[CHAR] Fallout: The Vegas Affair

Dramatis Personae:

Sarah Sinclair - Played by DirtyDingo

Desmond - Played by Th3King0fChaos

Raven Rivers - Played by LetterBee

Jonathan Smith - Played by Athol

Ashe "The Ghoul" - Played by TimeMaster

Katherine Green - Played by Product

Nemet Arann Galea - Played by Ridealgh

Jeremy Kürten - Played by Evildd1984

[DirtyDingo]

Sarah Sinclair "The Ghost of Anchorage"

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.

[Th3King0fChaos]

The Handyman

Desmond "The Handyman"

Name: Desmond
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10
Weight: 155 lbs

Motto: "Life is a coin toss. Everyone waits for a 50/50. But me? I always cheat."

Appearance: Desmond stands at 5'10 and weighs 155 pounds, he is a lean frame. His body is much more like a worked machine running at top efficiency, he has low fat on his body and is quite prone to being cold. Desmond has medium-length dark brown hair that he lets down more often than not. His eyes are these darker brown eyes that seem to always have a sharpness to them. He has many scars across his body, the most numerous being on his back, his torso, and on his legs, many of which look quite nasty as many were never properly treated but easily hidden by simple clothing.

Equipment: Desmond's equipment is similar to him, efficient, effective, and all too willing to get messy.

His armor and outerwear are simple in nature, a lighter armor that covers the body, a helmet, and a facemask to protect against the elements and possibly biological and chemical attacks. Over this is a dirty tan multilayer cloak that is meant to keep the user cool by providing some shade and trapping any moisture the user would produce in the armor and suit to keep them cooler against the intense Mojave sun.

Remington 870 Shotgun loaded in 12 gauge, this gun is one Desmond has carried from when he was a child when his father had passed to now when he is a grown man. It is a gun that never fails.

Colt M1911 Handgun loaded in .45 acp, a classic that still holds up today. Desmond had picked up this American Classic when he first entered the Mojave and found great use against many of the bigger and bader beasts found in the Mojave. The weight and power behind the round oftentimes can crack and break the armored hides of many Radscorpions and other nasty creatures while if it doesn't it dumps enough energy with each shot to liquify anything behind the armor of said Rad scorpion or combat armor.

Ka Bar tactical knife, a knife can go dull, but it will never jam. A simple knife, one of the numerous ones Desmond has carried, is often used to skin animals, cut cords, or slit throats. A simple yet effective tool.

Modified NCR backpack, normally a solid canvas backpack was then modified to have hooks and extra straps to hold his toolbox and extra supplies, while also being reinforced with extra material and some metal in case of an 'accident' was to damage it.

A large Water container able to hold 2 liters of water.

20 feet of black paracord that seems slightly damaged and frayed from years of use and neglect.

2 pounds of radscorpion jerky.

A Tinderbox with a flint and steel, a plasma lighter, packed up paper, and a few NCR dollars.

A toolbox filled with tools and materials Desmond would use for on-site repairs and fix-ups on items and machines.

2 boxes of cigarettes one filled with 30 cigarettes and the other being filled with 6.

A golden cross necklace that he wears with 2 rings and 2 metal tags that have inscriptions on them.

Past/Current Affiliations: Desmond has traveled quite a long way across the Mojave at this point, oftentimes running into many different folks. Most of them would prefer the approach of strangers passing through the night, but a wanderer needs supplies, and what better way than to work?

Tucson or 'Two Sun'- A city now overran by the legion in Arizona, it was a place that took him in after his family's early departure from this world. He later left with other refugees to escape the Legion.

NCR- He had often found himself working with the NCR, acting as a wandering field engineer, a hired gun, or just a messenger, they were ones to give him quite a bit of work, but he kept a slight distance as a third party, wishing not to have a master, let alone one so fragile.

Followers of the Apocalypse- Often hired as a guard and has fixed machines of theirs. He is also one to frequent them to treat the injuries or illnesses he incurred from his life in the Mojave.

Crimson Caravan- Was a Caravaner for a time and after finishing his contract continued to accept requests from certain Caravaners he liked to act as an additional gun or to be a courier.

Gun Runners- Desmond's father was a well-renowned gunsmith with the Gun Runners. Sadly a rival gun maker in the area got too big for their britches once the legion and NCR began to push against each other, which led to raiders hired by the rival gun makers to come and kill everyone and take over the factory Desmond used to call home.

Likes: Cigarettes, Aloe Vera, a seared Brahmin Steak with a Nuka-Cola, gambling, and making things.

Dislikes: The Legion, Cazadors, people who cross him, and people who take away the little enjoyment in life.

Key Character Traits: A smooth-talking and quick-witted man, not only is Desmond quick on his feet, but also deft with his hands as he has gained renown for his skills. Desmond aims to enjoy life as he can and does as he pleases, however now with the world being turned upside down once more, he puts it all on a coin flip to change fate one more time.

Background: Desmond was not a single child, he brought a brother to this world for a loving mother and successful father, he comes from a family who is well renowned for having made, refined, and produced the now well-trusted Service Rifle and Assault Carbine used by the NCR. This gave the family and workshop they ran great prosperity with the consistent and strong economic flow backed by the New California Republic, it allowed prosperity to bloom in this slice of the wasteland, yet also brought with it jealousy and greed. One of the workers who had found the schematics expected to be credited with the findings and expected to be the one wealthy, yet no they were given a 'good job'. It left the worker jealous and in a fit of rage left to create an arms manufacturing company of their own, starting a generational feud and competition.

Years passed, and a game of one-upping was to be expected, yet as one would expect of a new start-up versus a giant who has the backing of an even bigger giant, no competition would be had. However, after years of resentment breeding through years of lies and living in the shadow of another, someone broke. The current head of the Black Dogs Arsenal had decided that enough was enough, so they hired raiders, mercs, and anyone who wanted money, cleared out a factory, and get free weapons. The factory was cleared of what was 100 workers in a single night and taken over by the Black Dogs Arsenal. Yet that wasn't enough, they wanted more, so they came directly for the family, dragging out the mother and father, beating, burning, shooting, doing anything and everything that they wished, and all Desmond could do was watch. His twin, Matthew, held him down and covered his mouth, as Desmond bucked and thrashed to try and save his parents, yet no matter what he tried, his brother continued to keep him still, until the fires had been reduced to a smolder, leaving Desmond and Matthew with each other.

2 children left in the waste, they did what they could, they traveled and were strangely picked up by a wandering Caravan looking to prod into Arizona, trying to expand once more. There they followed, leading into tribal lands and large swaths of waste, water was harsh and food was scarce, yet soon they found an oasis' within this intense desert. Pheonix was the first place they found some refuge, yet the hostility was intense. Moving on, they continued through the different tribal lands, often finding intense fighting again and again until finally, they reached Tucson or 'Two Sun'. Here the Caravaners had set up to try and set up trade, as they seemed quite nicer and more accepting of outsiders.

Here Matthew and Desmond began to live, they learned some things about fighting, learning, and surviving. They had each other, they relied on each other, and they had grown and become strong, yet they were not ready for when they reached their teenage years, fire once more consumed their home. Men wearing leather and metal armor and wielding weapons came and began to slay those in their way. Their chants and screams told them what was to come: The Legion. Matthew and Desmond once more began to see their home burn, now they were stronger, and they could fight. When it came to fighting, they were outmatched, full-grown men who had been fed well versus 2 teenage boys fed enough and filled with the will to fight. Even with their will, the reality is reality, leaving Matthew is a gash across the body and Desmond stuck under fallen debris. All Desmond could do was watch as the Legion took Matthew's body away and left Desmond to die.

3 days and 3 nights Desmond survived with his body pinned under rubble, 3 days of meticulous shifting and clawing to eventually free himself. By this time, nothing was left but rubble and burnt bodies. Desmond had lost everything once more, worst so, he was now alone. Desmond was beaten and broken as he walked alone, finding water here and there, food was that of the plants he could find. His body burned, yet he knew an old-world natural medicine from an old lady, Aloe Vera was a natural salve for burns, and dryness, a source of water, and nutrition. 1 week passed, as Desmond continued his trek, knowing not where he heads to, nor if he would survive, yet his body pushed forward. 2 weeks passed, and he was ready to give out, being sustained by rodents and Aloe Vera was nothing, but it was enough to be found by a band of refugees who sought safety under the New California Republic. The trek was hard, yet not dissimilar to when he first made the trek when he was a child.

Now it was different, he was a man, 16 years of age, and ready to begin anew. As he took work, simple side jobs, and thus began to story of 'The Handyman'. The next decade Desmond had loved, lost, and learned countless things, all in the pursuit to live a life that he and his brother should have lived.

SPECIAL: You're SPECIAL, remember that.

"Damn right I am".

Strength 5
Perception 5
Endurance 5
Charisma 6
Intelligence 7
Agility 5
Luck 9

Skills: Jack of all trades a master of none, Desmond has a wide range of skills that assist him as both a wanderer and also a worker of odd jobs.

Barter 30
Energy Weapons 5
Explosive 25
Guns 25
Lockpick 20
Medicine 20
Melee Weapons 20
Repair 40
Science 25
Sneak 15
Speech 30
Survival 20
Unarmed 10

Theme:

[Letter Bee]

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

[Athol]

Sam

Jonathan ‘Sam’ Samuel Smith

Age: Pre-War
Gender: Male (Ghoul)
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 200ish lbs

“Good? Bad? Don’t really care unless you shoot at me.”

---

Appearance

Short answer? He’s a ghoul.

Long Answer? Average height and what would best be called ‘solidly’ built. A life on the move, and with not always consistent rations, means he’s kept fairly ‘trim’ as it were. Other than that, he kind of looks like any other ghoul, flaking skin, some exposed muscles, no hair/ear/nose; the usual. The state of his body hides most of the scars he picked up throughout his life though there are a few exceptions; a burn up his left leg from a firebomb back in 2168 and a largish bite on his right forearm from a (newly hatched) deathclaw in 2250, being the most noteworthy.

To look at him one would expect Sam to be blind, as his eyes are almost totally opaque; in reality however his eyesight is fine, he can regularly hit targets at 2-300 yards over the open sights of his rifle.

---

Equipment

• Cowboy Hat
• Riot Armour
  - Flask [Moonshine]
  - Pipe
  - Tobacco
  - Lighter
  - Spare MFCs
  - Extra 5.56 (Whatever he can find)
• Backpack
  - Water Jug [CAUTION: Radioactive]
  - Pemmican [CAUTION: Radioactive]
  - MRE (4)
  - Bed Roll
  - Tool Roll
  - Microfusion Cells
  - Extra boxes of 5.56
• Wattz 2000 Laser Rifle [Modified] 'Mercy'
  - [Iron Sights] Found in a poor state of repair, he had to ditch the optical sight, fitting the weapon with simple but effective iron sights.
  - [Hot Shot] Allows him to fire much more damaging shots. This however expends the MFCs much faster and greatly increases heat and wear on the weapon.
  - [FC Conversion Kit] A belt mounted bit of kit that he made years back that lets him plug a Fusion Core into the weapon for greatly increased shot capacity.
• 5.56 mm revolver
• Trench knife

Past/Current Affiliations of Note

[Past]

United States Army (Armorer - E.Weapons)
Dead Hands (Founder, Raid Leader, Destroyer)
New California Republic (Bounty Hunter, Courier, Mercenary)
New Vegas Families (Bouncer, Debt Collections, Mercenary)

[Current]

(None)

Likes

Strong Coffee
Stronger Liquor
Hot Food
Uninterrupted Sleep
Med-X

Dislikes

Brotherhood of Steel
Caesar’s Legion
Legion Remnants
The Regime
Anti-Ghoul bigots
The thought of turning ‘feral’

---

Key Character Traits

In a word? ‘Broken’. He saw the world die in nuclear fire, and even though some groups are trying to rebuild, he’s not sure humanity deserves another chance; not after what he’s seen…or done.

Background

A long serving NCO in the US Army pre-War, Sam’s survival was largely down to luck. Luck had him on leave, hiking in the foothills of the Rockies when the bombs fell. It was about 9:30, he’d been up and moving for about 2 hours, when he saw the first flash through the trees; though it took him another hour or so to get to a clear enough spot to see what was going on. By then his worst fears had come to pass; multiple mushroom clouds dotted the horizon, occasionally being punctuated by the flash of either strikes on new targets, or follow up ones on old targets.

The next while was a blur; the mad dash down the hillside, not to go to war, but to find shelter. In the night and growing gloom he could see the glow of wildfires and he knew the rains, heavy with radioactive soot, would come soon. From there a mad scramble amongst the other panicked people to find shelter from the rains, dealing with fights, looting, a total collapse of law and order as the world burned. In that blur he did things for his own survival that he still regrets, though at times he’s still not sure what was worse; what he did, or how easily he found it to justify those actions at the time.

He’d assumed that the radiation would get him, like he’d seen to do to so many others, but that day never seemed to come. Eventually he ended up banding together with a few others like him; men and women who though obviously ravaged by radiation, still seemed to hang on. Calling themselves the ‘Dead Hands’, a sort of grim joke at their decaying appearance.

At first it was just a group that stuck together for security and survival; but as days became weeks and then months and then years, they changed. At first they just scavenged like so many others, and did their best to avoid altercations, maybe trade with those that didn’t actively flee from their sight; the first time one of them shot someone it was in self defence. Sandy, a former receptionist, and Bill, a mechanic, had been out looking for anything useful. The pair spotted a group with packs and such, so Sandy stepped into the open and called out to them hoping to maybe trade. One of the group took a shot at her on sight, fortunately just grazing her leg; Bill shot the shooter square in the chest with his revolver.

After that it got easier and easier to justify the use of force, and after only a year or so they were nothing more than another band of raiders, no matter how much any of them denied it. Sam was just as in denial as anyone, but eventually he was forced to take a step back and see what they’d become. He’d gone out solo to scout a new spot for them to set up and due to weather and wildlife he was away for close to a month. After being alone for that long, and actually peacefully trading with a few other travelers, what he came ‘home’ to made him finally accept that ugly truth.

The bodies of a couple folks that’d tested them were strung across the walls of the old shop they were hold up in, there was no attempts to ‘build’ anything as it was easier to simply take it; these weren’t new things…it’d been like this when he’d left, he’d just been too in denial to see it. Making his way inside he found the rest of them either asleep or in a drug induced stupor as it seemed their latest catch had been a chem vendor. From the looks of things the poor bastard had taken some time to die.

Sickened to his core, and in the back of his mind wondering how they all could have fallen so far, he acted. Taking a knife he made his way around and ran the blade through the heart of each one of the Dead Hands before tossing whatever he could grab that was flammable into the smoldering fire in the middle of the room and leaving. By the time he was half a block away the whole building was on fire. He nearly ended himself not long after, but his own stubbornness and maybe a need to keep punishing himself prevented that; so he kept walking.

Since then he’s walked much of the West Coast, finding ‘Mercy’ in an old Army convoy wreck just East of Seattle and his armor while heading South of Eureka. Keeping largely to himself since those early days, he’s hired himself out as a mechanic, hired gun or courier as local needs have warranted. More recently he’s done some work with the New Vegas Families, though as things heated up in the lead up to the Second Battle of Hoover Dam he got out of town as it were. He’s been less than impressed with what he’s found since coming back to the Mojave.

---

---

SPECIAL
Strength - 7
Perception - 7
Endurance - 8
Charisma - 3
Intelligence - 8
Agility - 5
Luck - 4

Skills
Barter - 10
Energy Weapons - 33
Explosive - 20
Guns - 32
Lockpick - 20
Medicine - 25
Melee Weapons - 15
Repair - 33
Science - 23
Sneak - 21
Speech - 10
Survival - 25
Unarmed - 18

Theme Song: Don’t Believe a Word

[Timemaster]

Ashe

Name: Ashe “The Ghoul”
Age:21
Gender: Female
Height:1.87m
Weight:56kg

Motto: Slow and steady. Follow the horde. Don’t lose yourself.

Appearance: Ashe is a tall woman with dark red hair which she keeps loose. Almost always dressed in some sort of pre-war attire or if not in her city, she’ll wear leather armor made of whatever leather is available. She is skinny with bones visible underneath her skin, enough for one to confuse her with a ghoul.

Equipment: A skin-mask made out of the dried out skin of an old ghoul “friend” of hers. A few throwing knives and a sword. A backpack is strapped on her back at all times which allows her to store the RAD-Xes needed to survive some locations in her city. Besides these, Ashe has carved a bone as a whistle that makes a sound similar to the screech of a ghoul. A crusader pistol is tied to her leg, a last resort weapon.

Past/Current Affiliations: Followers Of The Apocalypse - Friendly relations with the Followers after a group of them wandered into the streets of NY and got caught by a horde and was saved by Ashe.
NCR - Neutral - After she left NY with the horde, she encountered the NCR briefly. While they mainly steered clear of the horde, Ashe was able to leave a message on the body of a ghoul with a place where they could meet and talk.
The Enclave - Enemies - On multiple occasions, Ashe’s horde encountered their drones or on rare occasions, troops and each time the horde thinned down. While the Enclave didn’t yet realize it was a human directing them, Ashe hates them.

Likes: Quiet places, darkness, meat

Dislikes: Loud people/places, the Enclave, high concentrations of water

Key Character Traits:

Ghoul-whisperer. Ashe has lived her whole life between ghouls and ferals to the point where she can easily walk between them or using her flute, command them.

Scavenger, spending time with creatures that eat anything that’s alive makes one learn to survive with less or to be good at finding things that others wouldn’t observe..

Higher than average radiation resistance - part of a vault experiment.

Background: Ashe "The Ghoul" was meant to be a vault-dweller of one of New York's vaults and through the eyes of a 8 year old, it seemed like her whole life would be spent in the vault. Alas' it was never meant to be. After a few hundred years of being closed, the Vault opened its doors for the first time but was never able to be closed again.

The Vault, like many of Vault-Tec’s Vault was an experiment. A robo-brain was put as overseer and had one objective, raise children, impregnate the females with genetic material collected from the males but mixed up and RAD-X components as a way to increase a person’s natural resistance to radiation. The Overseer was eventually destroyed after the dwellers managed to take control of the security systems and shut them off.

As the door opened, feral ghouls stormed in. In the first hour, more than half of the vault dwellers were killed, the other half soon followed. The dwellers weren’t prepared to deal with the harsh reality of the wasteland. A group of scavengers found themselves in the area and decided to help or came to steal whatever was left of a just opened up vault.

All but a few of the vault dwellers died or sustained heavy injuries by the time the ghouls were terminated. The rest were taken in by the scavengers which planned to sell the children to slavers and killed off the remaining adults. It seemed that Ashe’s life was destined to be short and potentially painful.

The scavengers turned temporary slavers, looted the vault and made sure to close the door for future trips into it but this time, the vault would remain shut. The scavengers and the vault dwellers were soon caught by a horde of roaming ferals. They all died, children and scavengers. The sole survivor being Ashe. Luck and the death of her best childhood friend made it happen for her to survive with minor injuries.

The next years Ashe spent learning how to survive on her own while dodging ghouls, raiders and other survivors which she grew to distrust and by the time she was 17, Ashe had several bases of operations all over New York. Due to the large number of feral ghouls, New York proved to be too much of a danger for most groups and while the brave or crazy were adventuring on its streets, the main majority of people kept away.

At the age of 18, Ashe met her mentor. While on a scavenging run, Ashe ran into a group of ghouls that were moving erratically. Different from the others. Upon observing them further, Ashe noticed something was off with one of the ghouls. He looked more smooth skinned than the others, the face was…off. As if too big for his face. With a combination of light signals and sounds, Ashe attracted the attention of her new mentor who was more than impressed by her survival skills and unusual ability to survive higher radiation.

Two years later Ashe, now alone, got herself trapped in the middle of a horde thousand strong of ferals that left NY due west after a massive battle between different factions made a lot of noise that was strong enough to alert most ferals around the area.

After a run-in with the NCR scouts, Ashe promised to try to direct the horde as much as she could away from known communities and allies of the NCR in exchange for their promise that the horde will not be harmed unless it would provoke them.

Almost a year after the NCR run-in, they manage to contact Ashe again with a mission. A place where she can direct her horde safely and where they can stay unharmed in exchange for her unique skills.

Strength - 6
Perception - 9
Endurance - 7
Charisma - 2
Intelligence - 4
Agility - 9
Luck - 4

Barter - 5
Energy Weapons - 5
Explosive - 10
Guns - 20
Lockpick - 40
Medicine - 20
Melee Weapons - 60
Repair - 5
Science - 5
Sneak - 65
Speech - 5
Survival - 40
Unarmed - 5

Theme Song: Zombies!

[Product]

Katie

Name: Kathrine Green

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 146lb

Motto: "Duck and cover!"

Appearance:
Katie's bespectacled green eyes and dark brown hair are usually pulled back into a practical ponytail that falls over her left shoulder. The tousled appearance of her hair suggests that she doesn't have the luxury of spending much time on her appearance. Despite the unforgiving conditions of the Mojave, she takes pride in keeping her Follower's Lab coat clean and hygienic, although it often bears the stains of the Mojave's dust and occasionally the blood of her patients.

A holster on her right hip carries her trusty weapon, a .45 pistol from Zion Valley, while her doctor's bag, filled with all the tools of her trade, is carried in her left hand or hooked to her belt. Standing at an impressive 5'10" with a lean build and weighing around 146lbs, Katie's legs are often coated in white chalk - a habit she picked up during her time as a Whiteleg.

Despite her rugged lifestyle and profession, Katie is an attractive woman, by wasteland standards. Her confident and graceful demeanor, combined with her easy smile and infectious laugh, make her immediately likeable to those she meets. And although it might seem incongruous for a doctor to carry dynamite, Katie is never far from a stick, often igniting it with the cigarette that she is probably already smoking.

Equipment:
•Reinforced Follower's Lab Coat
•Glasses
•Doctor's Bag (Container)
•Medical Supplies/Chems
•Dynamite
•.45 Pistol & Ammo
•Bowie Knife
•Cigarettes

About

Past/Current Affiliations:
•Followers of the Apocalypse: Member
•Whitelegs: Exile
•Happy Trails Caravan: Friendly

Likes:
•Cigarettes
•Explosions
•Banana Yucca Fruit

Dislikes:
•Great Khans
•Computers
•Stale Pre-War Food

Key Character Traits:
•Four Eyes: Like most stereotypical doctors, Kathrine is rarely seen without her glasses.
•Trade Language: Kathrine has mastered the art of negotiating and persuasion, even through a language barrier.
•Chemist: Experimenting and mixing chemicals and compounds is a natural curiosity to Katie. She frequently experiments with crafting different kinds of drugs and explosives.
•Sex Appeal: She's got the "right" stuff, and members of the opposite sex are generally attracted to Kathrine.

Background:
Katherine Green is a traveling doctor for the Followers of the Apocalypse, providing medical aid and education to communities in need. She was born to the Whitelegs at the Great Salt Lake, and her childhood was marked by tragedy when her mother was killed during the Battle for Zion, leaving her to fend for herself in the Valley after her tribe's retreat. Though her tribe was known for raiding and pillaging, Katherine managed to survive on her own for several years until a caravan passing through the valley picked her up.

Among the caravan members was a kind-hearted Follower of the Apocalypse who took an interest in Katherine and helped her learn English. This encounter proved to be a turning point in Katherine's life, as it opened up a world of possibilities beyond her tribal roots. Her quick mind allowed her to absorb as many English words as possible before the Follower departed on their own journey. This experience was instrumental in her assimilation into the caravan culture, but it was not without its difficulties. She struggled to reconcile her past with her new reality, and her initial feelings of vengeance towards the New Canaanites and Dead Horses slowly gave way to a deeper understanding of the destructive nature of her tribe's actions.

As Katherine traveled with the caravan, she learned about the ways of the civilized world and the importance of unity and cooperation in building a better future for all. During this time, Katherine also learned how to mix and handle dynamite, something she loved. Her encounters with the Followers of the Apocalypse continued in the Mojave, where she decided to stay with them and use her knowledge of tribal medicine to aid the injured. Additionally, her skills in crafting explosives proved to be invaluable in arming the Mojave against tyranny. Though the Followers have limited supplies, she has used her charm to secure enough explosives to deter any raider force. However, Katherine's true calling was always medicine and science, and she has dedicated her life to helping those in need and spreading knowledge. She travels from place to place, treating the sick and injured while educating the ignorant about syphilis and crop rotation.

Stats

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

Skills:
Barter: 10
Energy Weapons: 15
Explosive: 40
Guns: 15
Lockpick: 10
Medicine: 40
Melee Weapons: 15
Repair: 15
Science: 25
Sneak: 15
Speech: 45
Survival: 25
Unarmed: 15

Theme Song: Five Stars - Atom Bomb Baby

[Ridealgh]

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

[Eviledd1984]

Jeremy Kürten

Name:

Jeremy Kürten

Age:

237

Gender:

Male

Height:

5’6

Weight:

126 lbs

Motto:

“The only friend I need is a robot.”

Appearance:

He looks like a run of a mill ghoul. His skin is a mixture of yellow and red, the red comes from the red patches all over his body. He has a thin-shaped body, Looking quite sickly. Having bright blue eyes, and small patches of hair on his head.

He wears a tattered lab coat underneath that is a tattered vault suit with an ugly tie. As well torn leather shoes. On his head, he wears a pair of glasses without lenses, and a baseball cap to try to hide his balding head.

Equipment:

Weapons:

Laser pistol.

Armour:

Lab coat, Vault 12 jumpsuit, Leather shoes, and an ugly tie.

Ammo:

50x Energy Cells

Aid:

3x Hydra, 15x Mentats, 10x Stimpak, 5 Super Stimpak, 2x Big Book of Science, 5x Guns and Bullets.

Misc:

1x Caravan Deck, 1x Coffee Mug, 1x Pipboy

Past/Current Affiliations:

Cerulean Robotics-Assistant robotics/ Lead robotics (Formerly)

RobCo Industries- Head of the robotic division (Formerly)

Independent (Currently)

Likes:

-Robots

-Reading his book collection

-Being alone

-Gardening

-Cleaning

Dislikes:

-People

-Super mutants

-The Brotherhood of Steel

-Annoying/loud people

-Drunkards

Key Character Traits:

Paranoid, arrogant, prideful, distant

Background:

Jeremy was born in Germany to parents who are in the scientific field. At a young age, he was interested in computers, robotics, and cybernetics. His parents were distant and did not seem concerned about his well being. Connecting with his uncle who was a robotics expert. After high school he moved to Munich and attend the Technical University of Munich. Afterwards moving to America at the age of nineteen.

At first, working for Cerulean Robotics helped build the robots, and also learned how to create A.I. Learned the ropes of robotics before moving to RobCo Industries, after being at Cerulean Robotics for five years. Lived the next two years working at a stable job, and eventually got a girlfriend named Louise. However things went to hell when the great war happened, luckily he was able to get into the vault. Unfortunately, Lousie was not able to get into the vault. Even worst the vault he was assigned to was Vault 12. So after a while he along with the other residents became ghoulifed.

After leaving the vault he joined the other residents in Necropolis. Working with another ghoul named Set to try and keep Necropolis safe. Doing so by building and maintaining Robobrains and Mr.Gutsys.But his efforts were useless as the Master’s Army came and killed most of the ghouls. Jeremy had survived hiding in the sewer with some other ghouls.

Moving from Necropolis to Gecko with some other ghouls working on the security of the abandoned power plant. Doing that for a couple of years before wandering around to salvage and work on his robots. Eventually getting into a couple of conflicts with the BOS, who wanted to steal his technology. Currently, he lives in an abandoned building scavenging and selling old technology.

SPECIAL:

Strength: 3

Perception: 5

Endurance: 3

Charisma: 1

Intelligence: 9

Agility: 5

Luck: 8

Skills:

Barter: 10

Energy Weapons: 33

Explosive: 7

Guns:11

Lockpick: 3

Medicine:43

Melee Weapons:10

Repair: 31

Science:76

Sneak: 1

Speech: 3

Survival: 47

Unarmed: 3

Theme Song:

Weird Science by Oingo Boingo