[CHAR] Fallout: Dixie Rivermen

[Valais 66]

Name: Andrei Pasternak

Race: Slavic mixed with pre-war White American

Age: 45

Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 185

Appearance: Short, straight black hair, beginning to turn gray. Complete heterochromia, left eye is brown, right eye is green. He's an old man, but still strong enough to give out a beating to those that deserve it. His facial features are typical for a Slavic background mixed with generations of other ancestry. Slightly wide head structure, and a straight face to rival that of Colonel Autumn himself.

Equipment: Worn Combat Armor sporting an Enclave logo on the left breast. Enclave holotags. Enclave identification card.

The holotags contain the following information: Andrei Pasternak, Enclave, Service ID: 13-7440-89, DOB: 10-25-2240, Blood Type O-

Weapons: Worn Browning P35, four full magazines. Combat Knife.

Specializations: Hand-to-Hand combat, explosive ordinance, robotics, hand-loading.

Other: Extensive service with Enclave special forces.

Negative Attributes: Bad at bartering and engaging in lengthy conversation. Age has brought down his running ability. Not particularly good at First Aid, knows enough to survive but he was never the medic in his division. Stealth and lockpicking are very poor, he prefers bullets.

Personality: Andrei may appear to be carefree and laid back in dealing with the hazards of the Wastes, but this facade is simply his favorite of many in his arsenal of the mind. In reality he is desensitized, calculating, and blunt. His entire life has been spent in or around the war machine, leaving him with little capacity for sympathy or attachment.

He resisted the Enclave's propaganda, but in turn lost all faith in any cause but his own. However, he promotes the idea of independent thinking among all sentient beings, one thing the Enclave didn't seem to appreciate.

Biography Part 1:

Andrei was born in 2240 to Mikhail Pasternak and Major Melissa Grant. Mikhail was a civilian brought on as a scientist at the Navarro facility at special recommendation by Melissa, who was the leader of a special warfare group in the Enclave. When Andrei was born, Mikhail wasted no time in expressing a want for his child to be excluded from the brutal and clandestine operations that the Major was involved in. His wishes would go unheard, however, as some years later he was killed when the NCR led an assault on Navarro.

Major Grant fled east with Andrei, aboard the last Vertibird to make it out of Navarro. She linked up with Enclave Remnants in Minnesota, quickly establishing a new base of operations for her Special Robotics Warfare Group (SRWG).

Information on SRWG can be found in the OOC.

Many years passed, and Melissa led Andrei on a path to taking over command of the SRWG. Unfortunately, in his middle age, Andrei had other things in mind.

Biography Part 2:

Captain Andrei Pasternak wiped specks of drying blood from his face, but it wasn't his own. He had been on a scouting mission with two new grunts, and put a bullet into each of them when they had their backs turned. He had come a long way, and gained the trust of many, but now that would all be long gone. To him, it was well worth it, to be free to make his own legacy.

Andrei had taken some less-conspicuous combat armor off of one of the bodies, and discarded his power armor. Standing out may not be a problem now, but the Enclave logo would still give him away at close distance.

He walked south for hours, only stopping to scavenge what food and water he could. Soon, fatigue began to set upon him. His gaze fell lower with each passing minute, until all that he observed was the ground immediately to his front. The sun began to drop below the horizon, and as the sky took on a shade of red, Andrei heard the sound of a laser weapon powering up.

Andrei stopped dead, his head shot up, and standing before him was a lone figure clad in gray T-45d Power Armor. A Brotherhood of Steel Paladin of the Missouri splinter, with their laser rifle trained on Andrei, ready to fire. The Paladin spoke, "Enclave, out here alone? You look like you're a bit old to be a grunt running solo."
Andrei smiled faintly, he doubted his chances of getting out of this alive. He had pushed himself too hard, and stumbled into Brotherhood territory without his wits about him. He knew all of the weaknesses of the T-45 series, and it was only one man, but at this distance he wouldn't be able to fight his way out without getting some laser in his face. Before he could respond the Paladin spoke again, "The Elder might be interested in you, soldier. The Enclave doesn't send anyone out alone without purpose."
The Paladin took one hand off of his rifle, held up two fingers, and struck his helmet three times. Seven more Paladins revealed themselves from the surrounding terrain, flanking Andrei from all sides. Without a word, they advanced, slipped a bag over Andrei's head and knocked him unconscious with a swift strike.

The Brotherhood transported him for several days, eventually arriving at their headquarters in St. Louis. Andrei was handcuffed to a chair, interrogated 18 hours a day for over a week, but never beaten. He maintained his story; he was just a grunt, always had been, he had never been good enough for the Enclave to promote him to any kind of important position.

His ID card and holotags didn't contain any information regarding his rank or purpose, only that he was Enclave. It had been done this way specifically for this scenario, anyone in SRWG could be mistaken for a degenerate Private if captured. It had worked, for the most part, but the Elder wasn't convinced. The Elder had gone so far as to offer Andrei a place in their splinter group if he was willing to reveal any information he may be hiding. It was an impressive gesture, the Brotherhood were usually very selective, and offering such niceties to anyone, especially an Enclave, was an incredibly dangerous move. Nevertheless, Andrei wasn't interested, and his story didn't change.

And so, the Brotherhood threw Andrei out, taking him east across the Mississippi River and leaving him to fend for himself in what used to be Tiptonville, Tennessee. The Elder had reluctantly agreed to let him keep his armor, holotags, and identification card. He wasn't any use to them, nor did they consider him a threat, so killing him wasn't a step they wanted to take.

Andrei continued his journey south, towards Memphis, Tennessee. Maybe there he would find the means to a new start.

[Balmung1100]

Name: Raid-bot/RB (working on this over time)

Race: Sentry Bot

Age: Unrecognized Parameter

Height:5'11

Weight: 1300 pounds

Appearance: Dark green spray paint and poorly drawn skulls litter his exterior, along with leather pads and scrap metal plating that the raiders that captured him thought looked cool. In place of the standard missile launcher on the bot's right arm, there is what appears to be a heavily reinforced arm with a hand. All that aside, it appears to be a fairly standard Sentry bot.

Equipment: Semi-sentient AI allows for adaptive combat and interaction with humans. A storage space holding six fission batteries and various other basic repair supplies(though he cannot use them)

Weapons: Arm mounted mini-gun.

Specializations: It's a robot.

Negative Attributes: STAIRS...Oh and some faulty code that occasionally leads to minor errors. Of course, due to being a heavily armed robot, RB's conversational skills are lacking quite a bit.

Other: While the raiders that captured had a technician on hand to rewrite his core programming, he was not very skilled. He barely managed to rewrite the bot's identification and a few minor subroutines causing a few minor glitches.

Biography: Sentry Bot 0427 was one of the first Sentry bots to be implanted with the Enclave's "sentient AIs." Being one of the first, it was no surprise when the robot seemingly locked up and shut itself down. With numerous other bots to test They quickly discarded the 'hunk of junk' and continued on with their research. The robot was found years later by a group of raiders that were looting the former Enclave facility. After finding the robot, they quickly dragged it to their den and set it up as decoration outside. It didn't take long before RB was captured by another group of raiders and taken southeast to yet another base. This cycle repeated until he ended up with a group that was holed up in an abandoned grocery store. Apparently said group had a 'genius' technician that decided it was wise to reload the sentry bot's weapons, replace its fission battery, and rewrite its code. It was the leader of the gang's plan to use the robot to acquire new territory. The area was very turbulent as the local raider gangs fought non-stop. The technician finished his rewrite and rebooted the newly designated "Raid-Bot".

The moment the raiders barked an order at the reawakened RB the den became a storm of minigun rounds, smoke, and raider parts. It seemed that the technician was unable to break the encryption on the Friend-or-Foe programs, nor did he think to disable "Raid-Bot"'s weapon. Of course, the leader managed to escape the moment the minigun began spinning. When the dust settled, the only two figures still standing were RB and the technician that had 'fixed' him. After a brief staredown, the technician jumped for the nearest weapon which was, unfortunately, a 9mm pistol. After uselessly loosing a few rounds at the robot, he found himself being run over repeatedly by RB's four wheels...RB didn't appreciate the name-change or the rooting around in its head. After the raiders had been cleared out, Raid-Bot began to drive into the nearest wall(due to the 'technician's' tampering causing a loop).

[EsmeraldaRayne]

Character sheet template:

Name: Esmeralda- just Esmeralda

Race: white American

Age: 25

Height: 5' 1"- so short

Weight: About 100lbs

Appearance: Esmeralda is small in stature, but has quite a bit of muscle for her size. Her skin is usually a nice bronze color from being in the hot sun all day and her hair is waist length and brown. Her eyes are blue, green, or gray, depending on the clothes she wears, and her features are pretty and feminine. She has full lips, high cheek bones, and wide eyes framed with long lashes.

Equipment: She carries a back back with rope, a canteen, a long skinning knife, and water purification liquid. She keeps a fork and spoon with her, as well as a bottle of rad-x pills.

Weapons: Esmeralda carries an array of weapons, including a Beretta 92FS 9x19mm Parabellum in an ankle holster. Her main weapon is a modified IMI UZI 9x19mm Parabellum. She carries a hunting knife both in her pack and on her thigh.

Specializations: Pickpocketing, sharp shooting, and tactics.

Negative Attributes: Because she's so small, she lacks at hand to hand combat, she's strong for her size, but that usually isn't enough. She'd much prefer riddling someone with a few rounds from her Uzi, than trying to kick the crap outta them. Esmeralda is awful at finding allies because of her cold, sarcastic personality. She's self centered, and will save her own skin before she saves anyone else. She's all around, kinda a bad person.

Other: She has a tattoo on her bicep that says "Prove them wrong"

Biography: Esmeralda was born to Richard A. Saunders and Leah M. Saunders on April 6th, 2260. When Leah got pregnant, it was a blessing. Everyone looked down on them for having a baby, telling them it was a bad idea to raise a child in a world ravaged by war. The happy couple didn't let the downers destroy their happiness. Richard was a crazy old Army Veteran who believed everything was out to get him. They lived in an outlying Settlement, about an hour from Memphis by car.

Esmeralda grew up with a gun in her hand, and was allowed to carry one from the age of 11. A little after she turned 13, her mother died of radiation poisoning, leaving Esmeralda's already sick father to care for her. He began to hallucinate and started hurting Esmeralda. When she turned 16, she knew it was time to go. She packed her Baretta, a little bit of food, and all the caps she could find in the house, and left.

Since leaving, Esmeralda's survived by herself, occasionally joining with a small group, only to rob them blind and disappear. She stays in places she finds, and travels always, looking for a place she can stay indefinitely.

[Valais 66]

Before any more characters are made, you MUST read the OOC where I posted some information regarding character creation. Any existing characters need to be modified to conform to the information. (Such as a backstory into how you gained your particular skills, and if you are very good at one thing, you must be very bad at an equally valuable skill. This is to prevent egotistical OP character creation.)

I will also be updating the OOC regarding weapons and equipment that actually exist in our timeline and lore.

[RogueDetective]

Name: Malcolm Crowley

Race: Human

Age: 27

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 145 lbs.

Appearance: Malcolm is an in shape guy, from a lot of travelling as a scavenger. He has short, light brown hair, or, in Fallout hairstyles, The Unsettler. And he has blue eyes. He is usually covered in grime from exploring and fixing things, and has no care for cleaning it up, and therefore doesn't try. Malcolm wears a red bandana on his head, and he is almost never seen without it. He wears the jacket that is a part of the Roving Trader outfit, but without all the spoons and watches that are on it. He usually leaves the jacket unbuttoned, and he wears a hawaiian shirt under it. Malcolm also wears dark black jeans and some red converse sneakers like the ones on the [Vault Utility Jumpsuit], and a backpack to keep his equipment.

Equipment: Malcolm carries around a lot of ammo for his trusty shotgun, and a canteen with a sugar bombs logo on the front of it. He also carries around a pair of binoculars to check for raiders or super mutants before he goes scavenging somewhere new.

Weapons: Malcolm wields a double barrelled shotgun, as his specialty. and he has a machete for a melee weapon.

Specializations: Malcolm is a jet addict. plain and simple. It's not exactly good for him, but it helps in a strange way. As Jet gives you more AP points in game, it gives Malcolm the ability to do more in a short amount of time, almost as if time gets slowed down around him when he fights. Not literally of course, but it seems like it whenever he goes into battle. When he suffers from Jet withdrawal, he almost can't seem to function properly. He specializes in Stealth whenever he is scavenging, but suffers very much in his science type skills.

Other:

Biography: Malcolm was born and raised in the area to the north of The Pitt, known as Wyoming Pennsylvania. Or now known as The Wyoming Settlement. When he turned 18 years old, Malcolm left his home to explore the wastes. Having only one parent his whole life, as his dad was killed on a scavenging mission to an abandoned school building, Malcolm wasn't controlled much, and left when he wanted to, taking the shotgun his dad had left behind for him, and his own machete.

Malcolm Crowley explored a lot in the Capital Wastes when he got down that way, and even travelled with quite a few people. On his way through there, he met a ghoul named Dane, and they traveled together for about a year and a half, moving west. In whats left of the state of Illinois, Malcolm and Dane ran into quite a bit of trouble. They ended up in an abandoned military base being occupied by Super Mutants. It wasn't anything like Mariposa, but it was full of Muties, regular, Brutes, and Overlords. When they got deeper in, Malcolm and Dane got trapped in an area they weren't escaping without stealthboys, despite them being very good at sneaking. They had to fight their way out with weapons they picket up, Miniguns and Assault rifles. Grenades. Missiles. Everything. When they were almost out of the basem and almost out of ammo, they were cornered. Dane, being the heroic type, risked his own life to save Malcolm. It was a heroic death, and Dane took a lot of bullets for Malcolm. He tried his best to drag Dane out of the base in the end, and he was successful, but all the bandages and stimpaks that Malcolm had couldn't save Dane, but he died of blood loss before they reached a settlement.

For a while, Malcolm wouldn't travel with anyone, and took Dane's signature hawaiian shirt to remember him by. But he eventually ended up somewhere near Memphis, and from this point, is looking for a settlement to trade and sell and possibly live.

[Arielace]

Name: Fallan

Species: Super Mutant
Race: formerly African American

Age: 74

Height: 7' 5"
Weight: 950

Appearance: Large and brutish on the outside, but kind and intellectual on the inside. Wrapped in an assortment of curtains and bedsheets over hastily-assembled scrap metal covering the shoulders, chest, groin, and knees. Fallan does not have many scars or wounds as he (unlike most super mutants) prefers not to engage in combat situations. On top of his head is a pair of faded cyan welding goggles.

Equipment: Large Hiking Bag (whiskey, vodka, moonshine, 10 stimpaks, 2 rolls of duct tape, scrap metal, Hammer, Nails), Leather Pouch (250 caps)

Weapons: Trench Knife, Custom Electrified Axe, Custom Hunting Rifle w/ Scope

Specializations: Weapon Modifications, Repair, Jury Rigging, Close Combat

Other: Being a super mutant, Fallan is able to withstand intense levels of radiation and is able to regenerate his health when radiated.

Negative Attributes: Since he is a close combat specialist and very big, Fallan is usually the first one to get shot at. Furthermore, his unwieldiness leads to a lack of precision and accuracy when using firearms or any technology. Fallan's prowess with jury rigging and modifications leads to the creation of lower quality, yet effective tools.

Biography:

[Soulseeker383]

Name: Rudy Rodgers

Race: Caucasian

Age: 37

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 170

Appearance: Rudy is slightly overweight. Not much, but his stomach does bear a slight bulge hinting at the belly underneath. Rudy has a very round face with a winning smile. His teeth are straight and one of the whitest smiles in Memphis. He wears a black pinstripe suit that is very worn. There's a small hole on the right shoulder seam and the knees of the pants are nearly worn through. He wears a dirty white dress shirt underneath the suit. Depending on the weather he may or may not wear his only tie. It's torn on the bottom half so if he thinks the day will be warm he won't wear it because when he removes his jacket due to the heat someone might notice the tear. He wear black boots. The only part of his outfit that doesn't match the rest. He has blue eyes and medium length brown hair. He has a bit of scruff that shows he could grow a full beard if he wanted to, but he keeps it trimmed. He has unusually soft hands and clean fingernails. Rudy is a salesman.

Equipment: A large knapsack full of odds and ends. Playing cards, cans of food, beer, small knives, ammo, and other junk that is barely worth one cap. The things that he has that aren't for sale he keeps in a slightly smaller sling bag. This includes a small pair of reading glasses. Rudy's ledger with a pencil. A bottle with two Rad-X pills. A one Salesmen Weekly magazine that is basically Rudy's Bible.

Weapons: A switchblade and a Silenced .22 Pistol.

Specializations: Rudy is a salesmen. He is very good at making friends and selling his wares. Rudy is decently intelligent at least when it comes to knowing the value of an item. He has a knack for knowing what will sell and what won't. He also is handy with a toolbox.

Other:

Negative Attributes: Rudy is unskilled when it comes to weapons. Rudy is a trader and would much rather hire a gun than use one himself. Rudy also has little interest in computers. Patching wires is one thing but rewriting code and hacking is something he is completely unfamiliar with.

Biography: Rudy is born and raised in one of the small settlements outside of Memphis. That being said, he has also seen much of the surrounding area. Rudy grew up poor. His dad was a scavenger. Mother was too. Hell, until they both fell down a mineshaft when he was eighteen he thought he was going to be a scavenger. He was an only child. His parents thought it would be harder to refuse a child than an adult so whatever they scavenged, it was up to Rudy to sell it. Whether he was selling irradiated water and food to travelers or scavenged scrap to shopkeepers, he always did it with a smile. At first, no one would buy from him. As he grew in size and became a more and more familiar face, people began to trade with him.

By the time Rudy's parents died he had been trading with the townspeople for six years. Since Rudy was in charge of buying supplies and selling whatever they could scavenge, he had the key to the family safe. The family's safe was buried underneath a mattress in one of the first houses Rudy can remember scavenging. After collecting their life savings, a modest sum of 313 caps, he carried the few items he scavenged, the caps, and a grieving heart to town. He sold what little he had and luckily landed an apprenticeship in a local shop. He did well and honed his skill as a salesmen. Eventually he left the shop to set off on his own. There were several times he was destitute and had to revert back to his scavenging to keep from starving. After years of hard work Rudy's smile and suit are a common sight in the streets of the town. It's been years since he last scavenged. Now scavengers come to him to sell their wares. He has a small shop on the corner of one of the busier streets. It isn't easy, but it's a helluva a lot easier than the life he had growing up.

[Pripovednik]

Name: Henry Direson
Race: African-American Human
Age: 32
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 150

Appearance: Henry is a well shaven handsome chap, short black hair with cuts and scars on his crown from an unpleasant experience with a super mutant whose nails really needed a cut. His blue eyes would peirce the wall of dark Henry likes to hide in if it weren't for his shades; he wears a long black trench coat with black military boots, dark green dyed leather armor beneath a dark blue shirt and a grey weathered baseball cap which he turns backward when he is using his rifle. His black loose military-camo trousers have many pockets and straps.

Equipment: As well as the above apparell, Henry has a medium sized rucksack with primary and secondary storage areas - as well as a few pockets. He keeps food and water supplies in his primary , along with a few repair kits and practicals like a hammer, saw, wonderglue and his hatchet in its sleeve. He also keeps the more valueable peices that he finds and/or takes from others in his primary. In his secondary are a few changes of clothes, his cooking equipment and ammo as well as a handful of RadAway and Stimpacks. The various pockets of his rucksack have bottle caps and cigarretes in them, the pockets of his trousers, however, are mostly filled with ammo and his left side hip pocket contains his camera.
Weapons:
9MM pistol, laser sight, improved iron sights. ( 10 magazines of 13)
Marksman carbine no-scope - 5.56 mm rounds. ( 4 magazines of 20)
Sniper Rifle - .308 rounds. Silencer or flash suppresser. (3 magazines of 5)

Specializations: Henry is a deadly shot. His aim is unwavering at long distances, but does begin to weaken at close range.
Other: He has a thing for lots of pockets.
Negative Attributes: Henry is terrible in any hand-to-hand combat and isn't too good a shot if the target is with spitting distance.
Biography:
With no military training of any kind Henry is a self taught marksman. Being brought up by a traveling trader he had plenty of time to practice his shot and learn how to deal with money, as well as trouble. Although the trader was not his father, he did know that his father was a military man of some kind who had left him with the trader - along with a large sack of bottle caps and money. When he turned 18 Henry was given this large amount of money, which the trader had so kindly added to over the years, and went out into the world.

Around ten years ago now, Henry found out that Phil had been killed by a ruthless gang of Caesars bastards. He has worn to kill every last legionary he sets his eyes upon. At first Henry travelled around, killing the scum of the land as he went.
Age, however, grants wisdom. Henry found himself being overcome with bloodlust and so fought against his inner ambitions and settled down; close enough to Memphis to trade and find supplies but far enough from people he is afraid he may harm - atop a collapsed freeway inside a small home of which he has made himself comfortable.

His home is humble and looks up towards what star light there is left. Basically a lot of cars piled up upon each other in square shape, with a few ramps and firing holes. His tent and fire place stay in the centre - beneath a makeshift canopy. A few crates and boxes lay scattered around with various items inside of no substantial value. He liberated the place from a few wasteland raider: who had been picking off passers by from the many sniping nests the area provided.

[Viscerous]

Name:
Vincent James Clarke

Race:
Ghoul (formerly Caucasian American)

Age:
238 (ghoulified at 27)

Height:
5' 10"

Weight:193 lbs

Appearance:
For a ghoul of his age, Vincent doesn't look too bad. He is on the shorter side for a man, with an atheletic build from Army drills. His strong cheek and jaw bones made him quite the looker in his early years, but most of his good looks are behind him now. His skin, once fairly tanned, is now mottled with rot, fleshy browns and reds covering his body. His blonde hair still grows in patches, though Vincent always keeps his head devoid of hair. The pinna of his ears and his nose have long since fallen off his face leaving only the nasal cavity behind, though his voice somehow managed to remain its normal deep and smooth tone. Thanks to constant attention Vincent has managed to keep most of his muscle mass. His eyes are still a brilliant deep green, though his right eyelid has fallen away as well. Under his leather armor Vincent wears a pre-war white button up shirt, pre-war denim jeans, and a pair of pre-war black leather shoes.

Equipment:
Leather armor, Alpha Deathclaw hide hat (fedora), Alpha Deathclaw hide rucksack, 5x bottles of Scotch, box of 20x bobby pins and screwdriver, 20x 12 gauge slugs, 60x 10mm bullets, 250x Bottlecaps

Weapons:
Sawed off shotgun, 10mm SMG, Army issued trench knife

Specializations:
Knows all there is to know about traps to capture or kill as well as about surviving off the land, rarely misses a shot at close-medium range with firearms through fault of his own, can pick all but the most difficult locks without much trouble, knows a good amount on how to persuade and decieve through speech, has an understanding of haggling and gambling enough to come out with more caps than many people, knows how to hide in the dark and hides fairly well in low light, can steal decent items from less perceptive people and can usually successfully pickpocket small items

Other:
Due to being a ghoul, feral ghouls will not attack Vincent, and wild super mutants seem to not have much interest in him. Along with this, he can not only survive in high radiation levels, but is also healed by them. In his many travels Vincent has heard all the rumors of pre-war treasures, weapons, and artifacts, knowing much about them and even having found a few in his previous years.

Negative Attributes:
Unskilled in melee combat to the point where he can barely weild his knife and cannot fight with his fists, accuracy drops noticeably at long range, doesn't know much about technology only just having started learning about computers and energy weapons, cannot hit a target with thrown weapons, never studied explosives, knows just enough of repairs to mend his clothing and armor, doesn't know basic first aid, alcoholic

Biography:
Vincent was born in 2050, in The Commonwealth. He grew up as any other man would, going to school and watching the technological wonders of the world come into creation. The war effort weighed heavily on his mind, and he was worried how it would end. Vincent was drafted out of school at the age of 17, soon finding himself being sent to Alaska in the year 2068.

The next six years were brutal on Vincent. He quickly learned his way around a gun as he protected trenches, not often being sent into open battle. During his time spent in those trenches Vincent killed many men, his conscience eventually fading to help him cope with his deeds. Despite the blood on his hands though, Vincent knew he was helping his country. This changed in 2074.

Vincent heard news that America was sending troops into China. This information outraged him, as he knew it would lead to further conflict and tension. Vincent felt as if he was betrayed by his government, who had said their only intentions were to retake Alaska. He continued fighting reluctantly, not wanting to go AWOL and abandon his mission. In 2077, he had completed that mission, officially driving the Chinese out of Alaska.

Shortly after the reclaimation of Anchorage, Vincent received an honorable discharge and was once again able to live a normal life. Upon his return home Vincent was celebrated as a hero. Parties were thrown, families asked to have pictures taken, but Vincent wasn't as excited as others were. He had been trying to have his family move into a vault to protect them, but they insisted that because of Anchorage there wouldn't be any bombs. In October of 2077, those bombs fell.

Vincent woke the next day. Having ran to the basement as he saw the bombs falling from the sky, he had survived, though his family had not. Most of his house had vanished, and climbing out of the rubble it was clear the rest of the town had too. Vincent saw others crawling out of their former homes, noticed some walking the streets. A handful of people were all that was left. Not knowing what else to do, Vincent stayed Iin his town with the people he knew.

A small settlement formed. Some would go to fetch food while others explored, finding supplies. Everyone able helped to contribute. The black rain came a week after the bombs, killing the remaining plant life and most animals around. Life continued, though became increasingly difficult. After a little more than a year, the survivors began to notice their skin becoming dry, flaky. It wasn't long before everyone had become ghoulified from the radiation, both in atmosphere as well as from their water and food.

Most of the new turned ghouls died quickly, either going feral and being put down or by suicide because of their new existence. Vincent merely gathered his meager belongings and left, wandering the wastes left behind from the nuclear bombs. Living only by what he was able to scavenge was difficult, Vincent discovered. Because of this he was forced to learn how to survive with what the land could provide, as well as how to build effective traps for animals, including the new dangerous abominations. In his next two centuries he would master these skills.

After some years passed, Vincent began to see humans around the wastes. He knew the vaults were going to be opening, and it seemed those from the vaults were free of his condition. Keeping his appearance in mind, Vincent thought it best to stay out of sight when he could. Life continued this way, more people surfacing, and Vincent became better at sneaking around. Eventually the wastes became too populated however, and he came to be spotted. Unfortunately, the men who noticed Vincent were slavers.

While Vincent put up a decent fight, the slavers had numbers on their side and managed to take him in. Vencent spent the next few years of his life in a slave camp. Nobody seemed to want to buy a ghoul for a slave though, and so he stayed in the camp, thinking up a way out. During his time, Vincent began learning how to steal objects while the slavers weren't watching. He developed this skill, eventually getting to the point where he could pickpocket small items from the man guarding his cage, never getting lucky enough to snag any keys though. What he did manage to collect were the occasional bobby pins, along with a screwdriver on one of his errands. With them, he began formulating a plan.

To get his plan moving, Vincent needed freedom, as much as a slave could get anyway. The next few months Vincent spent making conversation with his captors, slowly figuring the subtleties of speechcraft as he began prying gossip and secrets from his guards. Eventually he had managed to talk his way into being able to run errands unsupervised. During these errands, Vincent often snuck off to practice his lockpicking. He had tried on his own cage door many times, but always broke the pins he used. By starting on easier locks Vincent was able to actually practice. This process took him a few months more in order to work his way up to the point where most locks were a breeze, and even more difficult locks didn't provide too much challenge. Now armed with a set of skills for escape, Vincent was ready.

With all his time spent in the camp, Vincent had learned the routine exactly. In the night, a little before the shift change, he made his move. The guard assigned to his cage had been yawning for a while, and with his persuasiveness Vincent convinced him to leave the post early and get some rest. While there was nobody watching him, he managed to pick the lock of his cage. Vincent moved silently through the camp and kept out of sight of the patrolling slavers. In that manner he made it to the camp entrance. There was no gate here, only two armed guards. Vincent held back until two others began approaching the entrance crew. The shift change at hand, the two slavers left their post and met with the replacements, chatting for a bit. Vincent didn't stay to eavesdrop, instead leaving while nobody watched. Having successfully exfiltrated the camp, Vincent crept away in the cover of darkness. He made his escape quick, putting as much distance behind him as he could.

After some decades more wandering the wastelands Vincent began to see large settlements rising up. Eventually, figuring he couldn't avoid new civilization forever, he approached one such settlement he encountered in his travelling. Upon entering the walled town Vincent was greeted roughly by a guard. He was treated with a pat down and his scavenged firearms were confiscated, though his trench knife was concealed enough to remain safe with him, not that he could make too much use of it. Vincent noted that he would need to improve his ability to conceal his guns, and continued into the town.

Everybody seemed to treat him with disgust because of what he had become. Merchants barely wanted to trade with him and would offer unreasonable prices, making it difficult to properly buy goods or sell Vincent's own. After making out with what he could from his encounters with street merchants Vincent had gotten a decent feel for haggling. He headed into the local bar and took a seat. After ordering a few drinks Vincent felt rather tipsy, and had gotten over the insults from the townsfolk. He ordered a few bottles for the road and headed out. On his way out the entrance of the town, the man who had taken Vincent's weapons resentfully handed them back. Vincent thanked him and stumbled out into the wastes.

The next century was mostly uneventful, as Vincent roamed around, trying to support himself and a newly acquired drinking habit. In a search for an income of currency he began taking on the art gambling with travellers and townsfolk he came across. He learned the common card games that he found being played around the wasteland and began collecting playing cards he could find to build decks with. Eventually in his travels he came to the Mojave wasteland and visited New Vegas. He wasn't used to such a place, lit up with bright lights as it was. Vincent learned the games of the casinos as well, figuring out even how to cheat every now and then. When he left the city behind, he had made out with a decent amount of caps, having spent most on new weapons and ammunition at a Gun Runners vendor outside they city wall. With his new 10mm SMG and sawed off shotgun, Vincent traveled on.

As he was leaving the Mojave, Vincent had a run in with a wandering Alpha Deathclaw. It was a good chance to test his new weapons, he thought. With a magazine loaded into his SMG Vincent ran at the beast, training the iron sights at the head while closing the distance. By the time the deathclaw noticed Vincent was unloading the bullets into the abomination's skull. Not all the bullets hit the target, and fewer found their true mark in the head, but enough landed to weaken it. The beast lunged and swiped with its claws towards him, and his reflexes from the days with bayonets in the trenches kicked in. With a leap back he drew his shotgun, two slugs loaded in the double barrel. As the creature recovered from the missed attack Vincent placed the barrel right to the skull and fired both shots, destroying the brain and killing the Alpha. With his knife he skinned a decent portion of its hide, taking a while to tan it into a leather and shape it into a fedora for him to wear, as well as a rucksack in which he could store belongings.

In all his time living after the falling of the bombs, Vincent had travelled nearly all of the wastes of America. From east to west, north to south, and back both ways a few times, he had seen more than many ever would. Ghoul cities, giant mountains and canyons, irradiated graveyards of thousands, he walked them all. And through all his journeys he had heard every rumor there was to hear. Eventually he wandered into Memphis, Tennessee, in the year 2285.

[Luminous Beings]

Name:

Coyote-Teeth. She goes by Livia, or Liv, now.

Race:

She is a human.

Age:

32

Height:

5'11

Weight:

135 lbs.

Appearance:

Perhaps the best word to summarize Liv is harsh-her hair has only just begun to grow back after an unforgiving buzz cut, her face bears its fair share of scars, and her smiles are about as commonplace as the Enclave these days. She has neither the frail build of malnourishment or the thick curves of someone with an abundance of food-lean, sculpted muscle clings to her arms and legs, the strength built from hard labor and many miles. Her skin is a dark bronze, a mixture of her heritage (while her tribe no longer exists, it lives on for a little while longer in her skin tone and features) and years spent traversing the open plains and deserts of the Southwest. Her hair is a dark brown-at one point, she enjoyed braiding it back, but after a few scuffles where her long, all-too-easy-to-grab-a-hold-of-hair was used against her, she elected for a more pragmatic look. It currently has the disheveled lack of a style you’d expect from a traveler-it’s been a bit since Liv has crossed paths with a mirror, and she’s not particularly concerned with her appearance any longer. On her right bicep she has a tattoo, one that has faded with the years (quality ink is in short supply these days), which is an assortment of curves and lines, jagged symbols she barely remembers the meaning of. Running vertically across her stomach are two scars, faded, but relatively fresh. She wears a set of Brotherhood dog tags around her neck, albeit she usually keeps this hidden and discreet.

Equipment:

She travels light, and carries only what she needs. She has no use for scavenge or scrap, and gets away with the bare minimums. A few canteens for water, flint and steel, a blanket, a pouch of old a herbal remedies, an emergency wallet of NCR money, Legion denarii, and old-fashioned bottlecaps, a pair of binoculars. She carries this in a worn but functional pack, slung by one strap across her chest. For everyday wear, she generally makes use of a leather jacket (it’s got holes and is bound with duct tape in a few places), a pair of mirrored sunglasses, time-tested combat boots, and jeans. She had a set of armor-way back-but it was too bulky to carry on the move. She carries some bandages and gauze, and a small cluster of nightshade is pinned to her lapel, perhaps where she can rip it out with her teeth if necessary.

Weapons:

Liv’s an old-school kinda girl. She wields a machete, fashioned as a gladius. It’s name is Gaul¬. When Liv was more warrior than scout, a number of NCR dogtags hung from the pommel, but these are a bit conspicuous now. She keeps it well-honed and ready for use, and the trusty weapon has never let her down thus far.

While Liv is not fond of firearms, she understands the necessity for them, particularly in her newest line of work. She carries a Winchester 1892 Short and just enough ammo to squeak by-she rarely uses it.

Specializations:

Liv is an adept scout and skilled survivalist. She has trekked many miles, nursed many wounds, and brought down many foes with nothing but what she could carry at a dead run. She’s an adept close-quarters fighter, making up for her lack of raw muscle and size with technique, experience, is and brutality. She’s determined and cunning, but also possesses the capacity for discretion and patience-she has learned that moving erratically will only earn her more scars, and as such she takes time to plan and think over her strategies. She’s an experienced combatant and cowers from neither pain nor (seemingly) imminent death-she’s faced both before, and come out roughed up but still kicking. From her time in the Legion and her time as a tribal, she has a number of natural remedies and poisons-these are crude and inefficient, but effective.

Other:

Negative Attributes:

First and foremost, her inexperience with technology. Liv, as per Legion doctrine, shies away from using electronic crutches, and she’s rather baffled by anything related to computers or even mechanical repairs. Her general response to robots is to smash them into scrap metal, and she underestimates their capability and intelligence. Secondly, while she can handle a rifle, she’s no Annie Oakley, and generally only uses it when she absolutely must. She’s also averse to modern medicine, and while she understands basic first aid and can patch herself up, she’s ignorant to the nuances of medical theory-if willpower and her tribal cures can’t overcome it, then it’s bad news for Liv.

Biography:

The most obvious question, I’m sure, is not only how a woman came to like the Legion, but how a woman was able to join the Legion. The first is rather simply answered-they offered security where others could not. Coyote-Teeth (so named for her tendency to painfully bite her siblings and friends while wrestling) grew up far outside the NCR’s civilized towns or Megaton’s safe walls. She watched friends get mauled by the beasts of the Wasteland, had to witness the Hobbesian demonstration of what Raiders are capable of when no one’s watching. Mothers dying in childbirth, fathers dying in fighting. It was a tough existence, and while she didn’t know it as a young girl and teenager, she longed for something more substantial.

It came wearing crimson and speaking through a vexillarius’ lips. Coyote-Teeth was immediately fascinated with the Legion-because they brought immediate results. The costs in freedom were well-worth the feeling of genuine security, the sudden peace her people obtained. While her brothers and male friends were conscripted, it didn’t seem a tremendous loss-after all, their life expectancies were not tremendously high, and service in the Legion was temporary. Being tasked with carrying children for Caesar? She hadn’t expected to live in a world where she could raise children safely, securely-she’d have as many sons as he needed if she knew they wouldn’t be killed young, wouldn’t be taken by mutants or slavers or disease. The Legion’s rule was not an enlightened one, but it was prosperous-her people and village began to grow steadily and surely, the enemies they’d been too weak to defeat now brought low by the Bull and its horns. Al seemed well.

And all was well. But as the years passed, and Coyote-Teeth fulfilled her duties-two children she bore, marked by the Caesarian scars across her stomach-she felt a sense of….emptiness. She was no great feminist, she was content with her role in life-but she felt that she could do more. The Legion had brought prosperity, shielded them from hardships. Days spent at home, tending for crying infants…she’d never admit it, but a part of her missed the struggle of her youth, of surviving an attack by merit of being stronger and faster, of gathering plants in the dead of night to scrape together a midnight cure for a sick relative.

Her attempts to enlist were, of course, scoffed at.

But Coyote-Teeth was resourceful and determined, two attributes which would take her quite far in life. Her tribe lacked this iron will-that cold sort of tunnel vision that lets someone forget morality and ethics if it means accomplishing a goal. The Legionnaires her tribesmembers were made into were weak, undisciplined. This being the Legion’s frontier in Colorado, it was not an issue that was of active concern to the central Legion forces-their lack of discipline went more-or-less unnoticed, the resident Centurion more focused with seizing larger swathes of territory than firmly ruling that which he already had.

This, of course, backfired eventually. A mixture of external attacks-a local Brotherhood of Steel chapter, a few violent tribes who rejected the Legion’s offer of membership rather forcefully-and internal weakness (some, even within Coyote-Teeth’s tribe, were split over the issue of Legionhood, with a few discussing secession) led to a battle in her village. Nothing to the scale of the Hoover Dam, but it was a tremendous failure-the Legion was pushed back, and the cowardice of the local Legionnaires and their Centurion meant execution.

When they came down the line, Coyote-Teeth saw her opportunity. She moved, ripped a knife from one of the marked recruit’s sheaths, and did it herself. It wasn’t hard or difficult. Just…simple. She struck down most of her old tribesmembers, the Centurion. She hadn’t the authority to do this, of course, and this merited more serious attention. What saved her from the cross was a rather interested frumentarius who’d noticed her not only during the executions, but during the battle-the untrained tribal felled a number of invaders, did more to keep their lines steady than the Centurion had.

Her loyalty was proven a dozen times over in the coming months as the frumentarius’ new vassal. The Legion was unaware of this issue, the records of what happened in her village’s execution smudged a bit. She escaped death by doling it out to several others. After enough time had passed, the frumentarius presented his idea to Caesar-a frumentarius amongst frumentarii, a spy amongst spies. Even amongst Caesar’s inner circle, there were elements of dissent-and after the fall at NCR, internal tensions were more strained than ever. Many questioned Caesar, the Legate. Left unchecked, these sects could gnaw the Legion away from within, attempt to seize power. Regardless, it spelled certain doom for the Legion-particularly if they managed to win over a few of the frumentarii, ones who could provide valuable intelligence, be just as potent adversaries as they were allies.

And a woman-well, who was better poised to keep an eye on them? Caesar may have spouted his domestic cult ideology for the purposes of unifying his society, of ensuring enough soldiers to fill his ranks, but the man was no fool. He gave Coyote-Teeth a new name-Liv, after Livia-and gained a rather useful internal affairs asset. As a woman, he needed to give her no resources, and had no need to stand up for her should she mess up-if she was captured, attempted to invoke Caesar’s protection, no one would believe her. She set out scouting the Legion, serving as Caesar’s proxy-where there were whispers of secession, hushed questioning of the Legate’s ability, Liv carried out her orders.

With time, this shifted-a new frontier. With the West firmly out of the Legion’s hold, the Great Caesar turned his eyes to the East. And so he sent Liv, a wild tribal to an untamed land, to scout ahead. She holds no official ties to the Legion, and only a mere handful are aware of her association. In secret, however, she works in tandem with local forces, keeping her ears open when she poses as a slave. She works-if not in Caesar’s name-in his will, doing as would best benefit the Legion.

Zero liability asset? The man may be cruel, but he’s shrewd-and history’s shown ideologues with nothing to lose can get a lot done if you point them at your enemies and turn them loose. Caesar pointed her East and removed the shackles she’d been wearing all her life. God help the Memphis profligates-if Liv has her way, there’ll be crucifixions all the way down the Blue Ridge.

[Dasomen]

Name: John Bridger

Race: Android (passes as a Cyborg)

Age: 22 (chassis/body appear to be in the mid 30s.)

Height: 6'3

Weight: 230lbs

Appearance: Time has not been all that kind to John. Much of the skin and false muscle around his right eye has been burned off, revealing the metallic skeleton underneath. John's right eye has long since been burned and blasted away, leaving only the glowing red cybernetic eye in it's place as if to glare or scorn those who would have taken it in the first place. In order to cover up the missing flesh John always keeps a set of glacier glasses on and over his eyes, even if the glow from the right eye still seems to shine through. The rest of him could easily described to be "mass produced" human. his body having just the right build and muscle mass (even if most of that mass is artificial) in order for people to dismiss him most of the time. His skin was of Caucasian coloration, but has since taken on a more pail coloring, almost sickly pail but not quite. people may mistake him for being dehydrated at first glance. john's hair is long and blond. pulled back behind him in a stiff braid going back to his mid back. he does have a beard, sort of. scruffy and short is the best way to describe it, save for the right side of his face where the beard has been burned off and the skin is somewhat damaged, barely hinting at the metallic skeleton underneath around his chin. Underneath all his clothing, his right shoulder and part of his right breast no longer have any skin to hide the metal underneath. Plasma burns litter his upper arm, with the skin and muscle being completely removed in some areas revealing his skeletal frame underneath. To say time has been kind to John would be a bold faced lie. Covering his chest and upper torso is a black short sleeve shirt with a Nuka Cola Quantum emblem on the chest with the words "Feel The Glow" embroidered on the back in a glow in the dark fabric for both. His pants are the refurbished remains of a Nuka Cola jumpsuit, with the extra fabric that couldn't be salvaged to repair the entire jumpsuit, being converted into Cargo pockets. On his feet are a two mismatching boots taken from different people... they're both dead now. One black combat boot and one leather steel toe boot adorn his feet.

Equipment: Sentient AI. Pip-Boy 3000. Worn, burned, and shot up Leather combat jacket. Vault Tech Satchel. damaged MF Hyperbreeder Small energy cell recharge belt with attached fission battery for power. (depleted small energy cells are plugged into the hyperbreeder belt to charge. not very efficient, chews through fission batteries. 1 battery= 1.5 magazines worth of small energy cells.) Enough Small energy cells to equate to 3 magazines. 3 Nuka Colas.

Weapons: Custom WATTZ Magneto-laser pistol he calls "ToG". Tog's Modifications allow it to charge up a shot allowing it to fire off a stronger blast. The charge shot function consumes an entire magazine's worth of ammo for the weapon and fires off a much stronger blast than it's single shot, although it's only 70% efficient, with 30% of the energy and potential damage being wasted as the weapon vents a large amount of heat.The Magneto line of WATTZ laser pistols were prized for their armor penetrating ability. Other than the charge function, the pistol has received no other modifications.

Specializations: Energy Weapons, Repair, Science, PipBoy User.

Other: Being a robot, as androids are technically robots, advanced humanoid robots but robots none the less, John is more durable than the humans he looks like. Able to operate in irradiated and hazardous zones, it's no wonder the commonwealth uses them as disposable slaves. This means he doesn't need to breath or sleep for the most part. strenuous labor does drain his power so he needs to eat to recharge, but breathing and sleeping, yeah not important. VATS being integrated into his system thanks to the pip boy is also rather useful.
(Energy Weapon: WATTZ magneto-laser pistol. Game: Fallout 2. http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Magneto-laser_pistol
Armor: Leather Combat Jacket Game:Fallout 2 http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Combat_leather_jacket
MISC Aid Item: MF Hyperbreeder. technology used in fallout new vegas for recharger pistol and rifle.)

Negative Attributes: Like All robots John has an allergy to EMPs, be they going off because some jackass shot a transformer, he stepped on a pulse mine, a pulse grenade went off in his general vicinity, or he got hit with a pulse gun, EMPs and john don't mix. After being captured by the commonwealth many of his combat subrouteans were deleted. as a result projectile weapons are largely alien to him in their function and operation. An example of this is he's more liable to use a .357 magnum revolver or an assault rifle as a crude club than he is to use it properly. Thus pointing a projectile weapon at someone and pulling the trigger just doesn't compute. he recognizes them as melee weapons not ranged weapons. Oh yes, and stimpacks are largely useless to him, requiring him to find scrap metal and scrap electronics to heal him and Solvent Green for any fleshy damage. His body's power supply is also faulty so eating and drinking like normal do not replenish all that much energy for him, Only Nuka Cola (and it's varieties) seem to charge him up fully. This results in him looking almost always perpetually tired even after a large meal. however one nuka cola and he's bounding with energy for hours on end. being made of, or rather having a metal skeleton also has it's downsides. he's a bit of a hammer/anchor depending on your preferred terminology in that he can't swim even if he tried. He just flat out sinks.

Biography: John Bridger, Android number J-70 began his "life" up in the commonwealth well after the bombs fell. John started out fresh off the presses and fresh out of the vats as a Butler, serving his "master" for a good 4 years before his master decided to take him on a caravan run. Caravan run didn't go so well and a few raiders soon saw to his master's demise. The raiders themselves ended up walking too close to the water and attracting a school of mirelurks. In the chaos and confusion John managed to snag a weapon to defend himself. it was just a simple WATTZ 1000 laser pistol that had fallen out of a torn open satchel the raiders were using to haul around their stolen loot. Several frantic shots later and the face plate of the mirelurk had boiled away, cooking the beast from the inside. the others didn't seem to like the smell of their cooking comrade and fled back into the water leaving John to fend for himself for a bit. All this commotion caught the attention of an elderly old couple who were traveling by, thankful with a few well armed guards. when the guards realized thanks to a securitron that John didn't turn up on thermals, they took him in, becoming his new owners. not an all too uncommon thing in the commonwealth.

With his new "family" taking care of him as it were John spent the next several years attending to a local digital library and attached garage. The old man was a bit of a book worm and the lady friend he'd shacked up with loved to tinker. unbeknownst to his wife though the librarian was actually a member of the railroad, and after ensuring John had learned all he could in science considering the limited selection at the library, he made a break to free John, who thanks to his help, made it all the way to Ohio before the commonwealths goons caught up with him. There things didn't go well. John had settled down a bit there, opened up his own garage to help travelers repair their gear in exchange for caps. Problem was he still had the same face, so he wasn't hard to find. He put up a bit of a fight though, not wanting to be taken back and pressed into slavery. Unfortunately for John he was out gunned and out manned, 4 on one is never good odds even if he did manage to kill one and down another.

John's luck seemed to turn around a bit though when they were staying in a hotel and his memory was being wiped. The hunters who tracked him down were playing it safe and wiping his combat protocols first. But right as his projectile protocols had been deleted an armed detachment from the underground came to his rescue. After his captors were dead John was on his own once more. While sifting through the ruins of a downtown Ohio city, John managed to come across an Old Wattz store. Only reason it hadn't been looted yet was the MR handy units guarding the place were rather efficient at stopping "shoplifters" as they called it. While there John decided to make the most of the situation. The MR. Handy units watching the store had mistaken him for a Protectron. After using their mistake to his advantage John made his way to the computer terminal controlling them and set them to guard the outside of the store only. after they were gone John did a bit of.... shopping. With his shopping done it was time to set out again. Ohio was no longer safe as far as he was concerned.

His welcome to Kentucky wasn't the warmest one. right on the border he wan into a vault and his timing seemed to be horrible because right as he was crossing out walked a vault dweller shouting with glee that it was "just like the simulations". Next thing he knew he was being called a savage for no other reason than he was walking down a road and something rather hard impacted his head. He'd just been shot with a 10mm pistol and had the misfortune to look at the vault dweller when the shot went off. When John went down he could hear the vault dweller hooting and hollering like some kind of mentally challenged raider hyped up on drugs. This was of course because the vault dweller just took a big unhealthy dose of Psycho and started shooting at John even as he started to move to pick himself up off the ground. "Why won't you die?" he distinctly remembers the vault dweller asking as a poorly aimed Molotov cocktail smashed into the side of his face. "I'm the good guy!" the vault dweller would cry out. "I'm the hero!" he'd add in protest, pelting John with poorly aimed frantic bullet after poorly aimed frantic bullet. John however had been buying his time in the engagement as stupid as that sounds. the impacts he was taking hurt, but the angle of attack and poor aim of the vault dweller meant this guy was more of an annoyance than a threat. When John finally shot the man with a fully charged blast from his pistol he was a tad spooked when someone came walking down the road just then, Telling him he was supposed to say something witty when killing the overconfident. The traveler laughed some as John responded only with the words "Something Witty" as he picked over the vault dwellers corpse. He'd seen that pip boy attached to the vault dweller's arm, and that would be the prize he'd take from this engagement.

John traveled with the traveler for a good long while as a loyal companion, but after a few years down in Tennessee things finally went bad. Knoxville, just outside of a Nuka Cola plant was where shit hit the fan and some jackass with a rocket launcher turned the traveler he had been following from a guy who was great with a gun and had a winning personality into a pile of meaty chunky bits. John managed to catch the guy in the reload, but without someone to follow around, John felt like the proverbial lost puppy. And so he'd drift from town to town, Always on a quest for more Nuka, and always on a quest to find a new drifter. You'd think that be easy as a guy with a Pip boy on his arm, But so far? No such luck. Maybe in Dixie someone would let him tag along.

[Marik]

Name:
France Kota

Race:
Indian

Age:
18

Height:
5’11

Weight:
160 Lbs.

Appearance:
Tall, built, majestic. France’s dark brown skin covers a well-toned body that is absent of the wear of the wastes. She has a rather youthful face with full lips, wide eyes that take on an earthy brown shade, a slightly curved nose, and large unkempt eyebrows. She has a head of thick black hair that goes down to her mid-back. Her womanly attributes are prominent, with wide hips and a large bust.

Equipment:
Vault 117 Jacket- A jacket made from the old Vault 117 jumpsuits. Tailored by some of the women from the New Kannon City settlement.

Pre War Teenager Outfit- Clothes that were stored in Vault 117. Jeans, a back tee, short white socks, and red sneakers.

Messenger Bag- A bag containing France’s paper, pens, and drawn out maps.

New Kannon City Documents- Documents containing Frances citizenship and occupation.

Small Backpack- A small backpack with 5 cans of foodstuff and 5 bottles of water, as well as a small first aid kit.

Caps Wallet- A pouch meant for the purpose of the wasteland’s currency, bottle caps. Currently holds 28 of them.

Weapons:
9mm Pistol- A 9mm pistol with the requisite 2 magazines. Given to France under loan from New Kannon City.

Baseball Bat- A wooden baseball bat, loaned from the New Kannon City armory.

Specializations:
Navigation, cartography, heavy lifting, reading, writing.

Other:
France is officially considered a New Kannon City scout, employed by the higher ups to observe and document the wastes.

Negative Attributes:
France is young, and has lived her whole life inside and in the immediate area of New Kannon City; not even the stories she’s been told could ever prepare her for what goes on in the world. She was raised on lies, and has a very wrong interpretation of the world before the bombs fell. Even though she has an intimidating stature, France has never been in combat and has very little experience with shooting firearms.

Biography:
Cannon City was a large American town centered around learning in southern North Carolina. Vault 117 was built under Brown Elementary, and with the funding of a wealthy benefactor, the Vault was filled with many books and other items filled with information on the old world. When the bombs fell, the students were the ones saved from nuclear fire, and the teachers continued their normal jobs so that when the Vault doors opened, the next generation would have the brains to repopulate the world.

The was one problem though, the stuff that was being taught was all lies. Every book that had been stored in the vault was filled with information on a world that didn’t even exist. Different histories, fake historical figures, even false religions were given to the people of Vault 117. The only thing that stayed constant in their information was America, but everything else was changed. They were scholars, but scholars that did the world no good. In the following years, the people of the vault would claim the school above and the surrounding buildings, forming New Kannon City. France was born inside the vault, the child of a teacher and one of the city board leaders. She was named after “The country of her people”, France, “The largest empire on the continent of Sunland that lies to the west”.

At a young age, France took to one thing, cartography. She loved maps. Continents, islands, countries, borders, bodies of water, it was all so interesting to the girl. She’d spend many a night examining the maps of the old world; from the Burgundy Strait to the Barbaros Islands to the south east. This love to the drawing of the earth led to France studying the surrounding lands of her city. Seeing this talent and feeling as if they could use it, France’s parents decided to employ their daughter as a scout, forcing her into a rigorous exercise routine to prepare her for the wasteland. As it stands, she now studies and maps for her city, but her ultimate goal is to create a map of the entire new world.

[Xartarin]

Name: Sophie Quilla

Race: Ghoul, formerly Mexican

Age: 236, 29 at the time of the Great War

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 200 lb

Appearance: For the most part Sophie's appearance is typical with ghouls, her skin is pretty variable in the number of layers it has attached, and she's missing a few notable facial features, as well as her hair. Sophie was fairly overweight compared to most people before the bombs, and the difference is more obvious in the wasteland. The inconvenience isn't debilitating, but it does give Sophie a soft and pudgy appearance that would seem non-threatening if she wasn't also a zombie. From some nearby stores Sophie put together an outfit she thought would fit the new world she found herself in, which mostly seems to constitute khaki vest and shorts that make her look like some explorer. She has a wide-brimmed hat to match which hides her sudden loss of hair, and some sunglasses, partly so she has a frame she can use if she ever finds lenses for her near-sightedness.

Equipment: Sophie has a shopping cart with a duffel bag full of mostly-readable books and a set of tools from the school, useful for tinkering with robots or computers.

Weapons: A 9mm handgun. Sophie thinks it's empty, but it actually has one bullet left in the gun itself.

Specializations: Before the great war Sophie was skilled at programming and robotic engineering, and though reading has expanded her knowledge she is also as rusty as possible. She has a college-level knowledge of physics and math and a high school-level knowledge of chemistry and biology. Sophie has a general knowledge of the layout of Memphis and some surrounding cities from before the war, though they've changed drastically. Sophie has some mild skill in repairing simple items like clothing or her shopping cart from fixing up the school, but weapons and unique post-war items elude her.

Other: Sophie has more knowledge of pre-war skills and culture (including literature) than post-war, almost all of it useless. But if they ever find a working car, Sophie would be able to drive it. Sophie is not only ignored by feral ghouls, but her time with them has given her a decent familiarity with their psychology, not that there's much to figure out.

Negative Attributes: Sophie has almost no knowledge of the state or culture of the post-war wasteland, without human contact her personal skills have atrophied, and she's less athletic and even less combat-trained than most others in the wasteland. Though she has a certain sense of self-preservation, Sophie is reckless with her own artificiality extended life and has a certain disregard for post-war society, she doesn't consider it fully "real", or legitimate. Additionally Sophie is near-sighted and has yet to find any helpful lenses, much less one that matches her prescription. Anything further than a few yards from her becomes blurry. Sophie's survival skills are nil. Sophie was shot in the left shoulder recently and currently finds it painful if she moves it suddenly.

Biography: Sophie was born in Tennessee, but got her PHD in Robotics Engineering (as well as a graduate degree in programming) in Massachusetts. She made headway working for a larger corporation, but was invited back to Tennessee for the promise of starting a company with some colleagues that wanted to use the Memphis commercial hub as a base for producing cheaper robotics and software. That business failed quickly, unable to compete with larger companies and collapsed due to in-fighting, and Sophie moved to Somerville and put her PHD to work teaching in high school. It was during her career there that the bombs dropped.

The high school had a bunker, but with Vault-Tec's monopoly on the necessary safeguards, the shelter was unable to keep out radiation. Everyone hiding within became a ghoul, and everyone except for Sophie went feral. Food reserves meant to feed over 200 students and faculty for a few years was able to feed Sophie for over 200 years, as the feral ghouls wandered around the area and fed while keeping wildlife and humans away. Sophie never had the heart to put them out of their misery, many of them still the size of students. Sophie believed herself to be the last human alive on Earth, and now that she finally had time to read her books without interruption Sophie spent 200 years reading and fixing up the school, losing track of time and her own appearance with no intact timepieces or reflective surfaces anywhere around.

One month ago Sophie received her first introduction to the world of the wasteland when a group of UAF searching for resources outside the Memphis area broke through the feral ghouls. Not realizing she looked the same as the other monsters, not being able to see they were heavily armed without intact glasses, and being possibly too excited at suddenly seeing other living humans, Sophie essentially charged at them and was mistaken for a feral at first, but fortunately she was only shot in the shoulder before the UAF realized she was a sentient ghoul. The UAF emptied out a handgun and handed it to Sophie, and then directed her to Memphis as a good place to find more humans, so she decided to check it out. From the school Sophie took her robotics tools and as many books she could fit in a duffel bag, then found a shopping cart and some new clothes from the surrounding area before heading to Memphis on highway 64.

[DirtyDingo]

Name: Sarah Sinclair.
Race: Human, Chinese-Canadian descent.
Date of Birth: 31st of October 2256 (29 Years old.)
Height: 5'6.
Weight: 135lbs.

Appearance: Usually considered rather attractive by most men and even many women, Sarah almost always wears her brunette hair in a ponytail, with a fringe flick that hangs down the left hand side of her face. Her nose and right half of her face sport a fine scar that gaps at the eye socket. Her facial features are very Chinese in shape, though she seems to sport the bodily frame and hair colorings of her Canadian father.

Equipment: Sarah sports the outfit that many refer to as the 'Merc Adventurer' a red jumper beneath a black leather cut and ripped black jeans. Under the cut, Sarah wears a shoulder holster harness with a holster on each side, though it is rare she ever actually uses these to store her pistols, as she can draw much faster from the pair of holsters sat at each side of her hip, which are both worn backwards in order to allow the woman to 'cross-draw'. A technique she has mastered.

Aside from this, Sarah wears a leather bracer on her right arm, which is used to hold twelve .45ACP rounds and keeps a satchel upon her back with an old rifle sling which is no larger than the surface area of her buttocks, however she still manages to carry everything she needs, which includes:

x3 .357 Magnum ammunition boxes
x4 .45 ACP ammunition boxes
x2 Bottles of water
A Roll of bandage Wraps
x1 Stick of flint
x2 Irradiated mutfruit
x1 Box of noodles
x1 Proto Pip-Pad
x350 Bottle Caps

Weapons: In terms of weaponry Sarah packs as light as she possibly can, save for her heavily weathered chrome-slide Colt .45 M1911, which sports a suppressor and her black .357 Magnum revolver. To allow for completely silent takedowns, Sarah keeps a KA-BAR knife strapped to her left shoulder.

Specializations: Years of travelling the wastes have self-taught Sarah the art of gunslinging. She is often considered arrogant and/or lacking in actual combat ability, but when her enemies get close is when she truly shines. Sarah can call upon her fast hands to draw forth her handguns with incredible speed and style, and proceed to start firing. Although she is not the best shooter in the capital wasteland with sidearms, she is certainly among the most stylish.

Additionally, as a Vault-Prospector of some of the more dangerous Vaults, she has become proficient in the skills of stealth and silent takedowns with bladed weapons. In order to bypass Vault-Tec security systems, Sarah uses the knowledge of her youth spent in a vault paired with the time she has spent gaining a further understanding of technology enough to break the average level Vault locks and systems.

Vices: Vain, flirtatious, arrogant, narcissistic and stubborn as a Brahmin, Sarah is an absolute pain in the ass to get along with upon first meeting her. She is a moderate smoker, and a recovered Psycho addict, and will occasionally relapse in times of absolute stress.

Negative Attributes: Outside of Vault-Tec computers, Sarah is nigh useless when it comes to technology, and will often outright refuse to attempt to break a piece of code through fear of losing the goods to be locked away forever. Her arrogance can also on occasion, lead her to believe she is unbeatable in any form of combat, which of course in many an instance has resulted in her being seriously injured; which leads us on to perhaps her greatest weakness. She lacks any real medical training or skills, almost always opting simply to just wrap the wound and hope for the best or to simply cauterize the wound should it be bleeding too profusely.
All of the skills accumulate not only make Sarah highly dangerous to any who would stand against her, but as much (if not moreso) to herself and those around her.

Biography:

Born a third generation Chinese-Canadian into Vault 106, Sarah grew up within the Vault with her parents, constantly fighting for survival in the almost tribal wars that raged within the inside of the Vault walls. Even though she possessed a muscular structure that would rival most of the boys, from a young age she learned how to hide from the many fights that occurred on an almost hourly basis. Years and years of this turned the girl into a ghost, being able to move freely through the Vault without anyone so much as batting an eyelid towards her location, the drugs that plagued the residents of the underground 'shelter' for whatever reason never taking their hold on the young girl, even though her parents were among the worse instigators in the Vault.

Eventually, on the day of her sixteenth birthday the great riot came. A party of wandering mercenaries stumbled upon the entrance to the Vault and gained entry by opening it from the outside, little did they know what horrors they'd unleashed as the door alarms began to sound, alerting every psychopathic 'thing' left residing inside to it's opening. Almost in an instant, the previously warring and segregated factions became unified and rushed the doors with their batons and heavily damaged firearms. Fortunately for the group they were a rather notorious and successful band of brothers and were as heavily armed as the Brotherhood of Steel operating in the area and were able to hold the savages back with relative ease for a time.

Not long after initial contact between the two forces a standstill came to pass, with the psycho Vault-dwellers regrouping their strength and the mercs refusing to back down and lose the potential valuables inside. During this time was when Sarah made her move, she ducked and weaved through the ventilation systems and maintenance tunnels and eventually found her way to the entrance of the Vault. Once there, she disregarded her regular method in an attempt to secure freedom without being harmed by her mad kin. In a burst of all her physical strength she made a full-speed sprint for the mercenaries.

Seeing the look of a terrified young girl, as opposed to the crazed bloodlust in the eyes of her kinsmen, the group's leader Dylan Vasquez ordered his party to hold their fire, though he was slightly too late, as one of his men had already fired a shot from his assault rifle. The round skimmed across Sarah's nose and tore the flesh from her right cheek down to the corner of her jaw. The pain was excruciating, causing the girl to immediately fall to the floor in agonizing pain. With that gunshot ringing in the air the Vault-dwellers attempted what would be their final assault, but were quickly suppressed by minigun fire, and locked away once more as Dylan closed the door, giving up on the potential riches that lay within.

The company then took Sarah under their wing, stitching the pouring wound on her face and carrying the unconscious girl on Brahmin-back for a few days before she regained consciousness. When she did, Sarah didn't fight the group, she didn't feel like she had been captured. For the first time in her life, Sarah felt what it was like to have family. These men had saved her from that hell-hole, and for that she was forever grateful and loyal to the group.

For years the group scoured the wasteland, using their newfound member's knowledge of the Vaults to find a new fortune as Vault-Hunters, teaching her everything they knew along the way and earning substantially more caps than they ever had before.

That was, until the day of Sarah's Twenty-Fourth birthday, eight years to the day of the first meeting of Sarah Sinclair and Dylan Vasquez. On that day, the group were carrying out what they thought was a routine protection mission tasked to them by a trader local to the Georgian Wasteland, when they arrived in Atlanta, the trader revealed his true intent; the butchering of Dylan's crew and taking their incredibly valuable gear. A group of approximately fourteen men sprung from the hiding spots and immediately killed four of the eight-man group and pinned the rest to cover. Fortunately for Sarah, she had recently acquired a stealth-boy and was able to use it to slip around the back of the ambushing party. But as she had finished doing so, she heard an explosion that rumbled louder than thunder, with a small mushroom cloud being visible from her position, hanging over where her allies once stood.

Broken and defeated, Sarah did not seek vengeance, merely the sustenance of her own life. With the certainty of her brothers' deaths, Sarah fled the Georgian State to finish the mission her and Dylan had set themselves out on; to find all of the technological marvels from before The Great War and use them to bring some light to humanity. Five years on and she has never looked back to that day.

Personality: Although she comes off as self-centered, Sarah is actually gifted with a very kind heart. Though since the devastation of losing her mentors, it is truly a rare thing that anyone sees this side of her. She has learned how to get her way with most men by using her sexuality to her advantage and is utterly ruthless when it comes to getting what she wants.