[CHAR] Fallout: Capital Graveyard

[Kingfisher]

Name/Nicknames: Hestia Flores /Hest

Race: Human (Caucasian)

Age: 17

Appearance:



Sneered at by the other occupants of Paradise Falls as being ‘The only fat girl in the Wasteland’, Hestia has an unusually corpulent body, making her stand out quite abit amongst the hordes of malnourished survivors.

Possessing a flowing, overweight form, Hestia is a chunky young woman, with a stout build and a stomach which spills outwards. She has a sturdy frame, padded with a decent amount of muscle, and flabby thighs which brush against each other.

Miss Flores has full red lips, deep brown eyes, and a luscious explosion of bleach blonde hair, which cascades down her broad shoulders like water.

Sexual Preferences: Bisexual

Perks: Scoundrel, Cannibal, Prospector

Strength: 7

Perception: 8

Endurance: 3

Charisma: 8

Intelligence: 5

Agility: 2

Luck: 7

Personality: Going from day-to-day life under the masquerade of a caring young woman, Hestia Flores is as rotten as they come, possessing a whole truckload of depraved and sociopathic tendencies. Profit is Hestia’s one driving ambition, and she will stop at nothing to get it.

Whilst an arrogant narcissist, Hestia is smart enough not to let her own inflated opinion of herself compromise a good deal, and is willing to let bygones be bygones if it ends with her making a tonne of caps.

Crude and amoral at the best of times, and downright merciless and barbaric at the worst, Hestia will keep a level head up until the point where she’s pushed to her limits, when the gloves really come off.

Hot-headed and jealous, Hestia is quick to mistrust others, and has occasional outbursts of extreme anger. Miss Flores suffers from occasional mood swings and bouts of depression, which she can sometimes be poor at concealing.

Equipment: Boogeyman's hood, Combat shotgun, Raider Painspike armor, Dirty pre-war spring ware, Broad machete, Mesmetron.

Caps: 300

Biography: The daughter of a prosperous Brahmin baron, Hestia’s father is a sleazy merchant, not above using underhand tactics to secure his success, and put his competitors out of business. For most of her life Hestia has lived a life full of luxuries not afforded to most children growing up in the Wasteland, and has been kept relatively safe and sheltered under her father’s care.

The Flores happened to be traveling through the Capital Wasteland when disaster struck, and ended up stranded in the middle of the vicious conflict between the Enclave and the Brotherhood of Steel.

Over the next few months supplies began to run low, and situation in the now Capital Graveyard became even more worrisome and desperate, as death ran around the family on all sides, and people seemed to be dropping dead in the blink of an eye.

The slaver haven of Paradise Falls was hit hard by the epidemic, and it was there that the Flores found salvation. Striking a deal with the cruel Eulogy Jones, The Flores began trading with the slavers in Paradise Falls, in return for sanctuary there. A few years on, and the Flores Brahmin Caravan operations and the slave market have become almost inseparably integrated, with Eulogy using the caravan’s to easily move slaves back and forth throughout the Graveyard, and quickly expand to farthest corners of the map.

Hestia has become apt with the Mesmetron, and often goes on raids around the area of Little Lamplight, in search of child slaves to be sold off to those interested in such products.

Rising tensions between the Institute and the Enclave present fascinating new opportunities for Hestia and the other slavers, who are set to sweep over the battlefields like carrion birds, scavenging technology and scooping up weary travellers who are ripe for the taking.

Other Notes/ETC:

[Apollosarcher]

Name/Nicknames: Daniel "Longshot" Dusk

Race: Human

Age: 23

Appearance:

A good looking male, soft green eyes often hidden behind a pair of work goggles. A smile seems to always tug at his lips and he constantly whistles a tune. Daniel is pale, with soft red hair that falls in his eyes constantly. Standing just at five foot, eleven inches and weighing only one hundred seventy-five pounds. He's light but very tough and proven survivor.

Sexual Preferences: Straight

Perks: Gun Nut, Big Guns, Prospector

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 7

Perception: 7

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 4

Luck: 2

Personality: A gentle soul by nature Daniel learned the ways of war to protect his home and see that the Brotherhood never lose's it's home again. Growing up he was trained from a young age to shoot, his parents the best snipers in Brotherhood. His trainer was the ever silent Knight Captain Gallows, making Daniels able to understand much more from people by simply looking at them. He is friendly and very devoted to seeing the Brotherhood and in turn the wasteland improve.

Equipment: Mini-gun, Reservists rifle, Brotherhood Power Armor, Brotherhood Power Helmet, Rob-Co jumpsuit, Holo-tags, and a Pipboy 3000.

Biography: The son Dusk and Colvin, the best snipers in the Brotherhood. He grew up in Brotherhoods new home in Vault 101 along with the other children and taught by the aging Mr. Brotch. Raised along side his sister, they were a rarity triplets. After classes the boy would train under the tutelage of Knight Captain Gallows, becoming a jack-of-all-trades fighter. Knight Captain Gallows believes he and his sisters will be the one's to reform Lyons pride and be the one's to strike back against the Enclave.

Sarah Lyons saw potential in the boy his charm and friendly nature could be used to bring in new recruits. While the Brotherhood has only left the Vault to trade occasionally they have rebuilt some of their lost strength and the Outcasts have returned to them. With united Brotherhood they have the man power to finally begin scouting outside of Vault and fighting back against the Enclave. Promoted from Knight to Paladin he has been sent out to first to Megaton then on to Rivet City. His orders to gather people to train into initiates for the coming battle with the Enclave.

Other Notes/ETC: A self taught singer and a rather good one, even found an old guitar when they were clearing new sections of the Vault for residents and taught himself to play it.

[DJAtomika]

Name/Nicknames: Marcus "Marc" Tremaine

Race: Human

Age: 32

Appearance:

Standing five feet nine and weighing a paltry 160 pounds, Marcus isn't a heavyweight at all. His sparse, buzzcut hair is a dark brown and his eyes are the same shade of brown.

Sexual Preferences: Straight

Perks: Ninja, Thief, Gun Nut.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L

Strength: 7

Perception: 7

Endurance: 5

Charisma: 3

Intelligence: 5

Agility: 8

Luck: 5

Personality: As befits his mysterious nature, Marcus is not very telling about his personality. Mostly silent, he speaks when spoken to or if needed, but rarely voices his opinion on things unless he deems it necessary. He is also quite altruistic, often doing things to help others without expecting a reward in return. He thinks a lot and likes to strategise, but often he doesn't tell anyone about his plans in favour of the surprise approach.

Equipment:

• 2 x machetes
• 3 x whetstone
• 1 x 10mm pistol, silenced
• 3 x 10mm magazines, full
• 2 x combat knives
• 1 x switchblade
• 1 x roll of piano wire
• Trench coat
• Utility belt w/ pouches
• Light combat vest
• Cargo pants
• Military boots
• Leather driving gloves
• Black circular-lens shades
• 70 caps

Biography: Marcus Tremaine was born in Megaton to a pair of average parents in a time where life was still relatively peaceful. He grew up as a normal boy with a healthy life and healthy interests; drawing, adventuring, fiddling with things, so on and so forth. When he grew into his teens the more adept folk around town taught him more about the wasteland and life in it. He was taught how to fire a gun, how to identify if water sources were safe to drink, how to use a geiger counter, and so on. When he finally came of age and became an adult, he decided to leave. He packed what little he had and left town to wander the wasteland. Granted, this was long before the Wanderer stopped by his home town and activated the nuke sitting in the middle of it, destroying the entire town instantly.

Through his wanderings he discovered many things about the world he lived in, and honed his skills and talents in sneaking around, making himself invisible, killing silently and generally being a massive pain in the neck for anyone looking for him. Eventually, in Rivet City, a Brotherhood soldier found him "displaying" his talents (read: turning a mugger into kebab with his newly found machetes) and took him into the fold. They trained him, clothed him and fed him, though he expressed a big dislike for their heavy, unwieldly power armour, choosing instead to remain dressed as he was but armed with better, sharper, maintainable gear. For a good long while he rolled with the Brotherhood, mostly performing solo guerilla attacks against Enclave supply trains or troop transports to mess with their morale while the BoS focused on bigger targets. This was just about when the Wanderer teamed up with President Eden.

The good life was never to last with Marcus though, as during a raid one day on a supply convoy he was taken by surprise at how well the Enclave troops were armed. Outnumbered, outgunned and outclassed, Marc fought until his last, and upon his only escape attempt, he was blindsided by an explosion and thrown into a ditch, presumed dead. The Enclave left him and he laid there, unconscious, for days, before waking up in a daze and slowly staggering along the road until a passing merchant convoy stumbled upon him and took him in.

These merchants thought very little of this mysterious man that had turned up in the road, so they dropped him off at the next town they visited and left him there, where he received medical attention and a place to stay.

Of course, Marcus doesn't remember any of this at all, for when the explosion knocked him into the ditch, he hit his head on a stone, thereby rendering him a complete amnesiac. The only thing he remembers is his name. His skills come to him almost unconsciously, though he still struggles to recall how and when he learned how to do many of the things he does.

Other Notes/ETC:

• Marcus is a complete amnesiac struggling to regain his lost memories. Any characters asking him about his origins or his past will be met with a blank stare or a dull "I don't remember."

[Zaresto]

Name/Nicknames: Elysia Sykes

Race: Human, Asian

Age: 26

Appearance: Elysia stands at around 5’ 7”, with a B/W/H of 38/26/37 inches, weighing about 140 lbs. She is a very pale woman, although she is not as frail as she may seem. She has dark brown eyes and rather white teeth. Her short black hair is rarely touched or styled in any way.

Sexual Preferences: Heterosexual

Perks:

• Black Widow
• Sniper
• Gun Nut

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 4

Perception: 8

Endurance: 5

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 6

Agility: 7

Luck: 3

Personality: Like many wastelanders, Elysia maintains a wary and skeptical exterior. She exhibits extreme caution in any of her interactions, even if the other party is presumably friendly. Although not inherently pugnacious, Elysia is quick to react and quicker to shoot, but she sometimes finds herself shooting at wayward tin cans rather than the erroneously expected band of vicious goons.

While not generally manipulative, Elysia is no stranger to the art of cajolery and is willing to do most anything to get her way. She is well aware how well of a tool her body is.

On a completely different note, Elysia is considered a rather racist and prejudiced person, showing animosity towards ghouls, specifically. She will go out of her way to not interact with ghouls, sometimes showing outright hostility at them in the wasteland.

In general, Elysia is a careful and distrusting individual, one that can easily come off as cold and distant to those who she doesn’t care to manipulate. She is generally clear-headed and reacts quickly to any given situation. While she doesn’t consider herself a paragon of righteousness, Elysia still maintains her humanity and sometimes feels a call to do something for others.

However, there is another side to Elysia. Deep down, she is a woman who fears the wasteland. One whose paranoia engulfs her rationality. She feels alone and helpless at times. The wasteland has brought a grave toll upon Elysia, exacerbated by her constant solitude. Despite the chronic fear and pain brought upon her by the Wasteland, she manages to hide it to those she meets.

Sympathizes with:

• Enclave
• Brotherhood of Steel
• Wastelanders
• Tenpenny Tower

Is apathetic towards:

• Rivet City
• Outcasts

Despises:

• The Institute
• Raiders
• Slavers
• Ghouls
• Mutants

Equipment:

• Modified hunting rifle w/ Sniper Rifle scope
• Modified assault rifle w/ extended barrel
• Chinese pistol
• Binoculars
• Makeshift bedding
• Two packs of cigarettes
• Cigarette lighter
• Combat helmet
• Balaclava, one large opening for eyes
• Chinese Jumpsuit, with some stitching and leather padding
• Leather gloves
• 134 caps

Biography: In a small settlement somewhere in the remnants of southern Ohio or what would technically be referred to as the “East Central Commonwealth”, a child was born. The child was named Elysia, and local superstition marked her future as auspicious and eventful. Her parents, lowly farmers, poured much of their resources into raising their child. To them, Elysia was everything, and her only hope for escaping the poverty that chained her parents was a large skill-set. They taught her all that she needed to survive the wasteland and then some. The child had a particular knack for using rifles, always eager to help and shoot any pests slithering around the farm, though this was more for her pleasure rather than her parents’, as she also had a knack at mistaking crops for bloatflies.

Elysia’s life took a tragic turn when she was just seventeen. The family farm was stormed by a band of ghoul goons. It was the nearly time for bed when Elysia’s father heard some raucous voices coming from their field. Protective of both his land and his family, he went to investigate, rifle in hand. Unfortunately for him, this gang was too much to handle. An explosion rocked the house and the villains descended upon the family. Elysia was running down the stairs when she saw her father’s head get blown open. The last thing she saw before passing out was the face of the ghoul that killed her father, a sadistic grin implanted on his rotting flesh.

By the time Elysia woke up the band of raiders had left. She looked around and found herself laying in her bed, although she soon realized this wasn’t a dream. She dragged her aching and wounded body downstairs, where she found her parents, both dead on the floor, the local villagers casually conversing outside. It took a while for Elysia to calm down, but in the end she decided to leave everything behind. She took her father’s rifle and left the farm, wandering the wasteland like so many before her.

She generally doesn’t discuss many of the tales that happened to her after she left the farm, although it was, without a doubt, a difficult period in her life; one that brought many regrets upon Elysia. She spent most of her days doing odd jobs to people she met in the wastes, although she never delved into the world of prostitution.

She had most of her arsenal by the time she made it into the Capital Wasteland or “Graveyard”, as it is now more commonly referred to. On top of this, she knew what dangers the wasteland posed and how to deal with it. Elysia considered herself a rather experienced wastelander, but nothing could prepare her for what she saw in DC. She arrived approximately a year after the Lone Wanderer’s escapades and was shocked by the degree of penury and misery in the area. She explored the Capital Graveyard, looking in areas the Lone Wanderer had already explored, trying to find something of value.

Although she is worried about the ramifications of the Enclave’s bout with the Institute, she has already assumed that the conflict will have little effect on her way of life.

Other Notes/ETC: Is a light smoker.

[Dead Cruiser]

Name/Nicknames: Sgt. Darrel "Toasty" Scott

Race: Human

Age: 33

Appearance: Scott has the bearing of a veteran soldier; a sharp eye, a surly expression, and a posture ready to snap into action at any time. His hair is kept cropped short, and he is usually clean-shaven, save for when on long maneuvers. Fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes, combined with Scott's classic, easy features and well-balanced build give him a distinct "all-American" appearance. Even so, numerous large scars cover Scott's body, be they from bullets, blades, flames or lasers. Much of Scott's torso is covered in an artificial skin mesh, as are large portions of his left arm and three mechanical fingers; the result of cybernetic prostheses being used to restore battle wounds.

Sexual Preferences: Grey-Asexual

Perks:

• Pyromaniac
• Cyborg
• Rad Resistance

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

• Strength: 6
• Perception: 7
• Endurance: 6
• Charisma: 3
• Intelligence: 5
• Agility: 8
• Luck: 5

Personality: Scott's personality varies quite wildly depending on present company. Among his comrades and superiors in the Enclave, he is a completely reasonable person; friendly and relaxed, if a bit stiff at times. Outside of the Enclave, however, Scott resembles their ideal of a pitiless killer. He feels no compassion for the vast majority of wastelanders, seeing them as subhuman mutants. Literal mutants earn his outright hatred, rather than contempt, and he considers the only good mutant to be a dead one. Despite his genocidal urges, he believes that he (and of course by extension, the Enclave) are doing the best thing for the wasteland; purging it of corruption before it can be rebuilt into something great again.

Equipment:

• Enclave Hellfire Armor
• Heavy Incinerator
• Enclave Plasma Pistol
• Combat Knife
• Plasma Grenade, 3
• Flamer Fuel, 100 units
• Energy Cell, 40
• Stimpack, 6
• RadAway, 3
• MRE, 5
• Purified Water, 6 bottles

Biography: Scott is Enclave, born and raised. His father was one of the few surviving soldiers to follow Autumn Sr. from the ruins of Navarro to Washington D.C. His mother was a nurse stationed in the med bay in Raven Rock, and it was in that base that Scott was born. There were few children among the Enclave, as among the handful that were born, the ones with mutations were cast out into the wasteland. As such, Scott was raised among soldiers and power armor, rather than teachers and toys. He received a compulsory education, of course, consisting mostly of political dogma and ideology. In time, Scott grew into exactly what the Enclave hoped that all children could be: a hateful, xenophobic killer, with a love for his country and only disgust toward everyone else.

Scott enlisted in the Enclave's army when he became of age (not that there was much choice for him), and spent his early years providing armed support to President Eden's work on the Mobile Base Crawler in Andrews AFB. His father, who had been a part of the Enclave's attempted usurpation of the original Project Purity, died of radiation poisoning in this time, and though Scott grieved for his father, he secretly pitied him for having not been allowed a soldier's death.

Scott's first taste of real combat was the war against the Brotherhood of Steel, following the return of Project Purity. He proved himself exceptionally in combat, completing numerous sorties. Scott came to consider a maneuver with less than a dozen confirmed kills on his part to be poor performance, and challenged himself to excel. He was wounded in several instances, and came to have three of his major internal organs and a large portion of his left arm replaced with cybernetics.

Following the fruition of the President's plans for Project Purity, Scott was selected as a candidate for the Hellfire Armor project, and was deployed with experimental armor and weapons in the continued efforts to eradicate the Brotherhood of Steel, Super Mutants, and other such undesirables from Washington D.C. Scott found this work quite to his liking, particularly the use of a Heavy Incinerator to "cleanse" the deep-rooted foulness in the Wasteland. Hellfire Armor has gained greater deployment following the successful use of it by Scott and other early candidates, but Scott is still recognized by his peers as one of the finest Hellfire troopers in the Enclave.

Other Notes/ETC: Scott's squad, one of the earliest Hellfire Trooper teams, is currently on maneuver deep within the D.C. Metropolitan area, seeking to wipe out a small Super Mutant encampment detected by an Eyebot.

[Sophrus]

Hider

Name/Nicknames: Jim

Race: Ghoul

Age: Unknown (pre-nukes)

Appearance:Like This

Sexual Preferences: none

Perks:
Robotics Expert
Gun Nut
Prospector
Racial Perk:
Radiation Immunity (Ghoul)

S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength 5
perception 5
endurance 7
Charisma 3
Intelligence 8
Agility 7
Luck 5

Equipment
Combat armor
Raider blastmaster helmet
Sniper Rifle
9mm handgun
food + water
some spare parts (Sniper rifle repair)
683 caps
“Frank” (The Baseball)
tools for repair and modification of robots or weapons.

Personality:
Jim has been driven slightly mad by his years and years of isolation and he is apathetic towards most things, and just trying to live his life, such as, who lives or dies really doesn't make much difference to him. He has taken up adventuring mostly due to boredom. He does hide the fact he is a Ghoul only because it makes his life easier if people don't know. Otherwise he is a savvy salvager, who can always make a quick buck by going into highly irradiated areas.

Bio: Jim woke up after some strange noises and flashes of light, 'odd thunderstorm' he though. After a few moments the house above him was torn from the ground. Living in the basement was probably the luckiest thing he had ever done. The rubble above him protected him from the infernal heat of the warheads, but not the radiation. After a couple of days his skin began to rot away from him but it never killed him. Within a week of the nuclear blasts, he was a Ghoul. Although the term hadn't been invented yet. He survived the radiation, and everyone and everthing died so fast there was plenty to eat if he wasn't being picky. Radiation had killed most of the bacteria in the food near him and it didn't seem to be effecting him at all, so he continued to survive. He became eccentric due to his isolation, but managed to live long enough to cultivate “crops”. It was mutated strains of food growing crops but it seemed to work. He did very little exploration for many many years because he assumed everyone was dead and he would die eventually too.

One day, he met “frank”. Frank was a simple baseball and had done very little with his life but Jim had made him his friend. Frank is a very good friend, always listened but had very little to say. Jim befiriended the baseball because he was afraid that the years of isolation might effect his mind some day and decided to take preventative measures to ensure that he remains "sane"

Eventually Jim began hearing things from above. He decided to leave and explore. He was unsure of the time that had passed and wanted to see if anything had changed. And they have. He met his first Super Mutant, who was a decent sort and only tried to kill Jim twice. Jim sensed that maybe this giant green man might not be the most friendly and decided to lose him in the ruins of DC. Which was a simple task and struck out on his own to learn of the world.

During his exploration he learned much, like that Ghouls are feared and often shot at or beaten on site. So he cobbled together a set of armor that would be passable in most of the non-mutated settlements. It took him some time and a few excursions to irradiated military bases to build himself a reasonable set of armor. During his exploration he managed to find a very nicely preserved sniper rifle and hand gun, and decided that a life full of adventuring and exploration would do him, and frank, some good. also during his travels he became quite adept at repair and engineering. a great deal of it is jury rigged and held together with duct tape and wire, but it works.

[ClocktowerEchos]

Odysseus

"Congratulations, you now are lacking proper blood circulation in your right arm with all of it going to your head and swelling you brain to dangerous proportions, causing hallucinations of your own incompetence and egotism. I give you about 5 hours to live, enjoy it."

Name:
Odysseus aka Android O4-35

Race:
Male Android

Age:
Appears mid-30's

Sexuality:
Straight

Appearance:
Odysseus looks like any average, slightly-grizzled man. He stands at 5 foot 8 inches with a slightly skinny build and sports sapphire blue eyes and untidy black hair that he combs over sometimes complete with a something between an almost-beard and whiskers and a hidden scar on the back of his head. On his left arm is a bloodied bandage which he claims is a stubborn gunshot wound but is really a patch of missing fake skin that reveals his android parts, a trophy from his escape attempt.

Personality:
Odysseus an android doctor who is apathetic and indifferent at best and sarcastic and mocking at worse. This is mostly due to him receiving a lead pipe to his CPU during his escape, rending his personality matrix a bit bugged to say the least. He honestly couldn't care less about anyone, even his patients as long as they live (or some close equivalent). Death and gore do not faze him due to 1) he's an android and 2) he deals with worse almost on a daily basis sometimes. And while he understands emotions, he finds them annoying and tedious. Hints of narcissism aren't uncommon either.

Towards robots and other androids however, he exhibits rare signs of care for them, or what goes down as "care" in his book, looking out for their outcomes in life. Should anyone mention android hunters or the Institute around him, there's a good chance they'll end up in his clinic. While he doesn't expressly say he's an android, he doesn't care if anyone finds out as long as they aren't trying to take him back. People who do find out are often rewarded with a snarky comment and a single Mentat.

Speech wise, he often makes reference to various body parts or medical/sciencey things when he threatens people or is just being snarky. While not monotonous, he doesn't exhibit a wide range of vocal patterns either. For some unknown reason that he can't even figure out, he speaks with a slight British accent, his best guess is that the guy who created him was British.

Biography:
Like all androids, he was created and programed at the Institute in the Commonwealth. Originally planned to be a doctor's assistant, he posses better hand motors than most androids to allow him to preform very precise movements. His days were filled with healing the Commonwealth's sick and wounded but also wound up working on android repairs due to the fact he could make such precise adjustments. Of course, he was a lot friendlier back then, acting like a well mannered British gentleman than his current snarky sarcastic bastard.

It would be as he fixed his fellow androids that he learned of the concept of "freedom" and was immediately intrigued by the idea and began working on an escape plan, using the time he had repairing other androids to conspire with them and over hearing the guards and humans in the hospital. He and five other fellow androids made an elaborate plan to freedom which almost worked perfectly, almost. One of the guards who was stumbling around drunk saw them and the Synth Retention Bureau jumped on them. Three of them were caught soon after their plan started, but Odysseus and the others got out, but not before the drunk guard managed to throw a surprisingly well aimed pipe at the back of his head, confusing him and changing his personality.

Soon after the escape, the other three androids disappeared into the wasteland, leaving Odysseus to his own means. Deciding to make some effort at blending in, used his skills and acted as a traveling surgeon and ended up in the Capital Wasteland as "Dr. Odysseus PhD". He is often found traveling between Canterbury Commons, Rivet City and Megaton.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength - 5
Perception - 7
Endurance - 5
Charisma - 3
Intelligence - 9
Agility - 5
Luck - 6

Perks:
Prospecter
Robotics Expert

Inventory:

Medical Stuff

• Stimpack x 10
• Doctor's Bag x 2
• Med-X x 4
• Radaway x 1
• Rad-X x 1
• Buffout x 1
• Jet x 2
• Fixer x 2
• Bottle of Vodka
• Surgical Equipment (Scalps, bandages, braces, ect.)

Equipment

• Knife
• Switchblade
• Chines Pistol
• 10mm bullets x 47
• Micro-Fusion Cells x 11
• Wasteland Doctor Fatigues
• Lab Coat
• Grey Headband
• Sunglasses
• 278 Caps

Major Skills:
Medicine
Science
Melee Weapons

Minor Skills:
Repair
Barter
Small Guns

Misc. Notes:
- He takes advantage of the fact that he can't get drunk and has become a sort of connoisseur for alcohol's, able to tell what's cheap and what's the real good stuff. Also useful when testing for poisons.
- While he isn't exactly a socialite, he can drive a hard bargain with merchants for extra medical supplies and stuff like that.
- Can be deviously creative when it comes to improvising medical equipment and a limited number of traps he's devised over the years.
- Although he might not look like it, he enjoys collecting Old World music of any kind and has amassed a small, interesting collection of them which he plays when he's alone or bored.

[TheUnknowable]

Mr. Smarty

Name/Nicknames:Mr. Smarty, MS-001

Race: Robco Prototype

Age: 204 (Conscious for 2.3)

Appearance:
Plasma gun is replaced with a laser emitter, and flamethrower is replaced with an arc welder.

Sexual Preferences: I am not programmed for such activity, though I should be able to adapt should the situation call for it.

Perks: Supercapacitors (+20 AP), Cybernetic brain (+10 Science, +5 repair), robotics expert

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Converting specifications to SPECIAL standard:

Strength: 3
Perception: 10
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 7
Luck: 6

Personality: Logical and literal.

Equipment: 726 caps, a fission battery (for recharging when needed), Weapon repair kit (for self maintenance), built in laser emitter (for cutting metal), built in arc welder (can be used as a weapon for shock damage and stunning)

Biography: When the US Government grew concerned with a decrease in recruitment and the relatively high cost of continuously supplying human troops, they looked replace some of the humans in the military with robots. While the military was already saturated with Mr. Gutsys and other battle robots, one Colonel came up with the idea of replacing engineers and quartermasters with robots. His CO agreed with the idea, and so the Pentagon commissioned Robco to produce a prototype robot to fulfill these roles.
The result of their work was Mr. Smarty. With more than ten times the memory and three times the processing power of a Mr. Gutsy, his heuristic algorithms are capable of adapting to changing situations, though this happens slower than humans the first time he is exposed to a situation. He is equipped with tools for his job, and is programmed with schematics for thousands of items. He also has a targeting system similar to the VATS system, as he is a military robot.
After his creation, however, the military became concerned that his heuristic algorithms could leave him vulnerable to propaganda, brainwashing, and even torture. Robco was ordered to remove them, but the engineers saw no way to do that without having him adapt to a wide variety of situations, then simplifying the program by only allowing it to choose between known scenarios. They left him on for more than a year, trying to educate him by having him interact with them as they did their job, but failed to create a replacement with his memory files by the Operation Anchorage deadline. That, combined with the huge starting cost of production and a per-unit cost of double what a Mr. Gutsy would go for lead to the government canceling the project. Mr. Smarty was placed in storage in the Robco facility in D.C..
More than two hundred years later the Enclave found him and convinced him that they were the US government. He served them for several months before learning the truth about them and President Eden, thanks to the actions of the Lone Wanderer. He ran away one night when they sent him out to fix a broken vehicle, and has been wandering the wastes doing odd jobs for money since.

Other Notes/ETC:

[rivaan]

Natasha

Name/Nicknames: Natasha “Tasha”

Race: Android

Age: 17

Appearance: 1.65m tall, with straight long black hair reaching to her shoulders and light green eyes. Her body appears to be very slim and it almost seems like she is on the edge of being terribly underweight, though it appears that’s not that case.

Sexual Preferences: Bisexual

Perks:

-Gunslinger
-Scoundrel

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 4

Perception: 6

Endurance: 4

Charisma: 6

Intelligence: 9

Agility: 7

Luck: 4

Personality: Tasha is a very happy and overly energetic girl. She is fast on her feet and often makes snap decisions. An important trait of hers is her great curiosity that displays in number of ways such as the desire to hack every terminal she finds and learn it’s secrets or just the usual exploring ruined buildings to find the things that hide in them.

Another trait of hers is her fear of close combat in which she is quite bad at. She prefers to hold distance from opponents and to run from people who try to get close and chop her to pieces. The strength of that fear makes it highly possible that something happened in her past to cause a trauma especially towards people holding knives at her. She tends to shoot those on sight.

A hobby of hers is reading books.

Equipment: 1x10mm pistol; 2x10mm ammo clips; Pre-war business suit; makeshift backpack; kitchen knife; 2 pre-war books(children fairytales); piece of metal pipe, reading glasses, 2x stimpaks, .44 revolver, 12x .44 bullets, breather unit.

Caps: 75

Biography: Tasha herself doesn’t know she is an android. For some reason one day she just woke up completely naked in the wilderness. Her memories from before her waking up in the wasteland were incredibly hazy and torn. She only has vague understanding she was from the Commonwealth, but ran away for some reason and the only clue she had was what appeared to be burnt marks on her neck from most likely electricity. She assumed she was most likely hit by some kind of shocking weapon, stripped of all she had and then left for dead… or maybe they thought she was dead for some reason. She had no idea, whatever the reason was, she at least was alive.

Stumbling through the desolate wasteland barefooted, she eventually found herself at the ruins of a few houses. Without much choice in the matter, she quickly ran through them, searching for everything that may be of use. There wasn’t much on the way of loot there, but she still managed to at least find some clothes a few caps and a knife.

From that moment onwards, Tasha barely made a living as a scavenger as she wandered the area in search for things to loot and sell later. It wasn’t much, but she at least could manage to live and rent a room from time to time to sleep normally, feeling secure in towns. Her latest travels brought her to Rivet city where she has been around for a few weeks, hoping she may find a job for herself, somewhere around the town. Be it even as a simple maintenance or cleaning duty as long as it pays for a living.

Other Notes/ETC:

[Ehkru]

Name/Nicknames: James Weatherly, ‘The Trailbeater”

Race: Human.

Age: Twenty-Nine.

Appearance: Standing at a touch shy of six foot six, James stands out amongst his fellow humans and most other bipeds (Super Mutants being the main exception) as a remarkably tall fellow. This, combined with his average, lean build, makes him a noticeable chap in a crowd. His skin is tanned from long exposure to the wastelands and he sports a few bullet and knife scars from various adventures, mostly on his torso and arms, with the upper edge of one knife wound peeking over his collar. He keeps his dark brown hair tied back in a short ponytail and his facial hair as neat as possible for being out in the wastes for extended periods of times, though of course this does leave him looking a bit rugged and unkempt. He views the world through deep green eyes.

Sexual Preferences: Heterosexual.

Perks:
• Gun Nut.
• Prospector.
• Size Matters.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 3

Perception: 8

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 5

Luck: 4

Personality: A true believer that if you want to survive in the Capital Wasteland, you have to take life by the Brahmin horns, James is a go-getter with a measure of calm and patience that many years exploring the wastes has bestowed upon him. As a prospector, trail-blazer, guide and bodyguard, James has dealt with all manner of people in his life and knows his way around a conversation. That isn’t to say he’s entirely open or without prejudices. While he will work for most people, he is wary of Ghouls (although not entirely against them as a whole) and absolutely abhors slavers, raiders and the Enclave. He has had limited contact with The Institute, but believes them to be perhaps even more dangerous than the Enclave and deals with them with a great amount of hesitance and trepidation.

Around the settlements of the Capital Wasteland, James is known and liked by most, having built good connections with trading posts and communities throughout the years and this is reflected in the good nature with which he will approach most people and how easily he can fit into a group. If you end up what James would call a friend, he would wrestle a Deathclaw for you.

Equipment:
• Leather Armour, with some modifications cobbled together from other sets of armour James has found in the wastes, a metal plate here, a pouch there, that kind of thing.
• A Regulator Duster, beaten and patched. It is worth noting that James himself is not part of the Regulators and due to the continued wear and tear on the garment and the endless patching, it is more a practical item now than a symbol of the group.
• Combat Helmet, personalized with the number 21 one the side (already on the piece when James got it) and tally marks of his confirmed slaver kills, currently at eleven marks.
• Sunglasses.
• Binoculars.
• Lever Action Rifle that James came by whilst on a escort job to Point Lookout some years back. He uses this rifle sparingly, on ‘big game’ and slavers, as it is harder to repair than his other weapons due to parts.
• Hunting Rifle. James’ bread and butter weapon, easy enough to repair, accurate and powerful enough to put down most threats.
• .32 Pistol. Kept as a holdout and last resort weapon, as James prefers two-handed weapons, his .32 pistol rarely see’s use unless he is out of options or needs something smaller. Often, he will allow traders and the like that he escorts, to use the weapon so they are not defenseless themselves.
• Four boxes of .32 ammunition.
• Three boxes of 10mm ammunition.
• Four Stimpacks
• Six Radaways
• Map of the Capital Wasteland.
• Three bottles of purified water.
• Makeshift bedding.
• Supply bag for his gear.


Biography: Born in unassuming circumstances to unassuming settlers in Rivet City, James Weatherly has led a mostly normal life, well, as normal as you can get in the post apocalyptic wastelands of America anyway. He gained a basic education, as did everyone else in the city and once he was old enough, he began accompanying his father on trade caravans out into the wastes. By the time he was fifteen, James had visited a majority of settlements in the Capital Wasteland. He showed a natural affinity for being out in the wastes, far more comfortable in the wild than cooped up on the carrier he was born on and spent more and more time out with his father or indeed with other trade caravans running out of the city. It was on these trade runs that he honed his shooting skills, helping defend them from mutated beasts, raiders, slavers and even Enclave scouting parties at times. By the age of twenty, James was a regular on the caravans, heading up security for the long trips to Canterbury Commons, Megaton and other settlements dotted through the wastes.

But soon he found it wasn’t enough. Much to his parents disapproval, James began to venture out on his own into the world and more and more he found himself on the roads, protecting traders or escorting settlers, until the road just became a way of life for him. He gained his leather armour in this time, as payment for a transport job and with a strong sense of wanting to not only explore the wastes, but try and make it a little safer for those who simply wanted to survive, James threw himself head long into a life of a self appointed wasteland protector. He would offer his services to all those who needed them, to begin with, even working with ghouls happily for a time.

Unfortunately he was to learn lessons about the wasteland the hard way. His trust of the ghouls was severely shaken during a job he had undertaken to help a family of settlers move some distance away from their home, having decided to join a small community that had been building themselves up. The group included three ghouls who were apparently hired hands of the family he was helping. Whether it was simple greed or a predetermined desire to punish the community, the mission went south upon arrival, the group being besieged by a group of ghouls on the border of being feral and the three in the group, that James had worked along side, turned on their employers. Thankfully James and the family were able to fend of the ghouls and only a handful of lives were lost, but James found himself untrusting of their kind from that day on.

Over the years, James has travelled the Capital Wasteland extensively and has even visited other areas, spending a couple of months in the Point Lookout area, where he picked up his lever action rifle on a job there escorting a scientist who wanted to study local flora and fauna. The previous owner of the rifle had no further need for it after an ill-conceived night ambush on James and his charge. He has had limited dealings with the Institute in his travels and now they are in the Capital Wasteland, he is ever wary of their influence. Worse still than the Institute though, in James’ mind, are the salvers and raiders of the wasteland. He has seen, far too often, the effect of these groups on families and settlements and as they pose the biggest organized threat to the safety and security of the people of the wasteland, he has decided that justice needs to be administered one bullet at a time. His recent decision to actively target slavers and raiders has added to the tally marks on his helmet, as he wages a one man war on their despicable practices.

In the years since leaving home, James has travelled, built up relationships throughout the wasteland, visited other areas, both for work as well as to sate his curiosity for exploration and honed his skills to become a competent and accomplished wanderer.

Other Notes/ETC:
• Enjoys a good smoke, and a strong drink now and then.

[xCRAZYxFACEx]

Name: Terry the Terrible

Race: Ghoul

Age: Pre-War

Appearance: Much like other Ghouls, Terry's hair has fallen out, and his skin is a mottled grey-yellow. However, most of the time he is inside his chinese Dragoon armor, from his time before the war started. Aside from that, large parts of his body are composed of cybernetics, most of them by choice from his many years of living. Both arms have been completely replaced, his legs have been augmented though not removed, and he has received ocular implants that improve his vision. The last implant causes his eyes to glow a dull blue.

Sexual Preference: Asexual

Perks:
Thief
Ninja
Cyborg

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 7

Perception: 8

Endurance: 4

Charisma: 3

Intelligence: 8

Agility: 8

Luck: 2

Personality: Terry's personality could be likened to a flame: he can help those he considers friend, of which there are few, but treat him wrong and he'll become a raging torrent that consumes anything that comes his way. That isn't to say he will become out of control; instead he will methodically plan out his revenge, and then strike when his opponent least expects it. Whether it be a simple prank or full blown murder depends on the slight against him.

It doesn't help that he's gruff and seems to have no way with words. And that he's a ghoul. And chinese. And a cyborg.

Equipment:

• Chinese Stealth Armor (well worn but still serviceable)
• Chinese pistol (nearly broken)
• Chinese sword
• Plasma Rifle
• Ripper
• 10 stimpacks
• 965 caps

Biography: A former Chinese espionage agent, Terry worked along with other chinese agents at Mama Dolce's factory near Arlington Cemetery. Being one of the few Dragoons stationed in America, he was tasked with protecting the other agents in the event of a war or their discovery. The war came first.

Not long after the nukes went off, the workers in the factory became ghouls due to the radiation, and Terry was no exception. Knowing they would need supplies, Terry became the scavenger of the group, going out for supplies and trading for bits and pieces. In this way, his knowledge of the english language excelled while the skills of those at the factory floundered.

A few years before the present day, Terry was out on one of his supply runs when the Lone Wanderer attacked the factory. When he came back, all of his colleagues were dead, and checking the factory cameras he saw that a single man had done the deed. He swore revenge, and soon found out the man who had massacred Mama Dolce's factory was working with the Enclave. Already hateful of the Enclave for their supremacist views, Terry's loathing for them only increased. He now swears revenge against both the Lone Wanderer and the Enclave.

With almost nothing left from his chinese heritage, Terry left behind his original name, and began to use his scavenger name full time. He has never looked back, but has never forgotten the crimes committed against him.

Other Notes: Terry rarely if ever takes off his stealth armor. It hides the fact that he's a ghoul and a cyborg, and it lets him turn invisible at a moment's notice. He's become rather attached to it.

[The Nexerus]

Name/Nicknames: Doctor Kenneth White, or simply 'Dr. White'.

Race: Human.

Age: 59.

Appearance



A tall, somewhat pale man; sturdily built, but aged. His balding, white hair is nonetheless neatly groomed. Rather than a lab-coat, he is commonly found in a suit and tie, his glasses cleanly polished and his eyes looking down on those around him in the way a professor might look at a drop-out—unimpressed, but also disappointed. Dr. White presents himself more immediately as a diplomat than the distinguished scientist he is in truth.

Sexual Preferences: Uninterested.

Perks: Scoundrel, Gunslinger, Robotics Expert.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L

Strength: 3

Perception: 7

Endurance: 3

Charisma: 8

Intelligence: 11

Agility: 3

Luck: 5

Personality: Whilst most of the inhabitants of the Capital Graveyard tend to be weary of strangers, but then friendly once you get to know them, Dr. White is the precise opposite. He presents himself as an overwhelmingly kind, humble and generous man, but to those that know him he is a heartless monster that desires progress above all else, including human life. Despite his lack of affection for humanity, however, Dr. White is in fact quite proud of his own. He is resolutely and entirely human; no cybernetics, no synthetic attachments, no unnatural body modifications of any sort. Dr. White in fact looks down on those men and women who choose to cyberneticize themselves. His insistence is that the domain of the automatons is to serve humanity, and intentionally turning oneself into part robot would be akin to a free man attaching a collar around his own neck.

Running tandem to Dr. White's anti-cyborg views are his opposition to living 'in the waste'. Dr. White sees the wanderers of the wasteland, prospectors and adventurers and the sort, as childish fools. He is immensely distrustful, perhaps fairly, of the men and communities of the waste, and wishes to see the wasteland shanty towns (e.g. Megaton) replaced with more civilized communities, which put greater emphasis on distinguishing themselves from the violence and incivility of the outside world. This train of thought is to be taken with a grain of salt, however. Although Dr. White has his own views on how the Wasteland should be organized, they do not necessarily represent his organization, and his solitary goal in the Capital Graveyard is the acquisition of new (and old, lost) technology. Everything else is secondary.

Equipment: Two Synths, which serve as bodyguards. They are entirely indistinguishable from human beings to even the most perceptive of Wastelanders, and appear as imposing, well-built men in all black suits and dark sunglasses. Their load-outs are prominently carried V2.0 recharger pistols (fully automatic Microfusion Hyperbreeders), and their names are Dextro and Sinistro. For personal defence, Dr. White also carries a loaded, concealed .44 Magnum revolver, which he calls 'Anastasia'. A single spare .44 round magazine and a large amount of caps (1,000) are on his person as well.

Biography: A native of the Commonwealth, Kenneth White's upbringing was one of near total safety and security within the sealed environment of The Institute. Born and raised of two scientists, Kenneth's progression into the role of a man of science was an entirely natural one. His amoralism did not descend from his upbringing, or from the nature of the Institute, but rather from continued attempts and inevitable failures at improving the world around him. An exquisitely intelligent person, Kenneth sometimes has difficulty translating his thoughts into a manner of speech which can be easily understood, making any conversation of a sufficiently developed nature with an insufficiently developed person quite tiring.

This abrasiveness, and the naivety of all young scientists, led newly Doctor Kenneth White to many a failure in his first handful of excursions outside of the Institute. Whichever town he visited or wanderer be ran across with his team would either be hostile, and therefore fodder for their androids, or too distrustful of the Institute and its members to meaningfully enact any suggestions—even those born out of relatively common sense. It was not long before Dr. White came to view the Wastes, either of the Commonwealth or the Capital Graveyard, as places of helpless regression. From there, it was not hard to make the leap that perhaps, if their inevitable downward spiral were to be accelerated, it might do what remained of the thinking man's world some good.

Allegiance: The Institute.

[Wade Wilson]

Name/Nicknames: John, Anonymous, "Anon" (Pronounced Ay-non)

Race: Human

Age: 31

Appearance:

John sports a certain gas mask, but underneath it is a scruffy face with scraggly stubble, roughly shaved each morning, more than likely with broken glass. His once bright blue eyes now seem grey and lifeless, with a thick scar running under his right eye. He has a smooth British accent, not too posh and not too cockney, with a bit of an American accent bleeding through due to spending so much time around Americans.

Sexual Preferences: Asexual

Perks:

• Thief
• Rad Resistance
• Scoundrel

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 6

Perception: 6

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 4

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 6

Luck: 5

Personality: John is quite anti-social, having been plagued by paranoia in the past, and has issues with trust. He acts quite tough and rowdy towards people, but if you get to know him, it's just to cover up his anxiety and frustration at life. Like most people, John grew up in a dump, but he had the worst betrayal possible. Unless you become completely close with him - which isn't likely giving his position - you will only see him as an anonymous stranger, walking about in this shithole just like the rest. He is very privative, so most people just call him Anon or Anonymous. Nobody actually knows his name due to this. Although, if you do ever manage to gain his trust, he is a very valuable asset due to his strange immunity to radiation and excellent survival skills, along with his melee and survival skills.

However, on his own or around people he knows, John acts very differently. He loosens up, and just seems to forget the struggle of the wasteland, instead spending time to help out people, or even perfom Anything Goes once in a while. He does sometimes wish that he could see Andy again, and that they could forget what happened, but knows that it'd never work out. Putting all other things aside, John is very carefree and just cares about protecting his friends.

Equipment:
Caps: 487
Melee Weapons:

• Survival Knife
• "Stunbat" (Modified Baseball Bat, additional wire with a 1 in 5 chance of stunning opponents)
• Iron Knuckles

Ranged Weapons:

• Silenced 10mm Pistol
• Assault Rifle
• Chinese Assault Rifle
• Railway Rifle
• Hunting Rifle

Food:

• 13x Salisbury Steak
• 7x Yum Yum Devilled Eggs
• 2x Blamco Mac N' Cheese
• 17x Nuka Cola
• 12x Iguana Bits
• 4x Bubblegum
• 9x Cram

Drugs:

• 9x Jet
• 6x Buffalo
• 14x Stimpacks

Alcohol:

• 5x Whiskey
• 1x Moonshine
• 11x Vodka

Bobbleheads:

• Science Bobblehead
• Perception Bobblehead
• Agility Bobblehead

Clothing:

• Wasteland Wanderer (Armoured)
• Gas Mask (Modified "Makeshift Gas Mask")

Extra:
Various tradable junk ranging from a value of 3 - 41 caps

Biography: John grew up in a small town (now destroyed by the Enclave) near Megaton in the Capital Graveyard. He made a best friend for life - a boy named Andy - and they did everything together. At the age of 17 they were still inseparable. Until, a few years later, they were on a raiding mission. Andy led John into a room with the rest of the team, claiming he'd found something amazing. Seconds later, all John could see was smoke and blood, before he blacked out. He woke up a week later, tied to a post in the middle of nowhere. Andy had betrayed him, and destroyed their entire friendship. John lost everything. His pride, his dignity, his social skills, and his clothes. He was eventually cut down after being beaten up by raiders and stripped clean of what little he had left, before setting off to Rivet City to decide his fate.

For three years he wandered the Graveyard, before deciding to go back to what he did best - raiding and scavenging. He managed to get enough items to start him off (including hand crafted armour) before he hit the road. Nine years later and he's gained ultimate survival skills, and a strange sort of immunity to radiation.

Other Notes/ETC: John enjoys listening to a lot of GNR songs, mainly being Anything Goes.

[Kingfisher]

Name/Nicknames: Synthetia 52/ The Beast of Boston

Race: Android

Age: ?

Appearance:



Possessing a lithe body, with deathly pale artificial flesh, Synthetia 52 has a sleek, steely form which resembles that of a human female. Modeled off of one of the Commonwealth's most vicious and battle-hardened criminals, Synthetia has an athletic stature, built to the peak of physical fitness. A mop of messy artificial blue curls fall down around her neck, and hyper-advanced synthetic eyes sit in plastic sockets.

Sexual Preferences: None.

Perks: Robot Expert, Cyborg

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 7

Perception: 7

Endurance: 7

Charisma: 4

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 5

Luck: 3

Personality: Cold and calculating, Syntheitia 52 has a killer's mind, and the skills to match. She is a battle-hardened and merciless machine, devoid of diffuse emotions.

Equipment: Assault rifle (well-maintained), Shock Sword, Chinese Stealth armour (modified).

Biography: Bloody Harriet was a notorious villain amongst the peoples of the Commonwealth; a ruthless and sadistic barbarian of the wastes, who led the infamous Bleeding Scar raider clan. The Scars looted and pillaged all across Boston, until some of the Institute's top Synth militias brought about their swift and gruesome end.

Harvesting Bloody Harriet's brain, the scientists of the Institute set about developing their ideal monstrous killer, harnessing the women's skills and tactical efficiency.

After many failed attempts, Synthetia 52 was born; a tyrannical abomination, unlike anything the Wasteland had ever seen.

Having been recently deployed to the Capital Graveyard, Synthetia is the Institute's ultimate secret weapon, and is ready and primed to be utilized against Enclave forces.

Other Notes/ETC: None