Napoleon — Roleplayer Guild

Gordon [+]

Name: Gordon Deaves
Age: 36
Occupation: Scavenger
Personality: (Are you a leader, town builder, or just a loner)[i]
Backstory:
Gordon can still remember fragments of his life before the war. His father and mother arguing, his fifth christmas, his grandfather, things like that. But the one memory that sticks with him from his past life is seeing the first explosion of the event that would literally rock the world as the door closed to the private bunker his parents had paid for and built. His mother always told him how she had scolded his father for being such a conspiracy nut, but it was just that kind of mentality that had saved their lives.

Life inside the private vault was hard and boring. The vault wasn't very big, housing only four rooms; the living room, the storage room and two bedrooms. The small bulb that hung from the ceiling was powered by a fuel generator for the first few years or so, but was soon replaced with a hand wound generator that practically took all day to keep the bulb on for 12 hours. Gordon soon had to start pulling his weight with the generator after his 9th birthday.

There was little to do within the vault, what little board games they had were soon exhausted of any fun after the first few months and there was not enough room in the least to do anything physical other than actual exercise. They had a few books, but of course you can only read 'Dune' so many times before you would actually prefer a [i]'gom jabbar' to reading it again.

Gordon's father kept Gordon in good shape. He knew that one day they would have to return to the surface and to survive in such a world they'd have to be healthy. It was only until Gordon reached his teens that the vault's food supply finally ran out and they had to return to the charred wastes that used to be their home. It turns out that rats had infested the vault and eaten most of their food without them noticing until it was too late. They were reluctant, but it was either return to the waste or starve to death.

Gordon's father, being the doomsday prepper that he was, had stocked up on gas masks and a surplus of air filters, it was lucky or the radiation filled air would have killed them within a short time after leaving the vault. The first few months were hard to adjust to, practically stealing from homes that they had seen populated by their friends and family just before the bombs dropped. But things changed quickly after that. They all realized that it was steal or die, and quickly adjusted to the horrors that they experienced during their travels.

They soon began to encounter raiders though, and were only lucky to survive the first ambush. They had pre-war rifles that were barely working. They jammed or misfired and let the family have enough time to leap onto the two raiders and beat them within an inch of their life. It was at this point that Gordon's gun training began. It was hard for him to take to the weapon, but after a few months of firing empty rounds he eventually took to the rifle and just in time too, as another raider attack was soon upon them.

This raid didn't go so well. The family's rifles jammed and their cover was sparse. Gordon managed to slide behind a wall, but his mother and father were not so lucky. They were shredded to pieces by the raiders superior weaponry. Gordon managed to escape through a window with his life, but depression soon took him. The first thing he did after his mother and father's murder was disassemble the rifle that had jammed and reassembled a newer, slower rifle from the parts among other things he had found. It may have been slower, but at least it didn't jam. He contemplated suicide many times, but could never make himself do it. The closest he ever got was taking his mask off while in the emptiness of the wasteland. He soon realized the slow death that would have taken him and putting the life saving mask back on his face. This was when the radiation took him. It was only until a month or so later when the effects took him, he began to cough up blood. He was lucky that he had contracted nothing else, but still, the blood in his coughs is a major detriment to his health and combat abilities at times. After that, he travelled the waste, living day by day in the hopes that he'd find someone who wouldn't point a rifle at his face as soon as they saw him.

Name: Malcolm Oliver

Age: 35

Gender:Male

Appearance:

Malcolm [+]

Background:
Malcolm was born in Sheffield, England to a father in the construction business and an accountant mother. His life growing up was rather normal, his main interest during his childhood and teenage years was football. He was a proud supporter of Arsenal FC and was almost considered for one of the year teams until he broke his leg just before the trials started. It was around that time that he gave up football and began seeking a job. He tried himself out at a few offices here and there and at one point went working with his father at his construction job, but none of it felt right for Malcolm. After much consideration, he eventually decided to join the army but decided against being trained for a mech. He never liked the look of mechs, they were too big, one slip up and you've crushed an orphanage and killed all inside of it. He was placed in a recon division and found himself better with actual combat than he was with scouting ahead.
Rank: Staff Sergeant

Unit: Drop infantry, Recon

Role: Rifleman

Gear:

Gear [+]

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