DOSSIER
NAME: Daniel G.W.
AGE: 23
SEX: M
NICKNAME: Danny or Grit would do nicely. Danny Grit would do superbly. Danny Wonder is just weird and gay.
DESCRIPTION: Grit is quite the tall young man, though standing and weighing in at 5'11” and 155 lbs respectively, so he doesn't stand heads and shoulders above the rest of his comrades, and his physique is minorly built. Doesn't tote the impressive strength some of the other Dreadnaught men may possess, but he does boast an athletic and cardio-focused build that gives him his willowy stature. Much of this build is focused in the shoulders and legs; as his shoulders must bear the recoil of his guns, and trekking through the wilderness allows him to run and escape from danger quickly. A stringy boy, to say the least. There are few actual scars adorning his body, often being out of the way of immediate danger, and instead has a number of scratches that comes from crawling through the rough brush of the outdoors, or camping out in a dingy little building for a number of hours. He's got a gangly posture, often slouching, which can be quickly whipped into a head-held-high form with the proper “motivation”.
He's got a smile that can light up a room with white, taken-care of teeth. Grit's face is fairly angular and is accentuating by many sharp features. Between a pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, high cheekbones, a bird-like nose, and high-sloping forehead, his face is a long, diamond shape. His sharply curved eyebrows border along his curious blue eyes, blending against his fair skin. His brown hair goes down just an inch or two below his shoulders and is always tied up in a tight ponytail, often slicked back with the assistance of a light dab of hair gel to keep it nice and smooth and out of Grit's face
PERSONALITY: Grit talks too much. He's annoying. He's over-confident. He's one hell of a shot.
That's what it boils down to. Otherwise known as “the crosshair with a mouth”, the world is a platform to Grit, and is an eccentric personality in the Drednaughts. Unlike one would expect from a sniper, he is an incredibly talkative guy, is egocentric, and overwhelmingly optimistic. His seemingly limitless energy is appalling, and he always has some clever or snarky quip to say in retaliation. He has a joke or story for everything. He's the sort of guy that doesn't quite know when to stop, and why should he? What right has he to take the greatness that is Danny Grit away from the world? That said, he is very confident in his own abilities, and rightfully so. If he were to take a moment's break from the talking, flirting, joking, and story-telling that might have been tailored and tweaked a bit to satisfy his vision, you can see how he can go from zero to top gear and concentrate all of his focus on that one, perfect shot.
Granted, as soon as the job is done – and it always is (and done fast, he often only needs one bullet) – that appeasing moment of silence is broken, and prepare your ears for the run-on gloating and bragging about how amazing that shot was. His ego is built off acknowledgment of his own ability with a gun, but more so on where he is in life. He sees himself as being part of the best, most dangerous mercenary teams in the world – and he is correct in that judgment. As a result, he does take pride in himself, and also the team, even as little as his pride in the latter is expressed; because even though Grit is very prideful and sees himself as a top-notch shot, he does seek to impress all the members of his team. After all, he is still a young man and seeks the approval of his comrades.
Despite his grating disposition, Grit is genuinely a well-meaning young man. He's an entertainer at heart and is very social. He doesn't discriminate between friends, which may be hard to see since he doesn't refrain from making jokes about stereotypes, and he's a little naïve about the kind of harm it can bring. Although a relentless flirt, it is done for the smile that comes after. He actually has little desire for romantic or sexual relationships, but he finds the smiles that he can bring out in people is heartwarming. His aptitude in marksmanship is unquestionable, but he's still a little green on the battlefield and face-up confrontation can greatly off-set his battle prowess. Even though he is a sniper, he prefers to eliminate his targets either through the heart or the back or sides of their heads. Seeing the enemy's face close-up through the scope can bring on some hesitation and would require him to steel himself for the shot.
ATTIRE: Grit is the kinda boy that'd put together a wardrobe conjoining both fashionableness and functionality. On account of the Dreadnaughts HQ being based out of Finland, he now tends to wear a gray sweat shirt that has been rolled to his elbows. However, if, say, the heating breaks, he'll roll them back down and don a brown leather jacket that looks to have been worn over a course of years judging from the frayed seams and worn-out elbows. A black leather belt with a steel buckle holders up grey-blue designer jeans. He wears brown punk-esque boots; it lacks any spikes of course, the laces just go from the top of the foot and up the ankles, which is crossed over with two straps and buckles. He also has a hemp, multi-shark tooth necklace that he got on a vacation to Ft. Lauderdale one time.
On the job, he has a pretty light-weight setup. A kevlar vest is layered over a variable textured long-sleeve shirt with hoods, the color and design of which is dependent on the environment he is in. If it is in a very cold area, he would wear a color-matching coat instead, which would also allow him the means of wearing the vest beneath his attire. All these outfits have in common, though, is a ski mask, which is similar in the idea of matching the colors of the environment, and earpieces that attach to the radio on his belt. He packs a backpack full of extra ammunition, but primarily things that allow him to survive, such as MRE's and survival equipment and guides. He also packs IFAKs, because crawling around in backwater areas might lead to cuts and infections and stuff. The bag sports other items, such as spare scopes or other replacement parts for his guns.
WEAPON OF CHOICE: The CheyTac Intervention M200, firing $7 dollar rounds of .408 Chey Tac ammunition. Aside from having one of the longest-ranges of all modern-day sniper rifles? It's totally badass. This anti-personnel war machine is equipped with adjustable scopes and a silencer to mitigate the noise it makes, so that Grit does not give away his position when he turns the heads of his enemies into scarlet confetti bombs.
Howe'er, he does have backup weapons should he ever find himself in the position of being closed in on by the enemy, he has a special gun that was given to him as a gift: the Magnum Research BFR, the Big Frame Revolver, otherwise known as the “Big, Fine Revolver” or the “Big Fucking Revolver”. This beast of a handgun has a 5-round cylinder that has been customized to fire .500 S&W Magnum rounds, ensuring that Grit blows a hole in whatever he's pointing the gun at. The grip is black, and the chamber and barrel have a fine chrome finish. Sure, while it is heavy, he probably only needs to fire it once and send the assailant running – if their head hasn't exploded, that is.
In emergency situations where neither gun is available, he has survival knifes and a bayonet on hand, though he mostly uses these for utility, and would sooner retreat than be forced into melee combat.
MUGGING: Grit uses subtle, easy movements. He tries to remain calm while sweat rolls down his face. “It's okay,” Grit says to him easily, “it's okay, I'm getting it now. Hold on.” Grit slides his hands into his pocket. Suddenly, Grit yells “pocket sand!” and throws a fistful of sand, dirt and lint that has accumulated in his pockets at the mugger's face, then sprints in the opposite direction faster than you can shake a stick at.
BIOGRAPHY: Let's make this one quick: Grit is the only son of a family in Alabama whose father was often deployed overseas, and therefore was unable to see him very often. So he spent a lot of time at home with his mother, playing with airsoft guns, BB guns, and even paintball guns, playing war in the back yard. Whether this was a projection of his admiration or longing to be with his father is still all up in the air, but being in a veteran's family surely made a large impact on his life. However, without any father figures in the house to help raise the boy, a young man can wear a woman's patience thin. This allowed less time for discipline, which meant that he spent his time in school as a social activity, and didn't pay the education much heed unless he was on the verge of failing – at which event, he'd bust his ass getting himself back up to speed and passing tests, and then the cycle would repeat itself.
When he was 18, he got the BFR as a gift from his father. Which in itself was an odd coincidence when you consider his disappointment in his son, as he wished the boy wouldn't waste his education and go to college. Instead, Grit, who didn't seem to hear or understand his words was eager to impress his father and enlisted in the National Guard. There he received much training and became one of the top shots in the group of recruits they had. He hasn't been deployed once for a year since he was recruited, but during that year, he managed to stuff a lot of practice into shooting and did participate in local rescue operations and disaster relief. He particularly loved doing disaster relief missions, even though they were fairly severe situations, because he got to help out people in their dire times of need.
It wasn't enough hustle though, and Grit never thought it would be. The National Guard was just his training grounds. His true aspirations were the Dreadnaughts. They were the biggest, baddest mercenaries in the world and they were the best of the best. Grit loved the idea of becoming one of them, one of the legends. He had to have sent seven applications or so, and the first six were turned down under the belief he was just some riled child without enough discipline or skill. This was half true. The last time he sent an application, he attached a video recording, a compilation of his marksmanship skills. There had to have been a dozen different instances where the shots he made had the odds akin to that of striking the ball end of a pin needle. They finally accepted him and scheduled him a ride to Finland, where he would then receive further training.
For the four years he's been there, he built up a reputation not with just his marksmanship, but mostly because of his incredible, uncanny luck. While his ability to aim and fire a rifle is nothing to laugh at – he's one of the best – it has just been overshadowed by how many lucky breaks he managed to get away with. In fact, in a ratio of time since he's joined to how many scars he has, his has to be the absolute lowest of anybody's. He also holds the Dreadnaught's record of “most near-death situations survived”. One of his best shots on one of these missions is when he had to assassinate a general in Latin America. It was during El Niño, Grit was soaking wet and on top of a Cuban pine tree, which was swaying back and forth in the wind. Among all that, he had to account for the wind affecting his bullet projectory. Somehow, for some reason (people often supect that God is rooting for the wrong guy), and against all odds, he made that shot. After which, the army the general led was alerted to his location and sprayed the tree with turret fire. Damn near pissing his pants, Grit [strike]fell[/strike] climbed down as fast as he could, hearing and feeling elephant-killing bullets whizzing past his head.
Grit never did stop telling that story. Sometimes he even adds parts to it that didn't actually happen. People still call him out on account of him being lucky, and that he should have died. Their denial feeds his ego.
TALENTS: Grit is, without argument, an excellent shot. There's a reason why Belroth keeps a young man like him around even with all the incessant talking. He like the prodigal son of William Tell – more likely though, he's just one hell of a shot with one hell of a lucky streak. He's got a reputation for things just going his way, even when things are just looking down for him. He good at making conversation and he'll never struggle to find a topic to have a conversation over, but that doesn't make him adept at diplomacy, since he's pretty arrogant and just likes to hear himself talk. He is decent enough at camouflaging himself, even if it's only minor. He doesn't paint, so that does hamper his ability somewhat. He has decent enough outdoor survival experience, and he can climb a tree as though he were a monkey. He's pretty good at video games, and if the 'Naughts ever decided to hold a contest, Grit would likely come up on top, given how most of the others are a bit older and hasn't quite grown up with video games as much. His ma also taught him how to make country fried chickens and steaks, but that is about the extent of his cooking ability: bread it up and throw that sucker in a pan o' butter.
ROLE: Grit is a special brand of infantry: the sniper, or long-ranged support. Having a hawk's eye view of the field does allow him a place in the formulating of strategies and tactics, but he lacks the sort of cleverness to have any real input. Instead, he often reports in placement of units and artillery, detailing in some key locations and so on. From there, the tacticians take over and figure out the next best step is. Grit also takes out key targets from afar, putting him in a pivotal role in many missions.
OTHER: Grit must have an angel or something watching over him – and there are a lot of jokes about how God must have him confused for somebody else. His luck is uncanny and unpredictably unpredictable. That is to say that he somehow is placed in absurd situations that nobody should expect him – or any other person – to succeed. This is to say that Belroth may place him in an important position to do an important job, and fate just makes it so that it appears next to impossible to complete, such as the incident where he had to carry out an assassination, and El Niño swooped in at the last second. And yet, at the same time, it is also his luck that allows him to succeed in these missions. Grit's life is always exciting, and you can always expect some sort of fascinating tale from him – though you can never tell if his tales are true or not.
I LIKE: Girls, Cuban food, music, himself, guns, his image, humor, conversation, et cetera.
I DISLIKE: Those meanies that don't believe his awesome-ass stories.
ATTRIBUTES
You have 19 points to allocate between each stat. Remember, you cannot have zero in a stat. Please don't be the dick that has 1's in 5 of the stats and then has a Strength of 14 or something.
Strength: 3 (Danny Grit don't work out, but he's gotta lug that sniper around.)
Dexterity: 5 (Danny Grit is a swell shot! He hides pretty nice too; watch him climb a tree in three seconds.)
Constitution: 4 (Danny Grit's got a hot bod - gotta crawl around in the wilds and stay hidden.)
Wisdom: 2 (Danny Grit lives in the moment, brah.)
Intelligence: 2 (Danny Grit went to school! Totally! He just doesn't need that stuff anymore.)
Charisma: 3 (Danny grit smiles real nice. Those times he stumbles on the pick-up line? Totally doesn't matter.)
[SPECIALIZATION]
Marksmanship: Long-distance rifles – Does it really need any further explanation? Come on, the boy is good with a high-powered rifle, I think I made that pretty clear.
DOSSIER
NAME: Isaiah Washe
AGE: 49
SEX: M
NICKNAME: Caesar
DESCRIPTION: A rough and tumble man that was seemingly born out of the brush in a Texas desert, Isaiah is a stocky and somewhat intimidating man. He's isn't two-hundred pounds of bulging swole or made up of scar tissue. He's 5'10 and weighs 170 lbs, and has the build of a wrestler, which means he packs muscle, but lacks the toning due to the healthy-sized meals he packs on. That said, he's a mean-looking bastard. His face is twisted into what looks to be a permanent scowl and a flushed skin color as though Grit had been talking for an hour straight. He's got a squared face, a cleft chin, pronounced jawline, nose and brow ridge, a pronounced Adam's apple, and the posture of a seasoned military soldier – along with the power to knock you off your feet with his deep, booming voice alone. As his age and stature may suggest, he isn't spectacularly graceful, fast, or agile as he may have been years ago, but his gray eyes suggest that the years has done little to dull his sharpness or clever wit. His experience has left him seasoned and grizzled, and you can see it in him when he looks down at your miserable pit of an existence that is your combat career.
He has short, thick black hair in a comb-over on his head and to pair, a thick but well-trimmed set of mutton-chops on his face, which meets together on his upper lip and works in neat symmetry. A soul patch sits on his chin to fill in the empty space. He lacks any sort of piercings and the only tattoo he has is the phrase “Semper Fi” from his youth, where half of the phrase being labeled over each pec (“Semper” “Fi”, to clarify). He's got pearly whites, though you'd never know it, for whenever he opens his mouth, you can only focus on how to best escape his raging wrath and projected voice that follows you around every back-alley nook. His bulky hands and feet are the perfect size for throttling you or shoving up your ass, respectively.
PERSONALITY: He has the personality of nuclear fission: a relatively stable guy, but will fuck up your shit if you mess with him. He's straight-forward, honest, and on the outside, pretty simple. He has an easy-to-understand code of conduct and work ethic. If you play along, do your job right, have a good head on shoulders and aren't an outright dumbass, you'll get along with him pretty well. He has a head where nobody else is and is aware that he often times thinks outside the box – in addition to this, he also prefer to own control, so he would like to have it that nobody argues with his decisions and plans and that nobody tries to cut him off while he is talking, because usually nobody is really aware what his plans are until the final steps come to fruition. As long as you listen to him and his wise words, don't question him, you should never enter a yelling match with him.
If you do, God help you.
Isaiah's has a hair-trigger temper and is prone to loud, boisterous bouts of shit-inducing rage. He is a notable, nearly famous icon among the Dreadnaughts for this trait. He will sling to you every slur, insult, and derogatory language ever uttered in American history as drops of spittle comes flying out his mouth, landing on your clothes, as his red face and bulging veins seethes with scorching fire that can only be found in Hell or in Isaiah. Surely, if you get on his bad side, the words he made you swallow will come back as a shat-out diamond of unadulterated fear. He isn't massive like Wes Shanks, but what Isaiah has over him is that his flesh is made up of pure, condensed hatred for your pitiful existence, you miserable waste of carbon. There is something infinitely more terrifying about someone (who eerily reminds you of your dad) who is eternally angry and hates every fiber of your being than any soldier.
Despite his almost comical temper, he is universally respected among even his peers and those who dislike him. He is a remarkably intelligent man with a love for trivia. His experience in the field as a marine has taught him a lot about warfare, and on top of his previous intellectual pursuits, is a superb tactician and strategist. He takes practical experience and meshes it with his knowledge of history and his problem-solving mind to create complex strategies and commands the tactics to be made to complete that strategy. However, those who are not familiar with him may call into question his decisions. He has outside-the-box methods and often does not reveal the full strategy to those outside the strategist circle (often, he doesn't even let the circle in on his full plan, and when he does, usually informs only Belroth most of his strategy). This has to do with not wanting to waste his time with the infantry, a way to keep himself clean of their stupid suggestions, and of course, allows him to contemplate the plan in full in peace. To work the ins and outs, so that he can perfect it. Perhaps there is a bit of cocky pride in there too, so that he can have an “A-ha!” moment when it works.
ATTIRE: He sports a wardrobe that seems to only reassure you that he might be the Boogeyman in disguise, lurking about the modern world. He often wears a black denim jacket over a white muscle shirt, over which is a pair of dog tags. His sleeveless shirt is also often tucked into a pair of fatigues with a belt donning a large buckle. These fatigues are equipped with two holsters and are tucked into black combat boots, which are buckled tightly an has a hidden knife sheath inside. He also wears a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses, model RB4115 and a black ivy cap on his head. Usually the first warning sign of your ass being put in risk of being ripped in twain is when Isaiah raises his glasses and stares at your from the side with widened eyes.
On duty, his attire changes with the importance of the mission. On lighter, more insignificant missions, all he'll change is to wear a black kevlar vest over his shirt and under his jacket. On big, highly-important and high-priority missions, his gear will change into something resembling that of a marine in the Dreadnaught colors – blacks, greys, whites, et cetera. A very greyscale uniform. Considering how he still doesn't see the front line as much as the infantry, he doesn't necessarily have to wear a helmet. Besides... if Isaiah's on the front line, he's saving the asses of the team that manage to fuck everything up. By that point, he's pissed as hell and is ready to carry the mission by himself.
WEAPON OF CHOICE: A seasoned old marine soldier from Texas knows his guns, and he knows what he likes. While he is experienced with automatics and handguns, his favorite guns are shotguns and revolvers, and that is what he carries – he doesn't have to be the one at the front lines after all. In fact, he has a custom made shotgun: it is a 12 gauge sawed-off triple-barrel shotgun. It was based off the Chiappa Triple Threat and was modified to become a short-barreled shotgun. There is a strap on the side of his thigh that allows him to sheathe it there for easy access.
In addition, a .45 Colt revolver is holstered on the side of his hip. As you can tell, Isaiah isn't one for subtlety when it comes to his gun use. In fact, deriving from his experience and pessimistic outlook, many people would assume that he hides a lot of knives on his body for those “just in case” scenarios.
MUGGING: Isaiah would probably stare at the mugger with the evil eye until he left.
BIOGRAPHY: He was born out of Texas to a fairly conservative family, over by Houston. He came from a strict and military-supporting family, with a rather long line of veterans, and, of course, this carried on to Isaiah since it was expected of him. He was disciplined at a young age and was encouraged to engage in sports while he maintained a high grade average in school. By the time he entered college, he enlisted in the Marine Corps and received training at a boot camp, as well as education benefits that'd help carry him through his college education. Given how his education was an investment in his military career, they allowed him to finish his education before he was shipped off overseas. His education turned out remarkably successful. He got out of Virginia Tech with a Master's in History along with an Associate's in Philosophy, an Associate's in Government and International Affairs, and another in Sociology, along with an Army ROTC. His dedication to his studies and his life at boot camp earned him the rank of warrant officer, and after deployment with some practical experience, quickly became the infantry officer of his platoon.
As an infantry officer, he trained his Marines for every variety of ground combat mission, as well as gathering and evaluating intelligence on enemy forces, developing battle plans and commanding his units use of weapons and equipment. He himself often drove the trucks and transport vehicles to get his unit into position, as he was a quick and adaptable thinker, it made him adept at operating transport. Over the years, he made out to be an exceptional soldier. He was fast, strong, clever, and adaptive, and despite his temper, he knew what he was doing. He sought to receive training as a MAGTF officer, and he managed to get it. Halfway through his training, he already had the experience to warrant him a position as a Ground Intelligence Officer where he commanded operating forces and analyzed intelligence and planning, deployment and tactical employment of ground surveillance and reconnaissance units. He was honored for his tactical prowess and his ability to guide missions to completion efficiently.
As he aged and became less reactionary, his superior officers found him new positions where they can capitalize on his abilities. He became Logistics Officer and coordinated every major unit in the operating forces, and planning strategies for them. His position also allowed him to develop long-range projects and managing supply chains and analyzing data and performance. He also coordinated from supply, to transportation, maintenance, general engineering, and to health services. He was a Logistics officer for five years, right up to when he was 40.
However, between deployments in his early years, he did find a woman whom he married and started a family with. He also visited his family between deployments, occasionally not being able to return for as long as two or three years, but he always did. So one day, he came to realize that he was missing out on his son's life. He received training to be a Human Source Intelligence Officer, putting him in counterintelligence billets and duties such as platoon commanding. It only lasted two years. After his first tour, he was primarily given recruiting and instructing duty. It allowed him to spend more time with his family during his son's adolescent years. However, instructing became too much of a burden to Isaiah, and after one bundle of particularly rowdy and stupid recruits, he decided that it was too much and said “fuck it”. He retired from duty and returned home.
He tried to help out his son, who was already a teenager, about 15 or so. He gave him hand-me-downs, old guns and stuff, but also encouraged him to pursue his education and pushed him very hard. Unfortunately, for that year, he wasn't adapting to civilian life very well. The Marine Corp was putting him in a place where he got all of the annoying or boring jobs. He was pretty pissed about how quickly he seems to have age, and whether it was in a fit of angst or mid-life crisis, he applied to the Dreadnaughts, hearing they weren't pushovers. They found his credentials suitable and immediately put him in a role where he'd be acting as tactician and strategist.
Needless to say, it was the perfect position for him.
There wasn't any Marine Corp-style bureaucracy for him, he strictly made plans for units and squads and platoons, and occasionally was out in the field if the situation was dire enough to call for it. He has been a part of the Dreadnaughts for a whopping six years and has led the charge on multitudes of missions. He's a rather well known face – and not just for his outside of the box strategies and forecasts, he's probably even more known for his temper and loud, angry voice.
TALENTS: Isaiah is a seasoned veteran and has extensive training in ground combat from the marines, as well as possessing tactical expertise. His years has allowed him to train his marksmanship to prodigal levels, he possessed Olympian athletic abilities after extensive exercise, and one time dragged two downed soldiers to safety under heavy fire. Nowadays, he's a little more out of shape. He has comparatively average strength and constitution, and that little crick in his back keeps him from sprinting across fields. He's a little slower, so it's not like he can take his gun and aim it at your face in a hair of a second anymore. What he makes up for in an aging body, though, is the experience and wisdom from all his years. He can shoot a target in its center simply because he knows how to work his guns, and how to aim. His wisdom in the flesh allows him to extend his experience into what would normally be physical feats and perform them anyway. He has a lot of experience driving and operating vehicles, from his years of positioning units in key locations and leading them from there. It is also lent to him so that he may remain level-headed in even high stress situations.
Most notably, however, is his ability to construct complex strategies and to apply the tactics necessary to meet those ends. These strategies are often worked over and over again in his head before he works it out on paper. The strategies are meticulous and difficult to follow unless you're being led along the way step by step. For his plots, he takes from his experiences and from history itself. He is very well versed in military history and takes the best ideas from it and works to remove their flaws. Easily, one of his most dangerous traits is that he learns from his mistakes. He is adaptive. If you foil him, you just made him stronger. Clearly, this ability extends also to chess, of which he is the undisputed champion. He doesn't lie, but quite frankly, he can scare most people off through his own brand sheer brutal honesty. He doesn't need to lie.
ROLE: Chief tactician and strategist, ground intelligence officer, Dreadnaught's logistic officer.
OTHER: Literally the loudest and angriest person in the world. If tribes threw virgins into volcanoes to appease them, they'd throw Isaiah angels.
I LIKE: Coffee, moonshine, control, meat n' potatoes, chess, the smell of gunpowder, success, et cetera.
I DISLIKE: Recruits, dumbasses, Grit, olives, fruity girl drinks, them confounded new computers they keep sellin', smug little shits, Pyhrric victories, et cetera.
ATTRIBUTES
You have 19 points to allocate between each stat. Remember, you cannot have zero in a stat. Please don't be the dick that has 1's in 5 of the stats and then has a Strength of 14 or something.
Strength: 3 (“You can count yourself lucky you ain't seen me in my prime, 'lest I bitch-slap all the God damn teeth out of your filthy whore mouth.”)
Dexterity: 2 (“Fuckin' hell, I'm getting too old for this God damn bullshit! Go to hell! I can still shoot better than most of you little shits.”)
Constitution: 3 (“I've got two hands, and that's enough to shove you back down whatever filthy pit the devil evicted your dumb ass from.”)
Wisdom: 5 (“It's one thing to be smart, but I swear to Christ, I must be the only one here that knows what to do with it.”)
Intelligence: 5 (“Got out of Virginia Tech with a degree in history, international affairs, and an Army ROTC, and that's why you're the poor bastard on the field covered in laser sights.”)
Charisma: 1 (Damn fucking right, I'm pissed. I have to order you retarded asshole around all day and my pay is about the same as yours! Piss off!”)
[SPECIALIZATION]
Tactics: Historical Application – you know what? Isaiah is clever enough to come up with his own plans, and make them the best gosh darn thing you've ever seen. But you know what the true mark of a tactician is? Learning from the mistakes of the past. He can take strategies that have been implemented from times long passed and amend the flaws in their grand design to perfect what our forefathers sought to do. Pyrrhus is turning in his grave.
