[CHAR] Fallout: King and Country

[TTNoobs]

Wigstan

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Appearance: Wigstan is remarkably well preserved complexion, spending much of his life downwind of the sedgy, untainted expanse of the brecon mountains and far from the near-glowing-green hulks of decaying cities to the east.
A wanderer at heart, he grows his hair thick and matted, a crude first-line against the winters, made ever more bitter by the scattered trees and dusty atmosphere thrown up over 200 years ago, and his face is smoothed and wind-beaten,
pinking at the rounds of his cheek and on the bridge of his too-short nose. His face casts a stoic picture - his lips almost perma-chapped and tucked into the mouth, and his eyes plumped from squinting at the winds and the cold of
the exposed flatland-midlands. Nonetheless, he is considered to be of a mild, bland sort of attractiveness, despite a just north of lithe build.

Race: Human

Personality: Wigstan has grown to be tired and revulsed at the sedentary, subsistent lifestyle that abounds by necesity in the wasteland, finding himself much more at home on the road, camped out and freezing in one England's more
dramatic landmarks, ones ancient even to the pre-war world. As a result, he has become rather brusk and condescending with the more "simple" folk he encounters in villages, but becomes all the more animated when talk turns to the
curisoities and wonders to be found away from the bounds of villages and farms. Having grown up in the relatively untouched midlands, he reacts with depression and hopelessness when shown the scars left on the old world - so much of his drive
life derived from a hope for the future. Nonetheless, he is not openly rude or anti-social, and makes for an excitable travelling companion.

Skills/Attributes: Masterful swordsman, owed to his time spent in the The Ordinem Caelitum, Wigstan is less adept at hand-to-hand encounters, relying instead on dodging the clumsy swings of his opponent and revealing a crippling weakspot. This is not an exact science, and through his travels Wigstan has accumulated quite a few mis-set bones from mistimed steps and aborted parries. He is also an acomplished trekker and survivalist, having spent many years onthe road, learning the tropes of the land so as to find likely shelter and food. Unlike most in the wasteland, he can also read and write well.

Back-story:

Parental Information

Wigstan's parents were well into their thrities when they finally resolved to have a child, far above the "safe" age in the virulent and tumutltous wasteland which has kept life expectancy to a barbaric minimum. They had metas travellers, his mother in the ethnic sense, the daughter of the remenants of the English rooted sect of "Irish travellers" turned to horse-cart trading and roaming once more with the destruction of the roots of the cities. Wigstan's father had been a soldier-of-fortune for a decade of his twenty-eight year life when he stumbled into to the trading forum of his future-wife, Rosy, and whilst the travellers were habitually insular, marrying their offspring only to membersof what now constitutes a tribe, the air of the foreign, of individuality about a man who made a living apart from a family and a band drew Wigstan's mother to elope.

Together, they roamed the crumbling "Great Em-Six" as far north as Manchester and Carlile and south to where the severn met the irradiated sea and was absorbed by it, where bone-ridged, cripple-like dolphins could been seen poking a long,irradiated snout from beneath the foam. They became a couple of some fame, and oftetimes being sought out by desperate town-dwellers beset by maddened ghouls or those who would much rather take than wait and let grow their sustenance fora swift, and invariably deadly solution.

This notority, however, begot a bitter price. To thrive, the famously chaste Ordinem demanded tribute from those it ministered to, including, with pious generoisty, the Traveller clans. It had been many years since the Ordinem last exacted their gambit, and tales of a mercenary couple, one half sporting orange-tinged locks and an almost alien manner of speech provided the promise of a renege on their investment. They sent a lone emissary to track down Wigstan's parents, demanding that Rosy forsake her roving spouse and devote herself and her skills to the service of the Lord - no other candidate suited their needs and if she refused, the Ordinem would forsake the patronage and protection they affordedRose's family and declare them "ungodly". Backed into a corner, Wigstan's father sought to exploit and bargain the Ordinem's fatal flaw. Devout Catholics, the Ordinem celebrated the gendered theology of the ruined Church, the claimthat humility, receptiveness and nuturing were the cornerstones of the female, not the body-giving, protective nature of the man, and for this reason, very few women were accepted into their Knightly ranks. To this end, Wigstan's fatheroffered a deal - he claimed his wife was "with child", not a week or two past, a child who a "wizard" master of the old world discipline of "medicine" had confirmed was male. Wigstan's father promised that when this child was old enough to walk, that he would personally carry him to the Ordinem's nearest hearth.

Satisfied, the Knight departed, eager to report news of the boon reaped from his endeavour, but Wigstan's father had lied - there was no child, and he knew of no way to know if it was male, at any rate. It seemed a faultless ruse, the mercenary would keep his beloved wife and travelling companion, and the ordinem would never bother them again, in return the couple would simply dissappear into unremarkable ignominity.

To this end, Wigstan's father slowly lead the couple to the north, towards a settlement he had promised himself that, one day, he would settle himself in - Warwick Castle. Far from the nuclear blasts that had levelled so much of England'smonuments, Warwick Castle stood, an uncrumbling, thousand year old fort, walled, watered and protected against anything Wigstan's father had heard of beseting it. Too, the settlment, grown around the encircled green, was exceptionallyselective when admitting reisdents, and largely ignorant of its ducal past. In the shadow of this settlement, Wigstan's father professed his exhaustion at what he called his "hollow life", and his enduring desire for an honest family to care for. Rosy accepted the proposal, and, discarding their weapons and donning more humble attire, they approached the gates.

Both were accepted without much deliberation - goodly, toughened people, strong enough to police and protect the settlement were in far too short supply, and they were both given roles as watchmen. The settlement was generally peaceful,and over six years of living, they had scarcely seen a hostile soul crest the only accesible horizon and between the half-burnt trees to assail the enormous fortification. In their security, Wigstan neglected his oath to the Ordinem, and he and his wife finally sired a son, Wigstan himself, though that was not his original name.

For the first ten years of his life, Wigstan lived in idellic bordem. Aprenticed as a farmhand at the age of six, Wigstan longed for the evenings, when he would sit around the fire and demand his parents regail him with tales of theirtravels, now long even in their memories, enamoured with the twisted spires of metal and glass that spoked from the southern grounds, and terrified at the prospect of the shuffling ghouls that dotted the roads and roved around the farmlands just beyond the walls. Most days, whilst permitted to leave his studies as a farmer, he would exploit his father to let him climb the battlements to the tallest of the spires, to look out over the green-land, stretching just enough to meet the smoking desolation of the cities to the north. The uniquely verdant landscape, the chance for blissful monotony seemed poisioned to the young Wigstan, the tales of his parents exploiting ringing in his ears and pulling,unerringly, from the heaving battlements and out into the vast and decidedly un-monotonous world beyond.

Within two years, though, at the age of 12, Wigstan got what he wished. The Marauders, a confederation of the most vicious raders that remain, picking at the husk of England, freshy formed, needed to make markers of what little unpicked-scraps remain. Warwick was the perfect target. Resolving to carve their name into the folkloric physche of the wasteland, they besieged the settlement - their leader challenging Warwick's fiercest "champion" to a duel to save their town.

Desperate, Warwick's leadership turned to the outside. Evesham Abbey, a stronghold of The Ordinem Caelitum, was only three days walk away, and it was clear that Warwick now needed a kind of protection they could never provide, whateverthe personal cost. Wigstan's father overheard the plans and, knowing that if they were summoned, the Ordinem would claim its tribute in recruits from him too, his son, and so took drastic measures to avert it. One dawn, the castle looked down in horror as Wigstan's father, crude machete and piecemeal leather in hand. The old mercenary fought valiantly, but even with the salvation of his son to drive him, time and comfort had taken their terrible toll, and with one, maddened swing of board, the Marauder launched Wigstan's father's skull into the sky. In horror, his wife ran to bring save his corpse from becoming their trophy, but mistaking her grief for agression, the marauders felled her, too.

It took three more days for the Ordinem to relieve the siege, and once they strode, triumphant through the groaning portcullus to collect their prize, Wigstan was far too reclusive and numb to care, not when he was carted off to the Abbey, not when he was branded in the cross and cooled in baptisimal fonts.

Over many years, they filled the bitter memories of his old, sedintary life with the tinge of revulsion. Wigstan, a name gifted to him by the Abbott of the order, was taught that his presence here was to absolve and oppose the sins that had plagued his progenitors. Wigstan's parents, he was told, had been brash hedonists, trapsing the world and killing with abandon in the pursuit of wealth, and then "settling" to reap their own selfish sustenance. The Travellers, he was taught, flew in the face of the untity brought by "Christ", their insular nature a backwards, trivial extension of selfish self-preservation. All this could be absolved through his service to the Ordinem, through his blind obedience to the Abbott, and through his zealous destrtuction of those that sought to test man's Stewardship of God's creation.

For most of his life, Wigstan subscribed fully to the ideals of his order. When he became a Knight, he relished he savants into the wasteland, hunting down and destroying the tainted, restoring duty and alturism to the human race.

That was, until he found damning disproof of the Ordinem's xenophobia. Whilst pursuing a Ghoul, one who had been thieving from a nearby town, he stumbled upon a baby, crying in a cloistered cave deep in some thicket. Reaching out to save the child, he heard a cruch of twigs behind him. Turning, there was the ghoul, stolen grain and sweet-things in hand. It had been a friend's, a woman, a great love kept apart from him by the trappings of his decaying features, whonow had no-one but him. This ghoul, the ordinem saw as an infiltrator, a plague to be irradicated, but beneath his creased exterior law a soul capable of all the beauty he had once though reserved for humans.

Shaken, Wigstan let the creature depart, though he took the child back to the abbey, to give it a future worth living. There, he asked his Abbott to send him south, beyond the bounds of the Ordinem's purview, to expand and evangalise,co-opt the wasetland to their beliefs. In truth, he felt moved to some time away from the Ordinem's beliefs and practices after his experience, but the Abbott believed his intentions were pure, and it was agreed that he was to be sentsouth the day after christmas, to return not more than two years later.

And so, Wigstan set out, in the snow, frigid and stumbling, in the hope of clarity to guide his future path.


Other:

- Weapons : A crude sword made from melted brass and bronze, wrapped at the hild in tapered leather. A small bronze dagger fastened at his back.
- Apparel : A woven silk and salvage nylon cloak, complete with hood - blue. A gas mask, one eye cracked, painted in the colours of the cross of Saint George. Painted curiass of salvaged kevlar and carbon-weave, though weak
where the patches are sown. Thick, fur stuffed boots.

[SomeChap]

My Hider

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Name/Nicknames: William (or Will) Humphrey Edwards
Age: 198 Years (Ghoulifcation having occured at age 34)
Race: Ghoul

Personality: Having grown up in a world that had only recently seen the devastating, life eradicating, power of the atomic bombs dropped upon the United Kingdom by various foreign powers, William knows too well the desperation and sheer risk that even the most logical of humans allow themselves to be clouded by in their struggles. He is a somewhat worldweary man, prone to certain bouts of cynisism and what to an outsider would look like utter boredom towards things that may make even some veteran humans squirm. William also shows something of a 'do-gooder' streak, in that he would whole heartedly assist any seriously harmed individual he comes across - provided he knows they aren't going to shoot him in the back moments after.
Despite what the many think of ghouls in general, William is an overall quiet and rather peaceful person, that doesn't favour violence all that much. He is quite soft-spoken, and gentle when dealing with peaceful people; at any circumstance, he tries to avoid violence, even if he is rather competent at fighting against other, more base ghouls. He has a remarkable level of self-control, which he utilizes mostly to live in peace with humans (despite their constant beratement), though should the need arise he will dwell with more... unhinged creatures provided they aren't ones to attack. Though of course he will always prefer the company of a fellow ghoul. To the outsider, he comes across as emotionally distant and perhaps a little harsh in the way he distains a large amount of other, more base, mutants, particularly ferals.
Perhaps if one were to delve deeper, and get to know him, then they may find that he is a fairly friendly and loyal person.

Appearance: Extremely tall in height, reaching somewhere along the lines of 197 centimetres, William possesses the raw, rotting, and necrotic frame that all his ghoulish kind share. His body is, actually rather well muscles for a ghoul - which is still not saying much in particular. He has sharp, edged, and most certainly noble features, in the form of high cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, thins lips, a straight and thin nose, thin eyebrows, and rather perfectly shaped eyes. Though, these have all seen better days due to the ravaging ways of radiation and the agony of ghoulifcation. These features are thin, but not to the point of appearing gaunt and sickly, if anything they are brimming with life when compared to others of his sort. His eyes have a rather icy, bright blue/grey colour, in contrast to his necrotic skin which runs the gambit from pus yellow to scabby reds.. His hair, what is left of it, is a bright ginger mane which covers the most of his head (akin to a man with a receeding hairline). His facial hair is similar, but not patchy surprisingly, it is in a style similar to Lord Kitchener's mustache. Perhaps notable, are his teeth. Rather than some manner of pearly white or rotten, his teeth are extremely sharp and almost a blurred yellow in colour...how or why they are sharpened is best to left to more private talks, however.

Facial Hair - farm1.static.flickr.com/40/87788938_a6..
orig14.deviantart.net/354f/f/2010/282/..
He is most often found in a rather scuffed up suit of traveller's clothing, that being composed of: A tattered up old off-white shirt, a pair of similarly filthy trousers, a surprisinly clean and new looking pair of shoes, and a beat up old grey trenchcoat. Some old combat armour resembling that used by the old British army is worn under or over all this.

Skills/Attributes: Swordsman - William is rather adept at using swords and other manners of one-handed bladed weapons. His ghoulish nature prevents much in the manner of outright brute forcing a person, hence the lack of blunt crushing weapons and favour of a more easily wielded (for a ghoul) weapon.

Marksman - In accompanying his knowledge of blades, William is also a fairly good shot with mid-sized hunting bows. A skill that was more on the side of being forced to learn as many creatures of the wastes grew in size and ferocity. His skill is not the best, nor the worst, able to hit a moderately sized object from a moderately far distance.

Rad Resistance - As with all Ghouls in the wasteland, William is entirely uneffected by nigh on all forms of radiation, though he has yet to see if that extends on to the more...man-portable, means.

Perceptive - Despite rotting tissues and necrotic nerves which dimish strength to slightly below human averages, William is highly perceptive of the wastelands and boasts rather keen senses even for a ghoul as old as himself.

Medical Professional - During his life in the Havens, William learned much about the human body and ways in which it can be treated or otherwise healed.

Back-story: Born during a time which had only somewhat recently felt the awesomely destructive potential of the atomic bomb, William and his familiy lived in one of the many 'Havens' which dotted the United Kingdom. He and his family were of a northern stock of the Yorkshire variety (one of the Havens of York, to be exact.) and much of the populace of their Haven where similarly from the local area. His early life was a promising one, he was smarter than most and had a rather grande future being planned as some manner of doctor, or perhaps even engineer for the Haven itself. Needless to say, the early years were certainly golden ones.

Over the course of his life, William stayed much within the norms of his Haven. However, it was not untill now that he began to notice certain things, certain rather shady actions. Things which usually were sturdy and well constructed began to suddenly fail or falter in some manner, and even the water purifcation systems became less and less useful as an increasingly drastic amount of radiation and dirt began to seep into the water supply from the outside. It became so bad that even the Haven itself was breeched eventually due to a malfuctioning generator. The situation became desperate, and with desperation became the first of the ghouls.

Unbeknowst to the populace of the Haven, the amount of rads in the areas where systems vital to the Haven's continued self-sustainability had become sufficient to...warp, the people that worked there. Their facial, head, and even body hair began to fall from them and some compained of skin irritations. The Overseer, a slave driver of a man, cared not. Such was his complete contempt for the people under him, that when the engineers began to die or were so in pain as to become bedridden he would merely send more down there to keep the vital systems in working order. No price was too high, and William was among those whom were sent down there. To certain death.

His week of work were short at the very most, William now had grown to be a man of thirty-three years that was fit in mind and body. He had worked as a medical professional, or as professional as the Haven could make them, and he had seen firsthand the effects of the radiation upon the workers. Skin was necrotic, cartillage became weakened or outright became useless, and their apperance resembled more akin to classical zombies than actual people.

It was not before long that William himself succumbed to these illnesses, skin became to crack and resemble a whole mass of burnt or necrotic tissues. Hair began to fall out. His mood deepend to outright depression, and visions of something...better.

While only the security of the Havens had any access to more 'viable' weapons such batons or even the odd firearm, they were not a match for the groups of disgruntled workers... when they themselves were part of the newly ghoulified members of the Haven. Numbers of the 'normal' and ghoul became roughly even, and a Haven-wide civil war began. On one side, the human elite (for all of them held prominent positions within the Haven, while Ghouls were forced into worthless jobs) that feared these "zombies" and on the other the ghouls themselves. Fighting was brief and violent, with many being slain or visciously wounded by the onslaught. William himself led a half dozen fellow ghouls as they fought off against the hostile guard forces. The overseer himself, along with his whole family, was forced into the most radiated of areas of the Haven where they themselves simply died slow agonised deaths.

The now ghoul-controlled Haven was, drastically different from the pre-take over. While previously the Haven was ruled by a central, increasingly small human upper caste. It was now a more equal society, but it was not viable. Numbers were small, and the populace found themselves lacking ability to have children. The outside was needed, and needed drastically.

It was a heavy idea, one which no one truly wanted, but one which they needed to complete. And that, is why William now wanders the wastes.

Other: Nothing really to note...

[Luminosity]

Name: Lux

Race/Gender: Human Female

Age: 23

Appearance: Lux is short, thin, and wiry, but from the way she moves and handles herself, it's clear that she's not feeble, physically. Her skin is quite pale, mostly due to the fact that she keeps herself almost entirely covered most days. The lower half of her face is often covered by a scarf or other sort of mask, while her shoulder length dark brown hair shrouds most of her face, save for her dark green eyes. She has a tattoo on her left cheek, reaching up to her eye, in what appear to be old Celtic designs. Her eyes are often heavily shadowed, and her ears have a number of small rings pierced through them. She bears a few scars on her face, most hidden by her scarf or hair, but one notable one crosses the bridge of her nose in plain view.

For clothing, she dresses for the wasteland, wearing mostly leathers. She has strong hiking boots, worn leather pants, a dark leather jacket over a thin black hoodie, gloves, and the aforementioned scarves. She wears goggles either around her neck or on her head, and carries a large backpack tightly strapped to her body.

Appearance Spoilers

Lux's tattoo extends from her face all the way down the left side of her body, ending at mid-thigh level, all in dark Celtic patterns. Anyone familiar with the Daughters of Ishtar will recognize the marks, though many that come in contact with them don't live to tell the tale.

Personality: Extremely quiet, in every possible way. Lux will rarely speak when she isn't spoken to, and even then she often keeps her mouth shut. Most social interaction she avoids entirely, and she's actually quite uncomfortable with regular communication with people. She does better with strangers, performing business interactions. When it comes to interaction, she gets her task done, and then leaves.

She has an undeniably savage nature, expressed in the way she prefers isolation, and how she performs with absolute certainty in dangerous situations, never flinching away from violence when she deems it necessary. She has a very grim view on the world, and any desires or hopes she might have for it have thus far been overridden by her experience, and what she's seen to be true. All that said, her actions in recent years have expressed a sort of selflessness, and she hasn't been known to bring harm to any members of "civilized" towns and settlements. In quiet moments among a group, one could often find Lux in the shadows, keeping to herself, and watching the other people interact with an intense interest. Behind that scarf, sometimes she even smiles.

Skills/Attributes:
Stealth - Lux's primary talent is the ability to avoid being seen or heard. She knows how to examine an environment, path out the quietest route, and take it. Many a wastelander has been within just a few feet of her, and never known. These talents also extend to the arts of pick-pocketing and lock-picking.

Knife-Work - That little switchblade might not look like much, but Lux puts it to frightening use when she needs to. Her strikes are lightning quick, putting multiple holes in an enemy before they even have a chance to move. She has plenty of experience with it, and knows just where to stick it to cause her target the most possible bleeding, or pain, if that's the goal.

Demolitions - She's no gunsmith, but things that go boom are well known to Lux. Various kinds of mines and grenades in particular. She almost always has a couple on hand, and she knows how to make more from spare parts she finds around the wasteland. In addition, she's quite adept at detecting and disarming traps that might be set for her or her allies.

Scavenging - Lux has an eye for valuables, and seems to know all the good hiding spots people might think to put them in. Any room that she's never been in before will receive a look-over, followed by a thorough search if she has the time. She's a little pack rat, too, and can carry loads in that backpack of hers, as well as all of her pockets. Her bartering skill could use some work, but she's not really concerned with that.

Backstory: As far as the village of Silvershaw is concerned, Lux is just a quiet girl who comes by every now and then, weighted down with a wide variety of goods from who-knows-where. After assuring them her goods weren't stolen from any friendly sources, they agreed to take them off her hands. From the outside, it looked like Lux was getting ripped off, giving away her hard earned salvage and treasures for dirt cheap, but eventually it became clear that Lux wasn't really interested in getting much in return. Sometimes, the people of the village would just find little packages of supplies dropped in the center of town, with a note pinned to it with her name.

Repeatedly Lux was offered a place within the village's walls, a steady place to stay, but Lux politely declined every time, offering no reason. She continued scavenging the area around Silvershaw, and even some further locations, returning often to check on the town. Her motives were never cleared up, but at some point the people decided it was best not to look their gift horse in the mouth. When contact was lost with the town of Oking to the south, the mayor decided to try recruiting Lux into the group, to use her skills in stealth, scouting, and general wasteland survival skills. To the village's surprise, Lux quietly agreed.

Backstory Spoilers

Lux was born to one of the Daughters of Ishtar, her father being a slave that belonged to her mother. She was raised among the group of entirely female raiders, and learned most of her skills from her mother and other members of her clan. Lux was always closer to her father, however, an awkward situation given his brutal treatment at the hands of his captors. When she was able, she would spend time alone with him, and learn of the home he once had, now destroyed by slavers. She came to despise the alliance her people held with other raider groups, and their willingness to work with slavers. At 19, an incident occurred which led to Lux abandoning her clan in the night, and leaving to make her own way in the wastes. She keeps almost entirely to herself, but has taken a liking to the village of Silvershaw, and helps it how she can from a distance.

[vietmyke]

Aaron Logan

Age: 24
Appearance:

A young man of African descent, Aaron Logan stands just over 180cm in height, and weighs in at roughly 75 kg. Logan is rather lithe and sinewy and he sports an athletic build suited for running and climbing. His once smooth complexion is pockmarked and marred by various scrapes, cuts, and injuries not properly healed. His hair is cut close, and his eyes are a dark, calm brown.

apparel and equipment

Over his clothes, but underneath a duster, Logan wears a set of ballistic pads and plates- thick, sturdy plastic plates backed by Kevlar and leather, not uncommon amongst 21st century motorcyclists. These thick pads provide Logan with protection against potentially flesh tearing, sharp edges, along with relative protection against blunt force impacts. While these plates won't protect him much from a giant club of concrete and rebar being swung at him, they do provide him with ample protection against fists, the occasional shiv, and the flailing limbs of feral ghouls while being lightweight enough to more around in without much difficulty. A few parts of his armor has been replaced with metal, either due to damage or because of its usage. He has a pair of goggles wrapped around his neck, as well as a brown shemagh/scarf that serves as an impromptu filter to keep dust and grit away from his face. He also carries a rucksack for his belongings and supplies.

In regards to armament, has a crude blade without a guard, as well as a variety of smaller blades hidden on his person. His primary armament is a pre-war crossbow he found while scavenging around the outskirts of the old military base.

Race: Human

Personality:
Direct and to the point, this quiet, serious man is rather blunt. Level headed and calm, Logan has a very analytic attitude and can be very perceptive and intuitive in regards to people. Aloof but confident, Logan acts on a mixture of instinct, and tactical awareness. Unless he has a well established relationship, Logan is typically distrustful of others, and will often show a lack of compassion an disregard for those he doesn't know- though children appear to be an exception to this rule. Possessing a well developed, but jaded sense of morality, Logan is quite gray in regards to ethics. He acts in what he believes are in the best interests of himself and those he cares about- not necessarily caring for what is good or bad.

Skills/Attributes:

• Tracking/Navigation - Aaron is an excellent tracker, his keen eyes and senses easily picking out details in the land while following or searching for individuals or creatures. Aaron is also well practiced in traversing most landscapes with little difficulty, running, climbing, swinging, and other such modes of personal transportation come easily to him.
• Hacking - Instructed in the methods of hacking computer systems while living at the present war base, given enough time, Aaron can hack his way through and up to some military grade systems.
• Survival - A key skill that any wastelander picks up in order to live. Aaron knows how to rummage and scavenge like the rest of them, and knows how to properly hunt and safely consume various wasteland wildlife.
• Melee Combat - Bladesmanship and Fisticuffs. While Aaron is plenty capable of fending off a feral ghoul, facing down an untrained fighter, or holding his own against a raider, he will have difficulty besting any well practiced duelist or fighter
• Marksmanship - Keen eyes and a patient demeanor contribute much to Aaron's marksmanship. A crack shot with a crossbow or a firearm, Aaron can put a fist sized group of crossbow bolts in a target from over 90 yards away, though his most common engagement rage is closer to 30-50 yards, as the speed and potential killing power of arrows and bolts start to degrade at that range.
• Guerrilla Tactics - Not capable of handling large groups of foes through his own combat prowess, Aaron relies on traps, misdirection, tricks, and illusion to throw his enemies into disarray. Often using his terrain to his advantage, Aaron will patiently pick at his foes over periods of time rather than striking at them forcefully in hopes of a decisive victory.

Back-story:
Born in the ruins of Winchester, Aaron, like most, had a very tumultuous childhood and like many other children, was lucky to make it through his first year of life. Forced to learn how to scavenge from a young age, near starvation and hardship was routine for Aaron and the group of scavengers he was born into. A sort of clan, made up of a few small families, these scavengers roamed from place to place, avoiding raiders, marauders and slavers, and scrounging the city ruins for valuable food, water, and other resources. The group’s number fluctuated often- close friends dying or abandoning the group, or newcomers desperate for survival joining in.

Around the age of 12, Aaron’s group of scavengers came upon an old pre-war military base, inhabited by the descendants of one of the UK’s pre-war military units, calling themselves the Regiment. While originally only interacting with the scavengers to trade for food and other scavenged resources, the pre-war base eventually allowed the scavenger to enter the base and integrated them with the Regiment. Integrating most of the younger scavengers into their ranks, the Regiment took advantage of the scavenger's affinity for sneaking and scampering around in the wastes, teaching them combat skills, and warfare techniques from the stores of manuals and equipment within their base. Much more flexible and adaptable than the strict, by the books tactics utilized by the Regiment regulars, these new scavenger-soldier hybrids became one of the cornerstones of the Regiment, allowing them to quietly observe potential foes and raiders from afar, and allowing them to make precise strikes to defend themselves, as well as being able to safely scavenge and operate away from the base for long periods of time.

Young Aaron, at only 16 years old, was one of the primes of their scavenger-soldier force. Easily picking up and learning the tactics and techniques taught to him by the Regiment's regular military men, Aaron proved to be quite resourceful and capable, smartly picking his fights and always managing to make it back to the settlement with a pack full of supplies. A talented marksman with his pre-war crossbow, as well as a capable survivalist, Aaron, was regularly praised by his instructors, and was often looked up to by younger, aspiring soldier-scavengers.

As the years went on, the Regiment slowly began to run out of its stockpiled supplies. The military base had long since used up the majority of its weapons and ammunition supplies, firearms were reserved only for the top ranking guardsmen of the military base, forcing the rest of the people in the base to use more primitive crossbows and melee weapons. The base had also scavenged almost all of the usable supplies within the immediate area, and its scavengers had to go out farther and into more dangerous territories for longer periods of time to acquire the supplies needed to keep the base running. This, along with numerous attacks from marauders, raiders, and slavers had stretched the people of the Regiment thin. Eventually, short on numbers and supplies, the remaining men and women of the Regiment were forced to abandon their base and flee with their remaining supplies.

The survivors eventually found their way to Silvershaw, a small town built around the husk of a Haven, an old pre-war shelter. These survivors eventually integrated themselves with the village of Silvershaw, proving once again how their soldier-scavenging skills could be useful. Rebranding themselves as 'Rangers', Aaron and the rest of the survivors from the old Regiment pre-war base often serve as scouts for the town of Silvershaw.

Other: Nada.

[mpjama2]

Ackerly Finch

Name/Nicknames: Ackerly Finch

Age: 230

Appearance: Ackerly is a pre-war ghoul, and a former agent of the United Kingdom to boot. He wants to embody the ideal of a "Proper Brit", and it comes off as cartoonish to ordinary people. His desire to be a "Model Citizen" has lead him to constantly wearing a tattered suit, a monocle, and a top hat with the top brim popped off. His flesh has heavily deteriorated, but he makes no attempt to hide his ghoulish nature. He has cloudy blue eyes, and only faint wisps of his hair remain.

Race: Ghoulishly Handsome (sorry)

Personality: Ackerly used to be an agent of the British Commonwealth. Like many citizens of the Commonwealth, he was pressured to conform to the ideal of the "Model Citizen" and act like a "Proper Brit". The radiation over the past two hundred years has done a number on his brain cells, and has led him to adopt this idea of being a "Proper Brit" to a cartoonish degree. Most ordinary people find him to be completely ridiculous. He acts needlessly polite to everyone he meets, has an absolute obsession with drinking the "Tea Time", and has an air of condescension about him. He is always on the lookout for "Foreign Subversives", and is extremely paranoid. Ackerly often feels without purpose since the collapse of the Commonwealth, and is obsessed with finding any remnant of the pre-War government.

Skills/Attributes: Ackerly used to be an agent of the British Commonwealth and he was trained in the use of firearms and the basics of hand to hand combat. Finch is a skilled liar, but often annoys those he meets to such a degree that they abandon diplomacy quickly. Ackerly can sneak around, but is not particularly skilled at it, and he understands only the most rudimentary skills needed for handling explosives.

Back-story: Ackerly was born to a poor family in the slums of Pre-War London in 2047, and he had little opportunity for a good education. This led Ackerly to grow up to be a cynical young man. He applied to the Police Academy, not because he wanted to help anyone but because he desired the power and prestige being a police officer would give him. While Ackerly was a cynic at heart, he proved a hard worker and was able to work his way through the ranks of London's police department. His hard work caught the eye of the director of MI5, which was co-opted to become a secret police first in the late 20th century. The King's Men were tasked with removing undesirables and capturing those cast out as "lacking loyalty to King and Country" by the Patriot's Committee. Ackerly was soon drafted into the organization. While Ackerly was apart of the MI5 he learned his particular set of skills, and learned quickly it was dangerous to be openly cynical. Therefore Ackerly, like most of MI5 adopted a persona of being a "Proper Brit" to an almost cartoonish degree. But for now, it remained simply a persona.

When the bombs fell Ackerly was unlucky enough to be caught in a public bomb shelter. He wasn't important enough to be given a spot in the Havens. He was exposed to the radiation of the bombs, and began the process of ghoulification. The process of ghoulification changed his body, and his mind. He began to actually believe the propaganda he was espousing, and adopted the outlook of a "Proper Brit" for real. He revised his own history to the point it was completely unrecognizable from reality. He constructed a patchwork of false, contradicting memories to wipe clean any part of his past that may seem "Un-Patriotic". Now Ackerly is on the lookout for Havens, seeking any remnant of the Commonwealth. He usually finds the Havens have gone horribly wrong due to some ridiculous experiment, however he continues to obsessively seek out these Havens for even the smallest remnant of the Pre-War Government.

Other:

Equipment:

Ackerly has a pistol issued by the King's Men. It hasn't worked in three decades. He also has a sabre stolen from a museum for self defense purposes. Ackerly has a few days of scavenged pre-war food, his old badge for the King's Men, and a canteen. Otherwise he has nothing else but the tattered suit on his back.

[Kingfisher]

Name/Nicknames: Duela

Age: ????

Appearance: Flaky, necrotic flesh, deep sunken eyes, and charred tatters for lips; Duela has all the tell-tale signs of a Ghoul. She has a hard, masculine build, with shoulders that posses a firm slope, and an unnaturally stiff posture, yet her broad hips retain a certain feminine flare to them. He patchy clumps of dirty brown hair fall down around her shoulders in messy tangles, and her teeth are jagged and yellow with rot.

Her eyes have taken on a sickly pale hue, yet they still retain the passionate fire and stubborn determination that burned within her during her human years.

Race: Ghoul

Personality: Quick-thinking and meticulous, Duela has a cruel cunning, and an even curler witt. She learned, long ago, not to take herself too seriously, but knows when to drop her playful exterior, should the situation demand it.

Skills/Attributes: Highly skilled in various martial arts and different schools of hand-to-hand combat. A master of subterfuge, and as resourceful as they come.

Back-story: Duela's backstory varies depending on who you ask. Some would claim she was a high-ranking scientist in his majesty's government, others that she was SIS's top assassin. All can agree that she had some sort of prominent role in one of the European Commonwealth's secret services, and some would have you believe that she was directly involved in the events which led up to the apocalypse. But those are just rumours! Right..?

Wether Duela became a ghoul as a result of radiation from the great war, or if she exposed herself to controlled amounts as a survival technique leading up to the atomic conflict, is unknown, but for whatever reason she ultimately ended up succumbing to ghoulification.

Intending to reconnect with a former employer, for reasons that are strictly classified, Duela made her way down to what would become Silvershaw, only to discover that her contact had passed away. Taking pity on the locals, Duela decided to stay and help out with setting up the village, but as days turned into months, then years, then decades, the Ghoul became something of a living legend amongst the community.

[rivaan]

Cassandra

Name/Nicknames: Cassandra

Age: 23

Appearance: Cassandra is 1.75m tall, with shoulder length white hair, pale white skin and red eyes. She likes to stay clean as much as she can, but considering how white her skin and hair are, all dirt is quite visible even if she get's just a tiny bit dirty. That's why it's usually possible to see the dark dust from her scavenging around ruins. On her back she has a big scar left from the heated metal they used to brand her as a slave. She keeps it hidden under her clothing, along with her scarred hands from the time they branded her hands to always remind her who she got her skills for. Her only visible usually scar is a small scar on the left side of her lower lip, from a beating she received when the slavers didn't like the quality of her crafts
She dresses in leather vest, a short skirt, an old sturdy jacket from a suit fastened with a belt around her waist, a pair of sturdy boots covered with metal plating by her and a backpack where she keeps stuff of interest. Finally on her back is a quiver where she keeps the arrows for her longbow.

Race: human

Personality: Cassandra is a very hyperactive person. She likes to move, to act... she dislikes staying in one place aside when she is being careful in her scavenging. That's the only time when she is generally careful and methodic as she knows that if she speed it up, she starts to miss valuable loot.
Despite her history, she still hadn't given up on people. She likes to be around others, to talk, to laugh and to play. Cassandra often tries to make friends with people she travels with or she meets in towns she often visits. One distinct trait of hers is the fact she dislikes slavers... with passion and fully drawn bow.

Skills/Attributes:
Wild fighting.- Cassandra expresses her extreme agility in her hand to hand combat. She utilizes a wide variety of
jumps, dodges, faints and grabs.
Climbing- Cassandra is able to climb with incredible speed on almost all terrain.
Archery- Cassandra is quite an adept archer, she possesses the skill to accurately target people up to 100 meters
away. Past that point the chance to miss is increasing a lot.
Tinkerer- Cassandra has a knack for making up stuff from junk. She is able to create simple weapons, armors and
other generally useful stuff from random junk that's laying around. Still she cannot create anything other than that... stuff like
computers or medical equipment is beyond her.

Back-story: Cassandra was born on the roads through the wasted lands. Her parents were traveling in a merchant caravan. They were a young pair of lovebirds that hoped to find their luck on the roads, but fate had other plans for her parents and herself. She barely remembers them from her earliest childhood. She was 4 years old when the caravan was hit by raiders. Most people were killed, the goods pillaged and those who remained alive were sold later as slaves.

Cassandra stayed at the slaver's camps for years afterwards. She was taken by one of the slavers that dealt with weapon maintenance and creating new equipment and she picked up the skill from him so she can aid him as the other slavers didn't want to really bother with that. Along with that she often had to fight with other slaves over the scraps of food they were given. In the end of the day no hard feeling were felt between all of the slaves as they knew it's just how things were. In those days she picked up her fighting skills... for it was either winning over the other slaves or staying hungry. She was 17 when she finally made a run for it. She was sick from living as a slave and preferred to try to escape than stay one any longer. In the dead of night, she and some other slaves, using jagged pieces of metal jumped the guards around the slave pen. It was an almost certain suicide undertaking, but they all agreed to it. After taking down the guards, all of the slaves ran in different directions under the fire of the slavers who by that point had noticed the escape. She knows not what happened to the other slaves. For all she knows, she is the only one who made it.

She too was chased for a little while afterwards, but with the skill they trained in her to make them weapons, she armed herself with weapons before they can find her. When the slaver who was responsible for bringing her back showed up, she jumped him instead. Cassandra tore up his throat with a knife like weapon that she created and then took his stuff. Since they she traveled the now wasted United Kingdom. She did take a liking to the town known as Silvershaw. She likes to pass through there every now and then, mostly to visit the folk there, have a good talk, party a little in the bar and to sell the things she had made.

Other: Weapons: Cassandra has 3 weapons that are worthy of notice.
Raven Wing: A very interesting bow she herself created, made from variety of scrap she carefully gathered. It's a
1.60 m. long bow. She has been working on it for years now and she will continue to do so still. She likes to improve and add
things to it. At present it's maximum range is about 250 meters. As of late she's been working on a mechanism to have it fold, but
it's still in experimentation stage.
Clawed gauntlets: A pair of steel gauntlets she found in an old ruined out mansion. She had to temper with them
somewhat to make them fit her. Since they she had been tinkering with them as well. She added claws to the finger and other things
to increase their sturdiness.
Makeshift dagger: A small dagger made by a piece of straight metal blade from a lawnmower, some wood and sturdy
string.

[DJAtomika]

Name/Nicknames: John "Guardsman" Parsons

Age: 27

Appearance: Alan stands six foot two, with dirty brown hair and brown eyes. His build of your average military-trained man; well built shoulders, torso and legs, muscled arms. However, the wasteland has left his cheeks sallow and gaunt, his eyes hollow, and his body in tortured shape. Scars criss cross his chest and back, and two go over his face; one over his left eye, which is blind, and the other horizontally across his nose. His way of dress is decidedly unique; in the ruins of Buckingham Palace, John found a set of full, if faded, queen's guard uniforms, complete with combat boots and the like, and minus that silly huge furry hat. In place of the huge furry hat, he wears a faded red beret without any insignia or badges on it.

Race: Human

Personality: John is a simple man; if it's edible, he'll eat it. If it's potable, he'll drink it. If it's trying to kill him, he'll kill it then decide on if it's edible. Surviving in the wasteland for many years on his own have made him a ghost of his former self. Cynical and world-weary, John is a seeker of peace and solace, either in sheltered conditions, or in death.

He rarely often jokes, and if one were to crack a joke he barely would respond, unless he were feeling safe or if the joke were particularly amusing. He is also loyal, although his loyalty mainly comes from who provides the most coin. However, if John trusts someone, they can always count on him to protect them and keep them from harm.

Skills/Attributes:

• Hand-to-Hand Combat; after surviving years in the wastes on his own, John has become adept at the fine art of murdering someone in close range, be it with his rifle-spear, his knife, or his fists.
• Survivalist; it has become second nature to John. He knows good places to find water, dirty but unaffected by radiation, and he knows how to kill a radstag or molerat and cook its meat efficiently.
• Protector; if you're in John's good books, chances are you're protected for life, especially if you travel with him.

Backstory: John Parsons was born long after the bombs fell and the people emerged into a burned out, shell of a country. A world weary of its exertions, waiting to die from inevitability. Unlike most who were surviving out in the countrysides where farmland was rare but an actual thing, John instead found himself in urban London, growing up amongst the wreckage as his parents, survivors and settlers trying to make a living in the city ruins, moved from building to building in an attempt to forage a living.

When he turned eighteen, both his parents were dead from raider attacks and the feral ghouls that stalked out from the former London Underground. Forced to seek shelter and live life alone, he took to stealing, scavenging and even downright murder to get by.

Eventually he found himself in Buckingham Palace, where there had used to be a Haven underneath the palace grounds for London's royalty. They were all dead now, of course, but what remained of the queen's guard...remained. He found himself in possession of a uniform of a guardsman, although he never knew who they once were, and found it fitting. The rifles kept in storage and on display in the palace were, although unusable as firearms, served as clubs just as well, and with a lucky find of a bayonet, John had himself a spear, and thus he set out wandering. His goal was to exit the city and head for the countryside, in the hopes that he'd find shelter somewhere out there.

Years went by. John honed his skills in the fine art of manslaughter and occasionally lent his services out guarding caravans for what meagre supplies or currency they had. Rumours began to abound of the red-dressed "Guardsman" in the English county wastes, a mercenary that did dirty work for what remained of English royalty, or so the stories went. Slowly he grew weary of the bloodshed and murder, though he saw no other alternatives to his life.

It was around this low point that John stumbled upon the town of Silvershaw while escorting a trading caravan there. The town gave him a glimpse into a life he'd never thought he'd have: a peaceful one, where his blade would go unbloodied for more than a week, and where he would have human company that wasn't trying to murder him. It was where he finally made his home, as an actual town guard and night watchman, gazing over the rolling hills and into the night sky with an old pair of binoculars as the moon shone bright in the sky.

Equipment:

• M1 Garand w/ long serrated bayonet; useless without proper ammunition, John uses this old relic rifle more as a spear than anything else.
• Binoculars; self explanatory.
• Scrap bootknife; a small dagger made of a sharpened shard of metal with some cloth wrapped around it, John keeps this rudimentary backup weapon in his boot, ready in case someone pounces on him without his weapon ready.

[Sep]

Name/Nicknames: McTavish

Age: (Unknown, presumably Pre-War)

Appearance

*Please ignore the hair.

His skin is a dark green like most super-mutants standing at an impressive 10'3. Unlike most Super-mutants, the Highland variety rarely slump unless in the company of strangers (As to not intimidate) as over the years interacting with humans they have grown a sense of pride and self respect. His eyes however still appear somewhat vacant, as like the others of his kin his intelligence still isn't capable of reaching the levels that baseline humans can achieve.

He wears clothes+Kilt like this image
His clan tartan

Race: Super-Mutant

Personality: He's stubborn to the core, whether he is more or less stubborn from being a Super-mutant or a Scotsman is debatable.The important thing is that if he is presented a challenge, or sets his mind on something there are very few things that will make him back down. With his size, a fight to get to something very rarely bothers him. Another important trait can be traced back to the FEV virus. His quickness to anger, while everyone loses their temper McTavish has to work especially hard in order to keep it under control. When provoked, especially by other people and most of all by strangers here is often no other outcome than violence.

That said, the rest of the time he tries his best to be caring and considerate. While he has spent most of his life in a community that has housed both his kind and humans for generations, and has understanding. He's intelligent enough to know that due to the fact Super-mutants have plagued the rest of the country people won't exactly be trusting. Deep down he cares, about making a difference. About helping his caln, he'll do that whatever way he can.

Skills/Attributes:

Strength: Exposure to the FEV Virus while making himself mentally weaker has made him physically stronger than any human.

Longevity: The same virus prolongs his life, and speeds up the healing process.

Living on the Land: Raised (As far as he knows) rurally, and in a hardened area. He can survive of the land by himself for as long as possible.

Melee: The Isle of Gigha having few real firearms growing up, McTavish is proficient in using anything pointy, sharp or just heavy to incapacitate or kill someone. Won't hesitate to do it either.

Long Range: He has training with long range weapons. Not that he has any. After the FEV process most conventional fire-arms were no longer an option. However he has had some experience with specially crafted bows. Not that he carries one or is an expert.

Back-story: Scotland was always used for it's remote locations for military training since before the First World War, it provided unique locations and unique people in order to give people the best training possible in order to go to war. As the Commonwealth fell and Britian prepared itself for the possibility of nuclear war several projects were kick started. One of the ones that took place largely in Scotland was the use of the FEV virus. Isles off the west coast had their populations removed, taken up North to the safe zones in the highlands. Areas up in the mountains where people predicted that they would be safe from any potential Nuclear fallout.

The real reason however for abandoning these Isles was so that they could be inhabited by soldiers. While they weren't the largest training grounds ever they were moved here for a very specific reason, to be infected with the FEV Virus. An American Invention, or presumed to be one, given to Soldiers to increase their Strength, Endurance and generally their effectiveness as soldiers. There were fifty soldiers chosen, each named after a Scottish clan as an alias and then injected with the virus. However before the experiment could be completed, and the humans could be evacuated from the island - in the case of any ill side effects the scientists would monitor using equipment and relay instructions via robot. The bombs fell.

McTavish was woken up in a survival tank a week later, he couldn't remember anything except the pain of the transformation. Held in place by binders on each of his limbs he was shown over and over again training and propoganda videos. The scientists having decided just to run the training protocols rather than terminating the project. While the war was lost, as far as they knew it had been lost all over the world, they felt that should they be attacked it would be useful to have super soldiers on their side. If they could be trained.

The first Mutant released broke one of the Mr.Handys given to the project in a fit of rage, so the videos for the rest of the mutants changed to guide obedience. The videos were altered slightly to reflect the scientists as superior officers, the scientists even going as far as wearing military uniforms. The lead wearing a Generals uniform. Eventually it worked, the super-mutants released into the population. Training always continued, as did testing. Ardminish became a safe haven for everyone willing to risk the swim or boat ride to the isles.

Times changed since the great war, and the town grew and changed. The General was always in charge however. Mutants were privates and never recieved ranks, though few of them died. Yet they never questioned orders, they were perfect soldiers. While they could have tempers with those who managed to gt to the island when provoked they would never raise their voice or a finger at their superior officers. The programming was flawless, especially with regular visits to either a robot or the old training facility which would refresh the training. They didn't really realize it, but they were essentially glorified slaves.

When a supposedly "Wealthy" businessman from what turned out to be the ruins of Glasgow came calling, times appeared to be changing. He said he represented a group of settlements called the "Commonwealth". Apparently made up of the arenas used in the Commonwealth games that had once been held in Glasgow shortly before the war. He proposed a deal, he would allow them the protection and economic stability of the Commonwealth in the exchange for one of the Isles men as a personal bodyguard. He'd also be quite interested to see if these training methods could be used to make the untamed and untrained super-mutants in the wastes into a useful and contributing part of society.

The deal was made, McTavish was the one chosen. It wasn't really clear why he was chosen, when they were all lined up he just happened to be the one chosen out of the line out. This was when the Isles future was decided, as he sailed off to his new life he'd never know the life that this man from the Commonwealth created by just happening to venture to a little island off the coast looking for spoils of war. He spent a couple of years as the bodyguard for the rich businessman, before his commanding officer changed in combat in a scouting operation in the south west of Scotland in the Galloway Forest. A mid-fight exchange caused his former commander to hand him over to someone who had dubbed themselves "King Douglas".

Being a member of the Royal Army McTavish felt like he should respect the sovereignty... were it legit. He despised being under the control of the fake king. However he was his commanding Officer. A good soldier followed orders, he was a good soldier. One of the best, it is why he was chosen. He never heard what happened back on the Isle that he once called home as over the years he continued to head further and further south changing from one commanders hands to another. He occasionally heard rumors of mutants disappearing or appearing in coherent groups and he felt that confirmed that his home was alright. Yet there was no real way to go, people didn't care for super-mutants enough to make any real news of it.

Reaching the town of Silvershaw as part of a caravan of trailers he was particularly interested in Shrieker Town as he had never heard of another largish settlement of mutants by themselves. He always felt that if he was finally given his own command he could be the one to maybe bring sense to them. He kind of got his wish when the Mayor of Silvershaw was promoted to be his commanding officer. Little does he know it but the Mayor actually gained him while gambling. Though McTavish doesn't really know many of the exact terms when he changed hands.


Other: Yes he is essentially a glorified slave, though he sees himself as a Soldier. If you want to try correcting him, go ahead :)

[JulienJaden]

Name/Nickname: Eleanor ‘Ellie’ Grey

Age: 17

Appearance:

Picture by Amalthee

Physical appearance: Shoulder-length black hair, grey-blue eyes, small nose, high cheekbones, fair skin (a little on the pale side). Scrawny, light feminine curves, small bust.

Clothes: Military pants (brown), a black long-sleeve shirt (and, depending on the temperature, a t-shirt underneath), an all-weather jacket (leather skin) with a hood, military boots (plus socks) and fingerless gloves.

Armor: Elbow- and kneepads (plastic, reinforced with kevlar) over her jacket, padded plastic chest- and backplate underneath (not the same quality as the pads – it can protect her from glancing knife attacks and will cushion a fall or punch but that’s about it). They are held together by leather straps and are self-made. She also wears arm- and shinguards of the same quality, also over her jacket. Despite their somewhat questionable usefulness in melee combat, they are light, don’t impede her movement and might make the difference between a bruise and a broken bone.

Equipment: A self-made composite bow, full quiver of arrows (worn on her back), a backpack with rations, water, a stimpak, a dose of med-x and other basics (first aid, change of undergarments, rope…).

Race: Human

Personality: Upbeat, optimistic and friendly (if a little bit of a smart-ass) on the surface, albeit sometimes very quiet and thoughtful. Towards people she trusts, she may reveal a much more vulnerable side that is still struggling with the death of her parents and the realities of the wasteland.

Traits:
Inexperienced: She has killed before and generally speaking has 'powered through' the discomfort and guilt that goes with it but she is still fairly young and hasn't been roaming the wasteland for long, so particularly gruesome displays of violence, close calls and other things most people would hardly even think of as out-of-the-ordinary can shake her emotionally.

Moral: Despite having lost her parents to raiders, she believes that people can be good and the world doesn't have to be a place of dread and violence. She holds on to her humanity and wouldn't stand idly by if an innocent was in danger (unless her fear was too great --> guilty conscience) and couldn't kill somebody unless she knew with certainty that they were guilty of something, although she'd still have moral qualms (unless it was in the heat of battle).

Skills/Attributes:
Marksmanship: Pretty good with rifles (her mother taught her but the rifle is gone, along with her parents). Aaron Logan (vietmyke's character) took her in and is currently teaching her how to use bow and arrow (her primary weapon) and she's showing a lot of promise, her accuracy and speed improving constantly, though she'd still feel more comfortable with a rifle.

Melee/Dodging: She's learned where you have to stab somebody (or something) to kill it quickly and she carries a combat knife; her strategy when forced into melee is to dodge her opponent's attacks entirely and to strike at a weakspot, ending the engagement as quickly as possible. However, should the first stab or two not hit something vital and if her opponent grabs ahold of her, her odds of winning or even surviving the engagement are 50% at best - if they aren't too strong, that is.

Science: Her father was an educated man from a Haven who enjoyed sharing his knowledge with his daughter. As a result, she knows 'sciency' stuff: A little physics here, some geography there, a little biology for good measure... oh, and chemistry. While nowhere near as skilled as her old man in this field, she knows her way around a chemistry set, from acids and explosives to medicine - at least theoretically. Gathering the supplies necessary is a different matter entirely.

Survival: Her knowledge in this field is surprisingly limited. She knows what chemical compounds she would need to test water or food for radioactivity or poison and how to remove them, but finding food and water, trapping, tracking... All these are still relatively new to her and while she might be able to survive on her own, she would rather stay at her mentor/protector's side and look over his shoulder.

Stealth: She can hide and be quiet but sneaking up on an opponent without making a single sound is a lot more difficult than that. Sneaking past somebody who's a few yard away isn't beyond her but getting close enough to stab somebody in the back is dicey.

Climbing and Agility: Knowing that her melee strength is questionable and she cannot sneak well enough to make up for it, she has taken to avoiding it altogether. She can not only run away fairly well (prudence is the better part of valor, right?) but also climb and reach high-grounds others would see as unreachable. With a certain understanding of how to move her body and shift her momentum, she will try to dodge melee attacks rather than taking them, though her lack of experience means that avoiding melee altogether is still her best option.

Backstory: Ellie’s childhood has been about as blissful as a childhood can be in the world after the bombs, growing up in an isolated farming community some hundred miles north of Silvershaw, born to loving parents who were struggling less than most. Her parents were quite different from one another: Her mother was a skilled hunter who had, earlier in her life, come across a pre-war military rifle and ammo and taught her daughter early on how to use it; her father, on the other hand, was a man of science, a very intelligent and educated man who had grown up in a Haven and never tired of teaching his child about the ‘sciences’, the vast knowledge of the world that had been lost during the war.

But what stood out most during her childhood was what she taught herself: How to build and repair things. Tinkering was the only thing one could do on rainy days and Ellie developed a stubborn determination to succeed in such endeavors. Her greatest achievement was repairing a shortwave radio, something that in itself wouldn’t have been really noteworthy if not for the contact she made – for a few minutes, she was talking to somebody who claimed to live in North America, who told her about a life that sounded very familiar to what her own part of the world had to offer. After this, they only managed to talk twice more, but that was enough to make her realize something: That the world was bigger than the community and supposed island they lived on, that there were other people out there and not everything and everyone ended in the war. It gave her a sense of curiosity and adventure.

But adventure had a tendency to come to you in this world and it soon found their neck of the woods in the form of raiders. First, tentative attacks could be easily repelled but as they increased in frequency and intensity and claimed their first lives, the community started to fall apart, families leaving in the dark of night to find somewhere safer. This eventually forced the Greys to leave when she was 13.
They moved around for a while but soon realized that they would be safest in the biggest settlement around – Silvershaw. But her parents died on their journey in a raider ambush. Their small group of attackers fought over the teenage girl and only their leader remained. Ellie managed to get ahold of a knife and stabbed him to death but was injured. After attempting (and failing) to bury her parents, she reluctantly left their corpses and most of their possessions behind and collapsed about a mile away from Silvershaw. To her luck, one of the settlement’s rangers, Aaron Logan, was returning from a patrol and brought her in.

There, she was nursed back to health but was alone and had trouble fitting in with the teenagers, repairing odds and ends for the Rangers, travelers and townspeople to earn her keep. But she wasn’t satisfied with just staying in town and was eventually (at age 14) taken in by Aaron Logan who agreed to teach her how to survive in the wasteland. She has been his protégée ever since.

Other: Ellie has developed a chem addiction (Med-X and, to some degree, Jet). Unless she hasn’t been using for a few days, there’s no physical evidence (injection marks on her arm, well hidden under her shirt and jacket) of her addiction.