his childhood provided for by official Vault-Tec medicines and methodology, he was lucky to grow up healthy, strong, and fit with a good education.
Despite this, he found the experience somewhat unfulfilling, and was forever curious about the wider world, through stories and anecdotes from travelling traders and caravanners, many of whom he made friends with. Some of them gave him trinkets and other odds and ends picked up during their travels as friendly gifts, and they only encouraged his desire to explore further.
Time not spent in study or with chores was spent gathering stories and anecdotes, clambering through ruins and sites local to the Vault settlement, or in libararies and poring through old books and resources about the Old World.

Into his late teenage years, this more this romanticised view of the Old World and its' treasures persisted with him. Even with the injured people Caravans and travellers bought in, and the infalliable evidence of terrifying wasteland creatures - human and otherwise - he was enthralled by the knowledge in the libraries and books, and the artefacts and technologies recovered, and the places they came from. Under urging from friends and family he attempted to try and settle in careers suited to his personality, after trying and failing at other tasks and roles, such as maintenance and farming, the mundanity and repetition of them ending up being a grind for him, opposed to the ranging walks and exploration of his surroundings that filled his life with joy and excitement.
He ended up becoming part of the security forces, and this was something he enjoyed aspects of, but clashed and grated against the authority, especially over the minutiae of the role; the schedules and the minor day-to-day tasks and repetitive nature of the work ground him down and left him listless and frustrated.

This came to a head for him after turning twenty-six. After a wounded caravan limped into the settlement late one night with a desperate account of an attack and captives being taken, Jon's blood was up. Seeing an opporunity to do good, he was all ready to leap into action and lead a group out to the known hideout of the Raider group. The leaders of both the town guards and the settlement were less certain and decisive on how to proceed, further driving the young man's frustration. The few men he could gather left with him and they engaged in a bloody battle with the Raiders at their hideout in an old granary. Jon and all of the men were wounded, with three dead, along with two of the three captives. Nonetheless, they managed to recover them, if only because reinforcements arrived out of necessity, prompted by Jon's reckless but well-meant expedition.
The unexpected side effect was that the action drove off the raiders, as it was home to a local leader of raider bands, and their hideout sat on top of a cache of equipment and gear. His actions had an unexpected outcome that was a benefit, but the cost was high.
Jon was discharged from the guard, but the caravanners personally rewarded him with a substantial sum of caps. Once his period of healing was over, he took this money along with the remainder of his pay from the guard, kitted himself up with survival equipment, weapons and armour, and headed out with the next caravan. Splitting off their route, he set off into the wastes armed with maps and information from the Vault's library about an industrial park.

Returning two weeks later, caked in dirt and mess, near dehydrated and starving with bandaged wounds, Jon put off going to the medical center long enough to go to the trading post long enough to turn in a sizable stash of holotape blueprints, and other valuable salvage, as well as number of pip-boy tags and markers for new locations and places in the wastes. Not to mention, a moderate stash of wasteland critter meat...

Despite his fatigue and aches, he felt like he'd achieved something personally, and the experience of crawling through ruins and abandoned sites had left him feeling invigorated and eager to see what else laid out there.
That experience formed the basis of his following years, exploring and returning to settlements to enjoy and share the spoils of his explorations and adventures. Frequently he adventured alone, but sometimes teamed or partnered with others, and many times ended up getting inadvertently involved in trouble and dangerous situations, often coming to the aid of others or donating and trading supplies and salvaged equipment to help them.
His explorations lead him further from his home area and familiar territory, and further to the South. With his journies southward came more accounts of the hordes of Super mutants ravaging the area and steadily advancing northward, and the droves of raiders being pushed ahead of them, and making his salvage and exploration journies increasingly more deadly.

- Survival Characteristics -

| {Non-Combat Skills} |

• Fat of the Land: Jon's experience of hunting through old ruins and wastes has given him a keen sense of how to use the land to survive. Useful skills like hunting and trapping, how to make fires safely, where to camp, how to avoid dangerous animals and the like.
• Looking in all the right Places: Jon's familiarity with scavenging and exploring ruins has given him a knack for and familiarity with the way a lot of old-world or pre-war facilities tend to be constructed and arranged, as such giving him an understanding of where to find certain things that can be useful, and where things like utilities, generators and the like might be located.
• 'I know him from work': Through his travels, Jon has managed to make a few useful contacts, giving him places to shelter and to trade on occasion.
• Duct Tape and paperclips: Part of his scavenging and survivalist background means that Jon has had to 'make do' more often than not, with his gear, weapons and equipment breaking down on him or wearing out, often at the least opportune times. As a result he has learned to 'make do' by jury-rigging repairs from whatever he can find.
• Wary Explorer: Scavenging the ruins of a pre-war society that was growing ever-more militarised and paranoid can be a hazard to one's health. Learning how to disarm, disable, and avoid traps and security systems is a must, and Jon has gathered a useful working knowledge of the characteristics of various systems, though by no means an expert mechanical or electrical knowledge on how to manipulate more complex ones like robots and computer systems.

| {Possessions} |

• Pip-boy
  Inherited as part of his growing up in a vault settlement, Jon has had a Pip-boy for all of his adult life and his teenage years. He finds the device pretty much invaluable... as much as he might resent it at other times. As much as it's a tool, it also has an emotional attachment for Jon.
• Hip-flask
  A battered old aluminium hip flask. Found in the ruins of an old Air National Guard base, Jon liked the eagle motif embossed on the front. After sterilising and cleaning it thoroughly and a good polish, he filled with it bourbon and has carried it since.
• Deathclaw tooth pendant
  A deathclaw's tooth on a simple leather thong, worn around his neck. He wears it under his shirt and armour, for 'good luck'. When asked about it, he'll give a simple story as explanation... though it might not always be the same story...
• Music holotapes
  A few holotapes of a random selection of music, often listened to when bedding down for the night or exploring on his own. Gathered at random from his various exploits or bought with the resulting bounty.
• Bag of caps
  A small Radstag-hide pouch with a drawstring to carry his money in.

| {Combat Skills} |

• Small Guns - proficient, and certainly competent, though not an expert; Jon is skilled and trained in the use of handguns, shotguns, sub-machine-guns and rifles. However, he most usually sticks to a simple semi-auto handgun and a battle rifle.
• Knife skills - as much a skill for every day survival as it is for combat, a useful, strong, and dependable knife is an essential in the wastes as a tool, let alone a weapon - but it certainly makes a good one when needed.
• Nasty Surprise - his experience of tracking and trapping, as well as that with pre-war buildings and facilities and their systems has leant him a good deal of knowledge on how to create a good ambush. Jon often uses cunning traps, lures, and devices to even the odds with enemies, when possible.
• Bang for the buck - While not skilled with larger explosive weapons like grenade, rocket or missile launchers, and certainly not au fait with the Fat Man, Jon has some experience with use of explosives, such as thrown hand grenades and mines as well as placed charges, often using them in his exploits to clear rubble and breach otherwise inaccessible areas.

| {Gear} |

• Canteen
• Bedroll
• Backpack
• Load-carrying belt - a modified climbing harness belt with additional pouches for other survival equipment and a holster for his pistol and magazines.
• Personal medical supplies - a pouch set aside for personal medical gear, such as a small bottle of medical alcohol for cleaning and disinfecting, tweezers, bandages and dressings and barrier ointment for burns/scalds/etc
• Medical kit - supplies for more serious medical situations; six stimpacks, two bottles of Rad-X pills, and three pouches of Radaway.
• Personal multi-tool - a swiss army-knife or leatherman-style multitool with screwdriver, file, folding saw, folding knife, can-opener, bottle-opener, and sharpening stone.
• Fire-striker and flint
• Water purification filters
• Needles and thread - for repairing his clothes in the field
• 'useful' Kit - not a standardised kit, but something gathered together from his experience. Put into one of his pouches, it has a roll of duct tape, two larger screw drivers (flat head and phillips head), a small adjustable wrench and a pair of pliers.
• M-14 Battle Rifle - 7.62mm caliber battle rifle with a mid-range telescopic scope. Carefully and lovingly looked after, it's use as a tool for hunting, the scope for scouting, and as a weapon of defence and attack is important to Jon. The rifles' cherrywood stock is lovingly oiled and maintained along with the metal parts, kept in as rust-free a condition as possible. The gun also has an olive-drab ballistic nylon sling and a folding bipod under the barrel.
• 9 x M-14 Magazines - 8 kept in pairs in pouches across the bandolier around his chest and on his belt. 1 additional in the rifle.
• Box of 7.62mm NATO rounds - carried in backpack
• .45 caliber semi-auto handgun - less pristine than his rifle, but still carefully looked after, this handgun is reliable, effective, and practical, if not especially beautiful. A workhorse, it is kept on his belt at all times, and within arms' reach at all other times.
• 5 x handgun magazines. 4 in pairs in a two compartment pouch on his belt, one in the gun.
• Box of .45 caliber ammunition - carried in backpack
• Gun cleaning and maintenance kit - carried in backpack
• Machete - a simple heavy machete-type blade, formed from an old truck leaf-spring, with a bolted-on wooden grip wrapped in leather. The reverse edge is cut with serrations to function as a saw. Heavy enough to use for chopping, and with a rounded, jutting pommel to use for breaking glass. It's a tool as much as a weapon.
• 4 x frag grenades - carried on his bandolier
• Modified riot armour - formerly worn by riot police in the pre-war era, it has been remodelled and salvaged for use in the wastelands, with added riveted panels to replace lost or worn areas on the left shoulder, and a chest bandolier for ammunition and equipment, which also has the sheath for a machete on the reverse. The forearm guard on the left forearm has also been rebuilt to allow access to a pip-boy, while still protecting the left hand. Dusty black/brown/grey in colour.
• Dust goggles
• Shemagh-type scarf; can be used to block dust or as a hood, etc.
• Rec-and-black flannel shirt, worn under armour with jeans and hiking boots.
• Not always worn, but forage-style cap in washed-out olive drab, usually worn to protect from intense sun, or when it's cold or wet
• Rain poncho, usually carried in backpack, simple black poncho made of waterproof material. Also can be used to make a simple shelter.
• 100ft coil of nylon paracord.

[Apollosarcher]

@Silverwind Blade Approved, though I'll be shooting a message later on a few things that relate to vault 35

[Rhona W]

@Silverwind Blade Approved, though I'll be shooting a message later on a few things that relate to vault 35

@Apollosarcher

No worries; I deliberately left it a bit vague regarding the exact nature of the Vault as I didn't want to assume too much, and so I could change it if/where needed. Almost thought of making up another Vault or leaving which one specifically vague instead.

Will post him into the characters tab

[Uromastyx]

I'm mostly done with my character, just got a couple combat skills I need to add.

Fennec

Doctor Fennec

Currently in the process of finding an image I like
_{{"Those who always choose the easy path are as much bound by chains as those who chose the wrong path; I pity them both."}}

- General Characteristics -

| {Full Name} |

Allen Fennec.

| {Nickname/Call sign} |

Fenn, Doc.

| {Age} |

32

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Dialogue Color} |

4684B2/ 'Steel Blue'.

| {Appearance} |

A small amount of scar tissue littered the man's relatively soft face, not long-drawn-out scars but the sort that come from a life of having little regard for oneself. Just poorly healed nicks and cuts from shaving cack-handedly to wandering with little caution through hostile flora. Nothing too bad, or even that noticeable, but if you knew what you were looking for they are lying it waits, ready to be found. His gray eyes were likely the least noticeable feature that adorned his face. They were quiet and gentle, and looked so tired, but even with all the things they'd seen they wouldn't judge you; kind and unassuming.

Framing his face is a short beard and an often untidy head of dark brown hair with strands that somehow seemed to be constantly arguing about which direction they wished to stick out from his head. If his hair were but a little tidier and face a little less dirtied then Fennel would have almost fit the slender and clean aesthetic of a prewar doctor to a tee.

- Psychological Profile -

| {Personality} |

With a friendly personality and a kind smile, Fennel will always be there to help those that are within his abilities. He may not have the smoothest tongue in the east but that won't stop him from trying to have a rational discussion with someone in an opposing position if there's a chance that it will succeed; the gun that sits on his hip is exclusively a last resort. Sheltered much more than most in the Wasteland one of Fennel's biggest flaws is his over-eagerness to be trusting of strangers, believing in most circumstances that if someone appears to need assistance it is better to go with it than move on and be wrong. Admittedly it's worked out for him up to this point, but all it takes is for one raider who decides even a doctor isn't worth keeping around for his story to be ended.

| {Fears/Limitations} |

One of the biggest fears held by the doctor has to be mutated insects. Thirsty blood bugs, fierce radscorpions, and prey-stalking mantises are enough to quicken Fennel's pulse and send him into a state of great distress. On their own they're borderline bearable, but introduce a group of these chitinous creatures his face will pallor beyond all compare, and he'll cease to be any use to those around him.

Not even he knows what in particular it is about these... things that manage to strike such unease about him. Maybe it was just an innate behaviour that made him him, perhaps exacerbated by prewar accounts of people who feared these creatures when they were much smaller, or maybe the origin lay in a memory long since forgotten or locked away with the only remnant of it's happening being the fear etched inside his brain.

| {Place of Origin} |

Like some unfortunate souls in the wasteland Fennec knows little about his heritage or where he came from. It's guessed by him, and by those that raised him, that he is descended from someone who survived the Great War in one of the vaults due to the lack of obvious genetic abnormalities, but as to which vault in the Boneyard area it's unclear. His true home and family lay with the Followers of the Apocalypse, who's followers took him in as a child at around a year old during 2259.

| {Background} |

Uncovered by a mercenary in the midst of raider camp that was causing some of the outer lying communities of the Boneyard issues. Fennec was saved by the kindness of the stranger who took the baby the Los Angeles Library to seek out the help of the Followers of the Apocalypse, who took in the child as their own, managed to wean him off of whatever drugs the raiders had been giving him and raised him through to adulthood with some of the best educations available to those who lived in the former United States.

It's more than fair to say that Fennec's entire life revolved around the Followers and very much followed their ethos of bringing good back to the wasteland through humanitarian projects. Even at the age of 5 he was following around his family 'helping' them construct and maintain wells and patches of farmland for the locals to drink from and cultivate. As a child, just seeing people happy for a short while after being helped by the Followers was enough to bring a loud giggle of joy to the boy's face.

That's not to say that he never encountered some of the more gruesome truths of the Wasteland as a child. Men with limbs torn from their bodies by deathclaws, sobbing widows clinging desperately onto their departed partners corpse after a home invasion by raiders. Even before being old enough to explore the Wasteland properly the descriptions and vivid scenes that had played out before him were enough to give him nightmares.

His teenage years were when his aspirations to become a true member of the Followers surfaced, specifically wanting to go into the path of medicine. Radscorpion breeding season always tended to hit their outpost hard. As a farming community there were certain times of the year when tilling the soil was dangerous, due to the potential of digging up a scorpion egg or a dormant hatchling, and every year there was a few casualties, always at least one fatality. That particular year it was all hands were needed to take care of the number that had been injured. Being able to help, even the small things he could do for the patients to ease their suffering is what set in stone the events that would lead him to travel and become a proper doctor.

After a few years of hard work, many hours spend studiously labouring over materials to learn from he managed to graduate from Angel's Boneyard Medical University. Post graduation he returned home to work at the outpost he grew up in, honing his skills further. Inspired by Julie Farkas' expansion to the Mojave in 2273 Fennec and a group of colleagues drew up plans to mount an expedition of their own, one to push the Follower's sphere of influence out of the West coast. In the early months of 2274 they left, nine of them - four doctors including Fennec along with five who specialised in agriculture and structure construction - along with what was practically a herd of Brahmin began making their way down the interstates, leaving only deviating from their path when they crossed paths with raider camps or cities.

The journey was not easy on any of them, least of all those that made it to North Carolina. Two of the troop had found their place at settlements they'd stayed at along the way, whereas twice that number had fallen in defense of the others during skirmishes. Of the three left was Fennec, Carlisle who was also a doctor by trade, and Matthew who was one of the structural specialists that had accompanied them. All they had left behind, family and friends, to arrive at a place lush and full of life like they had never seen before. After a settling in point the trio managed to set up their clinic in a settlement a few miles north of the southern border.

The building that they had set up in stood about as strongly as the relationship between Fennec and Carlisle. It fell little over 18 months after their arrival, Carlisle left over differing ideals and Fennec was left manning the Follower's outpost in Carolina alone. It took a further year to break him as he was unable to cope with the amount of patients coming in and the constant upkeep of the crumbling building, exacerbated by financial issues as the outpost struggled to break even with the cost of medical supplies.

Emotionally destroyed by his inability to run a successful clinic for the people Fennec fell prey to depressive spiral. Moderate amounts of chems were what kept him functional, whoring himself out to whatever mercenary group would trust a doctor in a state such as his for chems. It was a slow recovery, Fennec still has the needle scars on his forearms along with a few other scars in the same area he refuses to talk about, but progress was made step by step. His drug use dropped as he began to work harder on himself, physically by tidying himself and managing to cut himself off from those who supplied him. Fennec managed to land a job in Speedway under the Marshals, working with the wounded and helping to train up those who wanted to learn.

- Survival Characteristics -

| {Non-Combat Skills} |

Bleeding Heart: A compassionate soul whose morals directed to follow the path of a Doctor to help those he could. With the help of the FoA's training Fennec tends to keep the blood off of his hands by keeping his hands bloody and providing aid to those who need it.

Of course he has a name, he's mine: With a kind smile and gentle eyes the Doctor will listen attentively to whatever you need to talk about. A friendly demeanour is essential to help people feel comfortable, making it easier for people to relax and speak frankly around him. Sometimes they let something slip before realising "I should not have said that".

Tinctures from Toadstools: During his time in Carolina Fennec kept a diary of medicinal recipes used by the locals where they substituted old-world materials with substances obtained from the flora and fauna of the locale. With his notes in hand he is able to create basic supplies in a pinch.

| {Possessions} |

Semi-functional prewar pocket watch, a coin purse of bottle caps, pouch of medical equipment, a varied assortment of chems and drugs (both those used in a medicinal environment and those regarded as recreational), holotape player, holotapes, and a cluster of notes poorly bound detailing local flora and their medicinal properties.

| {Combat Skills} |

Adaptable Anatomy - Many creatures share the same skeletal and vascular structure rearranged ever so slightly differently under that flesh cloak each of them present to the outside world. Using his knowledge of biology Fennec has a good knack for figuring out weak points of creatures he's never come across before (Does not apply to most FEV experiments).

Surgeon's Precision - Whilst not having formal training in the use of firearms, some experience with a rifle and steady hands can make a lethal combination through enough practice.

| {Gear} |

Custom 10 mm carbine utilizing a wooden stock and a smg receiver with an extended barrel.
.44 Magnum revolver.
Battle bandoleer strapped with stimpaks and med-x.

[Apollosarcher]

Alright just to update everybody, I'm working on the IC and I'll get stuff rolling once I get news on the character sheets.

[Blizz]

Is it too late to make a character? This has me intrigued

[Apollosarcher]

@Blizz Nope still time, I'm taking longer than I wanted to get the show on the road.

[Blizz]

The Bright Pacifist

Sirus

_{{ ”You...haven’t the faintest clue...the things I have watched burn. I have seen the brightest cities turn to dust on the darkest nights. All the hate in this world is only keeping us in the dark." }}

- General Characteristics -

| {Full Name} |

Willson Linus Banks

| { Nicknames } |

Sirus

| { Age } |

227

| {Male} |

| {Character Image} |

A long time ago, one of the nicest children he’s ever met made a drawing of him, it was child-like, but it was one of the nicest things he experienced in a while...

| {Color} |

00ff00

| {Appearance} |

To call him an acquired taste would be...putting it lightly. Sirus is beyond scrawny, he looks like a tooth pick. Standing at exactly six feet tall, Sirus weighs roughly 110lb but he isn’t malnourished or anything like that. It’s just the radiation that turned him into a ghoul two hundred years ago. He may look like nothing but skin and bones, but everything you see is muscle, he’s still strong enough to hoist a heavy radstag over his shoulder. He just doesn’t look like it. Speaking of his skin, it’s an enigma. It’s hard to tell if his skin is rotting, glowing green, both, or burnt. If you ran your hands across his arm, you’d almost feel leather. Like paper that just won’t tear, it’s strange to say the least, but the strangest part is the fact that he’s glowing green. The softer parts of his body - his stomach, between his ribs, his eyes, his mouth - radiation a rich, neon green glow that lights up a pitch black room with ease. Sirus typically wears clothes to protect others from himself. Heavy clothes with pieces of lead in them. Lead lined gloves and shoes, that sort of thing. It covers up most of his body, especially when he throws on his Yao Guai hide

---

- Psychological Profile -

| {Personality} |

These days, Sirus. is a pacifist at heart. The past two centuries were filled with little more than hate, death, and pain. Sirus. through it all, and he wants absolutely nothing more to do with that. Sirus has no hate inside him for anyone. Not raiders, who do what they must to survive. Not Super Mutants, who lost control of themselves. Not for slavers, who have simply forgotten what it means to be free themselves. Sirus is a kind man, he has seen the worst in people, and it made it look for the worst in himself. He’s talked with few people in the last 200 years, but the ones who knew him will tell you that aside from the slight radiation, he cooks up a mean slab of radstag.

He is peaceful, he is welcoming, and often spends his nights pondering the world before the bombs. Thinking back on the old days, and the ones after. He’s been through a lot, more than anyone alive today can know. Sirus is a loyal friend. Though he may never get into a physical fight with anybody, he’s sure to be there for you no matter what. After all, it’s not like he’s running out of days any time soon. Sirus doesn’t interact with society much, if at all. At most, he watches travelers get scared by him, or try to shoot him. Thankfully, he hasn’t been shot anywhere vital, but that’s fine. Regardless, he knows that not everyone does, or even can look at things the way he does. Not everyone can just walk away from two centuries of sorrow and come out functioning. If anything, he’s the lucky one for making it this long as a glowing ghoul, so he of all people has no right to complain. Despite that, he welcomes people when they’re willing to be peaceful. He is the type to make peace before the guns ever come out. No one ever walks away intact from a fight.

| {Fears/Limitations} |
Few things these days actually get under Sirus’ skin, not that he has much to get under, but he point is he’s very patient. Some scavenger doing through, looking for scrap parts puts a gun to his head because he’s never seen a glowing ghoul before? Seen it. Want some duct tape? A rabid dog is chewing up a carcass and it thinks Sirus is gonna steal it? Seen it. Just back away, take the scenic route. The problem for Sirus is his body. Being 200 years old, he doesn’t have much mass on him. He won’t be able to handle a fist fight with a super mutant, but he is still capable of throwing a big radstag over his shoulder and carrying it. Living on your own keeps you in shape.

The other big thing about his appearance is, well, his appearance. Being bald and a walking lightbulb doesn’t put the best first impression in one’s mind. His mellow and friendly nature only comes into play when people take a second to look past the fact that he is glowing green and that you can see his ribcage like an x-ray.

What are they afraid of most? Where do they fall short? Many times it is here that most of what makes a character is found, in the flaws and imperfections.

| {Place of Origin} |

Prewar America. Sirus has wandered a lot since the bombs fell. He doesn’t much from those days, especially not about his home life.

| {Background} |
Long ago, when the bombs first fell, a man named Willson was doing his damndest to outrun fate. Doing everything he could to run like hell, hoping to whatever god was listening that his car wouldn’t break down from the sheer speed he was going, he couldn’t even remember which road he went down. He still doesn’t. All he remembers is trying to outrun death.

In the end, he did.

Everything went black, days passed, blinding flashes, screams, bodies, all of it blurred together like a dream. He woke up feeling like every bone in his body had been broken, but he was still standing. Everything was a blur, he still can’t remember everything. He doesn’t know if it’s because he might have hit his head, or if it was the radiation, either way, Willson was alive, or at least...he felt like it. He woke up not knowing where on earth he was, nothing looked the same. Everything was flat. Everything was dead. Why wasn’t he?

Willson spent what felt like months just wandering. Aimless. Mindless even. Who knew how long it would be until he saw some semblance of humanity left? The roads were shattered, his hands were emaciated and burned under the sun, nothing felt real. Nothing felt right. He hadn’t seen another person in what felt like a lifetime, the sky was dark, it was grey. Black clouds swirling with brown dust, it was cold. Nuclear winter. Nothing changed for months, nothing but the weather. Snow and tar covered the bodies, the roads, everything. The land was barren, all Wilson could do was watch as everything suffered with him. His body felt like it was atrophied, like he was sick and dying. He never once thought about the radiation. He couldn’t feel it. That was the last few months of 2077.

It wouldn’t be until 2083 that things started to feel normal. The smallest civilizations were whispered about only 6 years later. Of course, there was no such thing, since it was still so cold, and for this poor bastard, lonely. He had met a solid two people in six years. Both of them were terribly messed up. No hair, no skin, ragged voices...and he reminded them of themselves. He resembled them, he had trouble speaking, he hadn’t in so long, but he managed. They were shocked at his appearances his skin was black and glowing green.

He was a glowing one.

Many years later, in 2097, the cold began to disappear, and these are the memories that Sirus had that are the clearest. Wilson was living with the few people he could find, in a small clearing, in the remains of the Ohio countryside. They called it Haven. It was less than a mile of cobbled together huts, built up around a military checkpoint that had clean water. Most of the place was still dead from radiation, but the survivors knew Wilson was special, like his presence was some kind of gift, he could handle the radiation. The glow from his skin must’ve protected him. But it wasn’t all great, after all, no one would go near him. They were scared. The ominous glow was like a bomb about to go off to them. They just occasionally brought him scraps of food, which he didn’t look like he ever ate, since his ghoulish appearance betrayed him.

Despite living in this place, and having it easy compared to everyone else in the nuclear dark age, Wilson was broken inside. This wasn’t his body. This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his home. Everything was wrong. These people had a basic amount of respect for the monster that helped them move radioactive waste from places, and would bring him table scraps. That’s not normal.

Days blurred together as he tried to make sense of everything, and he did. By not caring. Everything around Wilson was in ruin. Death. Hate. Anger. Violence. When Wilson left it all behind, he grew nihilistic, he didn’t care about getting rid of waste, he just left in the dead of night and let Haven rot. He was numb, he was cold. Broken. Even the name “Wilson” bothered him. He stayed like that for 60 years. The 2150s were the turning point of the ghoul named Sirus.

A group of survivors, in the ruins of New York, found Sirus living under a mound of collapsed walls, buildings turned to dust. They looked clean, they were inviting, they weren’t bothered by Sirus’ appearance, they simply welcomed him. They begged him to let them help. They didn’t want to watch a survivor live under rubble. Surely, they were joking. On the road he shambled down, he watched the world suffer. If these idiots were so kind, why didn’t they help everyone else?

That was his first mistake, to think the world could be helped. They took Sirus to a nearby town, it was beautiful. It was the closest thing to an actual town he had seen in almost a century. They called it Neptune. Neptune was thriving, and peaceful. Everyone was put off by the ghoul’s appearance, but they knew the darkness he was stuck in wasn’t violence, but numbness. A hole in his heart. Everyone ran on sight before, they dropped their guns and ran, he didn’t even have to tell them to fuck off. Sirus spent roughly 90 years full of confusion, contempt for others, and loneliness, until now. These people welcomed him, they taught him about ghouls like him, they told him they saw glowing ghouls, but they were what they called “Feral.” It dawned on Sirus that he was lucky, he could’ve been killed like a dog by now. Of course, that would’ve been preferable. Their kindness did things to Sirus, in fact, it hurt. It hurt to be treated like a human, like he knew what he was, like anyone knew what he was. Neptune was his home. Neptune brought something deep inside him back from nothingness, his humanity.

Sirus still wasn’t the person he is today, he was angry with the world. He spent the next 10 years warding off things from outside of Neptune’s walls, rural New York was a nightmare. Raiders were violent, and it took a toll on Sirus’ already damaged personality. The raiders and other monstrous people had tried for years to tear it up. Every time they would fail, it proved that there was hope, but it only pissed Sirus off. Nothing stopped him from going out there and just pulling his shirt off to microwave every fucking one of them, other than two people. Caten and Aster. His two closest friends. Caten was a tough girl, always had a shotgun at her hip. She had a benevolent boss attitude about her, but she was lovable. Aster was a survivor, just like Sirus, and a follower of the religion of Atom. A one armed, religious lancer with a machete, Aster was the type who you could go to for deep, mentally intimate advice.

“They ain’t worth it, Si. I’ll just blow ‘em away.” Caten always assured him that she’d have his back.

“Yes, trust me, Neptune’s walls have seen worse.” The one armed faithkeeper backed her words up every time between sharping his machete.

Those words still echo in his head. If Neptune’s walls were so strong, why was it so easy for the entire town to be burned to ash?

It was late, Caten was already in bed. Aster was praying before bed, like usual. Explosions rang out, waking everybody up.

Nothing was left before the hour was done. Sirus is the only one alive who remembers the story that happened next. He keeps the last words of his friends on a holotape, he has kept that same holotape for 130 years. Cherishing it, because it’s all he has left of the place that gave him back his humanity. After the incidents following, he wandered again for who knows how long. That’s all there is to this guy. He’s seen too much pain and suffering to hate anyone. He has never harmed a soul since Neptune was destroyed. And he swears on the graves of his best friends that he never will. This time, he wouldn’t kill his mind, he wouldn’t shove his thoughts into a corner. This time, he’s make peace with them. Sirus made peace with himself since then, he will never forget his past, he will never forget the way the world changed him, but he would never fall victim to rage. Rage is what caused everything. He would help everyone he can, he would never be angry with anyone. Wilson Banks was gone, now, there was only him.

There was only Sirus.

Now, he wanders the world, not full of sadness, but full of identity. He spent the next 130 years being a piece of the world, rather than trying to dissociate from it. This was peace.

---

- Survival Characteristics -

| {Non-Combat Skills} |

Who’s Hungry? : If it can be eaten, Sirus can cook it. He knows a few interesting recipes for making things taste right. Have you ever noticed that chewy, tar like take in radroach? You will when you start eating with Sirus, since he gets rid of it.

Hunter : Sirus knows how to hunt pretty well, he’s learned to cover the glowing parts of his body and kill animals quickly. He tries his best not to leave them in pain, and make it fast.

Ugly Diplomat : His peaceful and pacifist nature has pushed him to talk things through with people. Think of it like making a really intimidating character with 80+ speech. Granted, it’s hard when you’re glowing - literally, not figuratively, but when people are willing to listen to Sirus, he can talk things through in almost any situation.

Wanderer : Sirus is 200 years old. He’s been around the place. Sirus has been to various parts of the country. From the Capital Wasteland, to the Mojave. No place is his home.

| {Possessions} |

Anything not directly related to combat, work on their person regularly or considered essential gear.

| {Combat Skills} |

And here is where any skill your character may have that is either directly or indirectly related to combat would go.

| {Gear} |

47 caps in a stag skin pouch.
A combat knife, used for skinning animals and butchering meat. It has a weathered engraving at its base that almost resembles a BoS emblem.
A star sarsaparilla cap dangling from his neck.
A holotape with several prewar songs.
<sub>Sleep Dealer - The Tenth Planet

Foxhole - Through Bone and Marrow

Tango With Lions - In a Bar

Euphoria - Silence In Everywhere

Lake of Tears - A Crimson Cosmos

Lake of Tears - The Homecoming

Explosions In The Sky - Magic Hours</sub>
A holotape with other things on it, don’t play it.
Old paper with words on it that only Sirus has read.
A hunting rifle, .308 caliber. No scope, no muzzle breaks, just a bare bones, plain Jane rifle he uses strictly for hunting animals. It is not a weapon. It is a tool.
6 .308 caliber bullets.

[Apollosarcher]

@Blizz Alright so first off you've got some spelling errors and you've also left in one of the prompts from the sheet.

Second, what's his motive? This a party that is going to war, the Brotherhood and Enclave members here are people who have been sent to face a growing super mutant horde that is moving Northward. He's not here to fight but also as a glowing one he expunges radiation at dangerous enough levels no one can be close to him. Meaning the party can't live with him so some of those skills are rendered moot.

This while an interesting character and not breaking any rules, I have a hard time seeing how he could really be a meaningful addition to the party.

[Blizz]

@Apollosarcher

1) I’ll fix those

2) He doesn’t have a defined motive like a soldier. These days, he prefers to just see the way the world is growing from when things went to hell back then, but his heart bleeds neon green for the people. He’s tired of seeing conflict, and he’ll put up with the soldiers no doubt. If these super mutants hurt people, which it’s safe to say they will since they’re super mutants, he’s be more than happy to help them as much as possible. He’s not actively seeking out people who are suffering, like the Followers of The Apocalypse would, but he still tries. Getting rid of the mutants would make things peaceful, so Sirus respects their ideas. Overall he’s more of a supportive kind of character than a fighter.

[Apollosarcher]

@Blizz Alright but why would a group of mostly humans some of which will have Ghoul prejudices invite a Ghoul who isn't going to fight, who can't be near any non-ghoul party member, and who if they want to get close enough to have a conversation they need a radiation suit or power armor?

There is nothing wrong with the character but you haven't told how they can function with a group of humans when they are giving off radiation all the time.

[Blizz]

@Apollosarcher

I’ll admit I hadn’t considered that. Sirus has been around the block quite a bit, so if the brotherhood and enclave were to require a guide for one reason or another, Sirus could be convinced. His ability to make a fire and cook literally any huntable creature could probably come in handy as well, since the soldiers no doubt rely on their MREs but would be out of luck otherwise. If there’s some very specific place these guys needed to go that they don’t know, running into a ghoul who spent the last two centuries idling around the country, and the last couple of years in the Carolinas, could come in handy.

He does his best to cover up to keep rads from spilling everywhere, and Yao Guai are the one animal I’m pretty sure is the least likely to become glowing themselves - in my experience - which is why the hide he got from hunting on should insulate most of his body.

[Apollosarcher]

@Blizz They have a guide, we also have other characters with similar qualifications so they would not need him for that. No, the Brotherhood does not live on MRE's they trade for food with the people around them and have at least decent relations with one nearby trading group. While they might not be great chef's, though at least one them if pretty good they can certainly cook themselves decent meals.

Also no, a Yao Guai skin would not shield from radiation, it's animal fur from a creature that mutated due to radiation. Very few things in the wastes shield from radiation that do not cover the entire body and insulate from that damage.

Currently as I understand it he's a pacifist character whose radiation endangers the group, meaning the best he can do is make his own little camp outside the base and live there. Maybe occasionally heal one of the others ghouls in the group or talk to them. He's a pacifist who harms living humans by just being near, so again I'm not sure what he can do help the party.

[Blizz]

@Apollosarcher

I intend to scrap Sirus. You’re absolutely right, didn’t think of those things.

[Blizz]

New Character!

Zombie mechanic

Adder

_{{ "Do what you gotta do." }}

- General Characteristics -

| {Full Name} |

Jackson Miles Adder

| {Nickname/Callsign} |

Jack, Adder.

| {Age} |
227

| {Gender} |

Female

| {Character Image} |
One of the ghouls from Wiseman’s farm.
| {Dialogue Color} |

6600ff

| {Appearance} |
Naturally a more wiry kind of girl, Adder’s one of the more lucky prewar ghouls. Her skin isn’t particularly rotten or falling off, but it’s more like wet leather than anything. Despite the fact that she somehow still had hair on her head, it’s grainy like sandpaper. It’s coarse to the touch, it’s choppy, and has no color. Adder is exactly six feet tall, and almost always wears the same rough, run of the mill wastelander type shirt and pants and mole rat boots. Adder’s eyes are sunken, and dark. Like she hasn’t slept properly in two centuries.

---

- Psychological Profile -

| {Personality} |
Call her a nerd, call her a jackass, but Adder is an opportunist at heart. She’s the very essence of what it means to be a wastelander, you find home where you can, you find survival where you have to. Adder’s a loner who likes to keep her head down, very rarely does she bring herself to talk with any kind of settlement or caravan. When she does, it’s business only. She doesn’t like wasting caps or scavenged material on many things other than food or some bullets, anything else better be able to pay for itself. Adder takes what she can get, and likes to capitalize on what she can, but she’d shoot herself before she takes from someone else. Everyone has it bad in one way or another, she’s doing what she has to just like them, there’s no excuse for fighting over someone else’s life. There’s a line you don’t cross. Adder enjoys working on technology. Guns, a robot, and machine, she picked up skills to fix those things out of necessity, but it’s the one thing that’s makes her live instead of just survive. She’s nice when you get to know her underneath all that instinctual hoarding she does. While it may look like she has a suppressed moral compass, she’s just never had many opportunities these days for it to be used. She doesn’t mention this to anyone, but she has a habit of spiking nuka cola with radaway, she heard from another ghoul once that it helped.

| {Fears/Limitations} |
Losing. That’s it. Every day is a struggle in the wasteland. You either come out on top or you come out dead. Victory, day to day, or death. If Adder loses what she has, she never had anything worth fighting for in the first place, knowing this was all she came to, knowing this is where the future ends and tells you whether what you did was worth the trouble before you can be sure yourself...It messes with her head.

Her limits lie in the fact that Adder wasn’t a combat soldier. She was a Marines mechanic. An excellent mechanic, but a mechanic at best. She had basic defense training, so she could still clap you over the head and win, but she’s shit out of luck against a power armor squad.

| {Place of Origin} |
Beaufort, South Carolina. Her service was spent on the Parris Island military base for the Marines, not far from her home town.

| {Background} |
Adder’s prewar life wasn’t much to talk about. She lived on a military base and worked as a US Marines Mechanic. She had a pretty good thing going down there, wake up, grab something to wash down with coffee, fix some meathead’s power armor, sleep, repeat until work doesn’t matter anymore. Originally, she had planned to do this for college reasons, knowing full well she could make perfect use of fixing broken things to pay for it and have a decent life, but she came to the conclusion that college was just a really big struggle. It was stressful, it was boring, and she couldn’t do anything practical.

As a result of this, she chose to go full time on military tech. It would be a hell of a lot better than having a chance at working some other tech job. Besides, not everyone can throw a suit of power armor in front of Adder to fix, can they? It went on like that for a few years, and nothing important happened. The most eventful thing in those days would probably be the time someone’s radio caught on fire because some dummy thought it was overheating and accidentally spilled a whole canteen of water over it. Dumbass.

Oddly enough, Adder never made it to a vault. She took some time off and was away from the base, when she heard the sirens. They had drills for this. Get to the bunker. The only problem was that the bunker was roughly a mile away. She can’t remember the next few days after that, since everything was a painful blur, just like a lot of prewar ghouls. Since then, she’s stuck to scavenging, taking payment for repair jobs, and flying under the radar. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Living in the ruins was a pain in the ass, but she got by. Maybe one day she’ll join the Brotherhood....

These days, Adder trades a lot of her skills for an apocalyptic living wage, she still lives alone out in the ruins of Beaufort, where she can keep her stash of parts away from any militarized factions with a craving for such a thing, but she spends a good deal of time working with the Marshalls around the place, if a vehicle breaks down, hand Adder a fistful of caps and she’ll have it up and running in no time. At this point in her life, she doesn’t have much to think about, just fix things and get paid, that’s all. Working from time to time with the Marshalls gives her a sense of purpose, and it’s certainly nice to feel needed, but sometimes she wonders if this is it for her, if she’s gonna do this for the next two centuries, or something else. On the radio, Adder’s heard a few things about the Brotherhood of Steel. She’s heard that they have what they caps Scribes, who do a lot of things she does, maybe more. It would be an interesting change of pace for her, but it wouldn’t be easy, since she’s never actually met the Brotherhood.

---

- Survival Characteristics -

| {Non-Combat Skills} |
Safehouse : Adder is a scavenger at heart, the very definition of a wastelander. In what used to be the prewar town of Beaufort in the Carolinas, where living wasn’t very eventful there stands an old brick building that never fell over. Adder lives here, no one comes through here. It’s quiet and full of Adder’s hauls. Boxes full of spare parts ranging from scrap metal to cogs to gun pieces. You name it, you can probably find it in there. There’s a panel in the ceiling that can be moved during rain to collect water for boiling. It’s not far from Parris Island, where Adder used to serve in the military. This means that anyone looking to get into the base could rest up there and just make a quick trip to the island.

Fixer : Adder’s damn good at rigging workarounds for pretty much anything that breaks. She can probably fix a whole suit of power armor if you give her some time. Fusion core’s not feeding the suit? Open it up, she’s got this. She can fix just about anything - especially at her hideout - from a laser weapon, to a ballistic gun, to a robot.

Scouting : As a born gearhead and having military level skill, Adder is quite good at slinking around the place and scoping out the scene before getting involved. Like a skittish fox, she can find danger befor it finds her. This also makes her good at sniffing out loot someone may have overlooked. Adder’s good at finding shortcuts with little traffic, too.

Military Access : Adder served on Paris Island before the war, so she knows how to get in, and how to get around. She wouldn’t be able to do it alone, since there’s no doubt still an active security system up and running, but if she had a team to back her up, she’d be more than capable of getting everyone in and showing everyone where to find the good stuff.

| {Possessions} |
- An absurd amount of loot, scrap parts such as capacitors, gun parts, car parts, all kinds of parts... (Safehouse)
- Her 200 year old dog tags with her name on them
- 70+ caps laying around somewhere
- A Geiger counter some tough guy lost in a knife fight
- A working radio, usually tuned to hear stuff out in the wastes, rarely anything important. Powered by fusion cells that go into a laser pistol. (Safehouse)
- One more bottle of nuka cola left...half full and it’s gone flat
- A syringe or two of med-x for if Adder gets shot. Always has at least one packed away. (Safehouse)

- Various guns, some scratched up, some don’t fire. Laser and ballistic, nothing plasma...yet. She doesn’t have the ammo to supply that many guns, but she can still trade them off. (Safehouse)

| {Combat Skills} |
Pick Your Battles : Like a cat, Adder is a skittish fighter who only fights when it’s needed. But when she’s backed into a corner, she fights for her life like an animal, she’ll go for the throat or the knees. She’ll gut you like a fish. Adder’s not afraid to get messy in a fight.

Takedown : Also like a cat, Adder is pretty good at sneaking up on people and hitting them where it hurts with her trusty old knife. If she wants, you won’t see her until it’s much too late. A lot of dangerous nights in the wastelands taught her that real quick.

| {Gear} |
- Knife
- At least a handful of caps
- A standard 10mm pistol
- 2 magazines
- Some distilled water from the house
- Small moleskin pack that holds around 5 pounds of stuff, mostly for mechanical reasons like disabling a lock or a machine, or fixing it.
-Screwdriver, loose screws, stuff like that.
-Wrench, good for smashing roaches
-Bobby pins, stick them under a protectron’s shoulder and they have an aneurism. It’s pretty funny, actually.
- Pretty much everything else she carries.

[ASDAValueMilk]

@blizz

Since Archer is sick I'll be doing your review. I apologise that I'm not as eloquent as he is so I'll keep it brief. Currently there are only 3 issues with Adder and they are relatively minor ones.

Number one: This is perhaps the biggest of the three, There still seems to be a lack of motivation for her to be there. Perhaps having her work with the Marshals could remedy that.

Number 2: Her background is a little unfleshed out but you did make her at almost the last moment after scrapping your previous character so it's not too big of a problem.

Number 3: Throughout the CS you make constant mention of a safehouse. There are a couple of points to do with that, firstly We would need to know where it is even if she never mentions it to anyone IC, secondly does its location make it even worth mentioning and how likely would Adder or the group be to actually going to it, bearing in mind that we are going to be spending most of our time in South Carolina, at least at the start.

[Blizz]

@Cuddles 1438

1) Good point, Adder does a bunch of mechanic work whenever she can for caps, odd jobs mostly, fixing someone’s radio or some guns mostly, but I could see the Marshall’s hiring her for some larger jobs like a robot or something along those lines, I can leave that to the GMs or any Marshall characters

2) Her past isn’t meant to be very dramatic, unlike Sirus, who was meant to have scars from the past, but if you need me to work on her past, I’m more than up for that

3) Do you mean specifically on a map? In general it’s in a more quiet place away from a lot of civilization, out in the boonies, in a way. It’s where she lives, so it would be a good place to kick back and rest before the big stuff happens, or to repair stuff that the group needs. If Sam’s fancy car breaks down, Adder’s got parts, not that she’s expect to see a car 200 years after the world ended though.

[HamakazeKai]

I'm working on a CS if thats alright, should have it done tomorrow night.

[Apollosarcher]

@Blizz I believe what cuddles is saying, is what would motivate her to want to join the Expedition forces? Does she want to work with the Brotherhood? Is she in it to learn new skills from scribes? Does she have anyone who can vouch for her skill to say she could come along? Give us a reason to trust or a reason to work to earn our trust.

As for the background, maybe expand it more? Most of the Marshals in NC descend from US army special operations and airborne rangers, as well as other military personal. A ghoul from 82nd airborne was even the first High Marshal, which lends towards NC's less distasteful outlook on ghouls, also of course there is the fact that NC does have more running cars than most other regions because of Speedway.

We need an idea of where this safe house is, North Carolina is a big place is up near the mountains? Hidden among the empty farm lands and hills of the Piedmont? Or near the broken banks of the coast?