The Imagination

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

The gathered crowd was impressive at first glance. Jacob's analytical temperament took over as everyone socialized, the whole group was unique and for lack of a better term, special in their own ways. As the amassed gathering clustered around the large vid-screen in the center of the room, Jacob stayed back awaiting the briefing. He'd expected a big job, to be apart of something wildly important. Hell, he didn't even know if there'd be an application or interview process. Mr. House worked in mysterious ways. As the briefing took place, his eyes glued onto the still eyes of Mr. House on the vid-screen.

It looked like they were repairing a national trolley line running from the west to east coast in three different routes. An important task, indeed. As the questions were asked and the technology behind it explained, Jacob merely payed enough attention to understand his role in all this. He'd be there as the handyman essentially, a good shot if needed. He wasn't a fan of killing, distracting perhaps, but killing was something done out of necessity only. Some things were justified more than others in his mind, and he understood that someone on the other end of his rifle could be just another person following orders.

Than as the whole NCR-Brotherhood debacle turned up, he rolled his eyes. After Javier was done talking, Jacob spoke up.

"This is bound to become the biggest power struggle the wastes will ever see. There's going to be an all out war all across the country, heh, should say i'm damn excited to be caught up in the middle of it." After taking in another deep inhale of his cigarette, he walked over to an ashtray on a nearby nightstand and put it out.

With a smooth exhale, he snapped back to Mr. House, casually glancing over to Mr. Tenpenny as well. "Is there going to be some sort of assurance that this newfound technology will be used beneficially for the future of the wasteland or is it going to be exploited like any other business venture in this beautiful city? Can't say I care either way, what i'm trying to get at is...will I ever see my hometown glow like this place?"

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

TheUnknowable said
you did count me as red, right? Just checking.

I threw my vote in for Red as well.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

I'll also throw my chip in for the Red Line.

Are we going to be co developing raider gangs, creatures/irradiated animals, settlements and other things like that as we go along?

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

Posted, one more crazy guy to throw into the fray

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

One month ago...
Phoenix, Arizona

The sun...that was another enemy to face in this city. A place, just metal and stone, a man once said. It was more than that, a hotplate of concrete and asphalt baking in the sun. There was a reason many settlers wore turbans and long sleeved shirts, skin cancer was all too common a threat to those who braved it. Regardless, Jacob didn't have the time or luxury to afford any protection. He had to move fast and think fast to maneuver the various other dangers this city held.

Passing by the old neighborhood he grew up in, the settlement he was born in, it brought tears to his red stained face. Memories were a luxury, but in a desperate time with no photographs to spare, memories were an affordable luxury. Skeletons of adults and children hung off splintered crosses, hung across the gym, the administration buildings, and the classrooms. Those were repressed memories, emotional scars burned inside him. It was a long hour he'd spent reminiscing in there, what felt like an eternity.

Just as he carried himself, his equipment, and a new load of emotional baggage upon his shoulders he would be beset upon by raider filth. He remembered their kind, thought it funny how they'd survived all this time. A living proof of this city's arrogance to be conquered. The Basilisks is what they called themselves, your typical leather jacket and biker attire wearing maniacs with an addiction to shotguns and psycho. Mostly ghouls, a scary bunch to run into.

"You know who we are?" Said the tall one, atrocious looking ghoul riddled in scars.

Skin flayed red and tendered by the sun and dust storms, he wore a turban riddled with holes and tears. A riot shotgun was clutched in one hand, barrel hung along his shoulder plate. Jacob was nervous, possibly the first tense situation he'd been in for years. A silent nod was all the leader needed to see.

"Good god, let's hope you're still sane, boy. We need your help. If you refuse, we'll shoot you on the spot."

"Well fuck, lay it on me."

"You're going to be our foreman on this job, smoothskin. Put my lazy fucks to work, make sure they show up sober and do a good fuckin' job. We're renovating this place, making a safe haven for ghouls and humans in this hellhole. Do a good job, an'...I just might let you walk outta' here."

8 days ago...
Phoenix, Arizona

"Where are you headed, smoothskin?"

"Goin' for a walk, Dale. Tell Davison i'll be back in five."

"Yeah, sure thing."

6 days ago...
Sonora Desert

"In the desert, you can remember your name! 'Cause they ain't no one for to give you no pain! Laaaa' la, la lalalala la! La, la laaaa' la!"

Oh god... Jacob thought, I'm already going hysterical. The average gecko, nightstalker, cazador, diamondback, wild dog and vicious boar was enough of a strain avoiding and evading from. The lack of sleep and running from a gang of twacked out ghouls was even worse. He was a tough man, though, eyes focused on seeing a road once more. Wading through bushes and dirt, hollow cactus husks and mole rats were not a common scene he felt welcome in.

3 days ago...
Lake Havasu City

"Got 'nuff water there, par'dner?" A jubilant and jolly fellow asked. Grey hair and a fat gut, tan skin. He was a working man, and a happy one at that.

"Yes, sir. Should last me 'till Vegas. Thanks for all the help back there."

"Sure you don't need another few hours of sleep, boy?"

"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford right now..." Jacob chuckled, sarcastic cliches always lightened up his mood.

With his toolbelt fastened around his waist, his satchel hauled over his shoulder, and a newfound confidence, the road warrior set out on Route 93. If he hustled, he'd be at the Hoover Dam by midday tomorrow.

Midday tomorrow-er...2 days ago,
Hoover Dam, Nevada

"J-just keep your hands right fucking there, raider scum!" The kid was timid, Jacob had him analyzed for a trigger happy recruit. He had definitely signed up to kill something.

"You sure you want to pull that trigger, son? End a man's life?" The road warrior took a step forward, both hands in the air.

"Stay back, or i'll shoot!" The kid took two steps back, knees quavering.

"This ain't the first time a gun's been pointed in my face, kid. And lemme tell you, last thugs to do that weren't damn near pissing themselves wet." Jacob almost bursted out laughing, for the soldier indeed was wetting his uniform.

"Jesus fucking christ, Private, go take a bath for all our sake. We'll work on your well needed behavioral adjustments later. So whats up with you, just passing through?" The red-faced sergeant stared Jacob down, sweating profusely.

"Yup."

"Well get the hell on, than. Stop waisting my time."

Five minutes ago,
Freeside

Jacob took in a deep breath of the, for lack of a better word, fresh Vegas air. From drug addicts to drug peddlers, Freeside was such a grand ol' place. His hand was firmly set on his pistol at all times, a sturdy .357 that'll blow a good sized hole right through your chest. If worse came to worse, his hammer did well up close against most vagabonds and lowlifes. After gulping the last drop of the prickly pear juice concoction he'd created, he licked his lips and sighed with satisfaction. It was high time he felt he'd hit up the Old Mormon Fort, and with luck, they'd have some medicinal herbs on hand thanks to the charitable donations of local farms and NCR sharecroppers.

After fumbling around his toolbelt bags for several minutes, the self proclaimed road warrior was reduced to a whiny baby kicking the fort wall in frustration.

"Only 40 caps?! God-fugging-arrgh!"

"Calm down, Jacob. Give me 40 now and i'll see to it you give me the last 60 caps when you can afford it." A soft hand comforted his sunburnt bicep.

"Ahck! Shit, that stung. Alright, Carmen." He replied softly, handing over the sack of bottle caps. "You're too nice, y'know? It'll get ya screwed over one day..."

She reached into her medical bag and pulled out a small jar filled up to the tip with cannabis and topped off with a little datura root. "I trust you, and I trust many people around here. You'll always have a home here at the fort, remember that." Handing over the jar to him, Jacob winked at her and walked away as smoothly as he could for a jackass that just stubbed his foot kicking a brick wall.

"Oh! And I hear there's a big job hiring at the Lucky 38! Lots of people headed there, lately! G'luck, kiddo!"

With a curiosity overwhelming him, a job opportunity like this was too good to pass up. Stretching back the metallic blue gate dividing Freeside, he marched up to the New Vegas Gate and confronted the Securitron guarding it.

"Halt, and submit to a credit check." Demanded the clunky steel frame.

"Actually...I was wondering if Mr. House or whoever at the Lucky 38 is still hiring." Jacob coughed and wheezed for a few seconds, spitting up a wad of mucus and dirt and dust. "Ahh...is Victor around?"

"One moment, please..."

Within a matter of seconds, the old cowboy hat and friendly face appeared on the Securitron's visual screen.

"Well howdy, partner! What can I do, for ya?" It's demanding steel frame transformed into a giddy, wobbly and friendly tone.

"I'm looking for work, Victor. Heard there's some openings down at the Lucky 38."

"Sure is! Didn't quite catch your name though, amigo..."

"Jacob Charles, used to run clean up crews and framing crews around Freeside. Helped reinforce quite a few of these walls and barricades too."

"Did quite a few other jobs too, far as I remember! Folks and laborers worked under you said you're not bad a shot, either! Follow me, partner." The robot gestured over to the gate.

There was a certain gleam in Jacob's eye as the gate opened up. The shining lights of Gammorah, the Lucky 38's massive size from up close. The cleanly paved roads and sultry prostitutes dancing out in the street. It was a beautiful place he was starting to like already. As he followed the cowboy robot up the steps, he'd lost himself so soon in the sights and sounds of it all. It was truly a safe haven, a place where people could still have fun in all this hell.

By the time he was escorted into the elevator, a joint was rolled with 200 year old rolling paper and about two grams of farm grown marijuana. Good for laying the edge off, not so good for firefights, tends to make you careless and that's when mistakes happen. Still, he figured a full house of mercenaries and freaks from all over would be a stressful enough atmosphere. The metallic click of the lighter struck the cigarette right as the elevator dinged on the penthouse floor.

A deep inhale, and a smooth exhale before taking one step into the room. He was right, the place was a full house. Nightkin, robots, some looked heavily armed and others appeared heavily skilled. As he drew in another hit, a smooth cloud released into the room from his lungs.

"So uh, who exactly do I have to talk to?"

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

*patiently waits to be accepted*

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

*whistles casually*

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

Name: Jacob Charles
Age: 29
Appearance:


Skills:
Primary; Guns, Repair
Secondary; Survival

Perks:
~Road Warrior; Jacob naturally finds himself a little more perceptive and luckier while traveling on major roadways, highways, suburban streets and the like.

~Carpenter; Having become familiar with the trade for nearly eight years, Jacob can effectively build small camp sites, barricades, and do repairs to pre war homes given he has the lumber or wood and the equipment to do it.

Equipment:

~ M16A1; A sturdy, dusty old rifle that's been slung over his shoulder for nearly 6 years now.

~ .357 Magnum; A decent sidearm that's served a few good purposes since he bought it in Dallas four years ago.

~ 8lb. Claw Hammer; An old, wearing out hammer that's bashed as many heads in as it has nails.

~ Medium sized survival pack with two main pouches for food and water, and ammo. Two smaller pouches are used for holding medical supplies, herbs and small miscellaneous items such as scissors and tape.

~ Toolbelt, contains a hook for his hammer, and several pouches for various nails and screws, ratchets, ammo and other small miscellaneous framing items and tools.

Biography:

A thunderous boom was the first sound Jacob would hear as he entered into the world. At the heart of Phoenix, a city constantly crumbling into ashes and rebuilding, another vicious dust storm threatened the very lifestyle of dozens of tribes, scavengers, a few settlements and even Legion camps. Being born in the middle of such chaos would shape his life into what it's become today.

A settlement in Northeast Phoenix, composed of a massive elementary school with several large buildings, a wide open recreational area and sizable parking lot, was to become Jacob's home. As these dust storms rolled in every year, he was raised around men and women of carpentry and framing experience, constantly barricading, bracing, and building new constructs around the settlement. It was to be a relatively peaceful lifestyle, for the most part, until Caesar's Legion threatened their existence.

A rogue band of tribesmen hailing from a place known as Prescott, north of Phoenix, had made their way to the settlement. Wounded, dehydrated and starving, the friendly going settlers took them in and nursed them back to health. It was only when they revealed that they were fleeing from Caesar's Legion did the settlers realize the trouble they were headed toward. What once was a neighborly, peaceful community turned into a divided civil conflict as the Legion declared the ultimatum. Surrender the tribesmen or be annihilated.

On the third day, with several settlers having killed each other over the severity of the decision, the small warband of Legionaries had grown impatient. Jacob was eighteen at this point, loitering around the main gate with other guards when he was suddenly thrown a M16A1 right as the main gates blew open. Shock had hit him as his ears vibrated and rung from the initial blast and clanging of metal shrapnel. His friends and family all around him were being shot up, sliced apart, and blown into shreds from the sheer firepower and brutal warmongering style of the Legion. Fight or flight overtook all bodily function, and all he could do was watch his body run and gun all the way to the back gate.

The feeling of cowardice hit him instantaneously, as he glanced back to see what few survivors left were barely putting up a fight. He abandoned his home, left it to burn as he proceeded to face the Sonoran Wasteland alone. Nightstalkers, cazadors, savage feral ghouls, greedy prospectors, vile raiders, all the usual deadly wildlife is present. And than comes the unique predators.

The Burnt Ones, they call them. Feral ghouls who lay down on the asphalt, bake in the Phoenix sun. Their skin turns black, burnt, crispy. They act dead, perched up along a car, spread along a sidewalk, face down in the street, anywhere that looks inconspicuous. Sometimes they work in packs, ambushing entire caravans, squads and patrols, passers by. Wastelanders set up warning signs along specific highways, overpasses, major streets, these things are everywhere. Shallow husks of feral ghouls who rot out in the sun. Jacob earned a claw shaped scar along his right bicep from one, being the wicked and gangly creatures they are he was lucky to not have it become infected.

Mutated carpenter ant hives dot the suburban areas, with pincers large and sharp enough to pierce your gut and sever a limb. Savage and irradiated boars are deadly in numbers out in the Sonora wild, with teeth powerful enough to chew through bone. Diamondback rattlesnakes have increased in number, grown significantly larger since two hundred years ago, and have become more aggressive. These deadly species and many more served as trials and tests for Jacob, having only barely made it California with the bloody rags on his back.

He stayed in the hub and worked as a carpenter for a year, eventually moving on to New Vegas to work as a caravan guard. When he got bored of that he followed a caravan to Salt Lake City, where he learned quite a bit about the Followers of the Apocalypse. For one reason or another, he took an exodus down south through Colorado and right back to his home in Phoenix. The buildings still stood, with crosses and rotted crucified corpses adorned to each of them. What he saw, walking through his burnt up childhood memories, really fucked him up mentally for a while. Eventually as he made his way back to New Vegas, he earned a name for himself as a strict foreman and carpenter. Within a few years he was gathering crews to haul up debris piles and fix up old world homes to a livable condition. Known for his skills with a gun, his willingness to tack on any job he's given, his drive to complete every job he's given, and his hands on skills, chances are he is usually never out of work.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

Woah, gimme a sec to read up on all this. Color me very interested, i've been playing New Vegas religiously the past week.

The Blood Eagle, a brutal Viking Age inspired, alternate history roleplay.

Wish I had this much interest in Advanced, heh.