I'd be interested in Harry Potter, slice of life, sci fi, or fantasy. Or some combination there of. PM if you're still looking for a partner.
xCRAZYxFACEx Member
The Sane
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In
Endymion: Symphony of Echoes [Sci-FI Squad based Horror-ish w/ Exploration elements] (Always Accepting)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
LT listened to Yoruha and Foulke, silently thinking of what would be the best course of action. He spoke up, the speakers in his suit synthesizing a cold but smooth voice.
"I agree with Foulke. The A.I. core is most likely to contain pertinent information. It is your call if we split up, but again, finding RO Team 21 would be our secondary priority."
Just then, the sound of a gun went off. LT turned to see what it was, and if he could have furrowed his brow he would have. "I was under the impression there weren't any biometrics on this station. So what's that currently covering half the hallway?" he said dryly. LT tilted his head, a signal to his second in command.
Hephaestus immediately understood. "Ralph, CQ, get your mechanical asses over here. We're retrieving the body for analysis. Slate, I want your scope on the hallway. Drop anything that appears hostile."
Ralph was helping the so called grunts with building the firebase. Setting down the piece of equipment he was carrying, he walked over to Hephaestus. CQ joined them, and she lit up her flamethrower, taking point. Slate simply got into position, aiming down the hallway with his rifle, 'Billy'.
The three of them edged forward securely, passing the GalSen soldiers. They quickly approached the body, and, barring any unfortunate surprises, Ralph picked up the body and they retreated back behind friendly lines.
"I agree with Foulke. The A.I. core is most likely to contain pertinent information. It is your call if we split up, but again, finding RO Team 21 would be our secondary priority."
Just then, the sound of a gun went off. LT turned to see what it was, and if he could have furrowed his brow he would have. "I was under the impression there weren't any biometrics on this station. So what's that currently covering half the hallway?" he said dryly. LT tilted his head, a signal to his second in command.
Hephaestus immediately understood. "Ralph, CQ, get your mechanical asses over here. We're retrieving the body for analysis. Slate, I want your scope on the hallway. Drop anything that appears hostile."
Ralph was helping the so called grunts with building the firebase. Setting down the piece of equipment he was carrying, he walked over to Hephaestus. CQ joined them, and she lit up her flamethrower, taking point. Slate simply got into position, aiming down the hallway with his rifle, 'Billy'.
The three of them edged forward securely, passing the GalSen soldiers. They quickly approached the body, and, barring any unfortunate surprises, Ralph picked up the body and they retreated back behind friendly lines.
In
Endymion: Symphony of Echoes [Sci-FI Squad based Horror-ish w/ Exploration elements] (Always Accepting)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@GingerBoi123 Still here
In
Endymion: Symphony of Echoes [Sci-FI Squad based Horror-ish w/ Exploration elements] (Always Accepting)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Name: Threat Neutralization Squad 201, or TN-201. Since it can sound a bit like TNT, they like to call themselves Squad Dynamite.
Origins: Their race is Majin, a race of sentient humanoid AIs. Their creator race, the Djinn, were slowly going extinct due to a hostile world that was dying. Rather than face extinction, and not having enough research in space travel, they decided to upload their consciousness into robotic frames. They can range anywhere from 4 feet to 8 feet in height in their frames, and only one Majin or 'program' can be run in a frame at a time. Most prefer to live in large servers that can host thousands of Majin, with them heading out into a frame when they need to perform maintenance or defend themselves.
Emblem: No emblem, just a red 201 imprinted onto their chassis.
Culture/Traditions: Being organic and synthetic, they don't feel entirely comfortable in either realm. They get along well enough with both organics and synthetics, but don't belong to either. In a situation where they feel uncomfortable, or scared (and they can be scared), they like to resort to private channels that only Majin can access. This communication is fast and almost unnoticeable to organics, but leaves organics out of the loop and synthetics wondering what they are talking about.
Specialization: Tough to Kill. They feel no pain, only discomfort, so they can't be incapacitated via normal methods. The only way to kill them is to destroy their AI core, flood the core with massive amounts of junk data, or cut them off from an electrical supply and let them 'starve' from lack of electricity. They can be rendered helpless by massively damaging their frame, but given time and materials they can repair themselves - though they'll usually need another's help to do that.
Units: No standard unit. Majin consider themselves too hardy to die given their bodies. When they fight, they prefer highly specialized frames and small groups of soldiers. This leaves them vulnerable to large scale invasion, but works well in smaller fights. And given their hardiness, they consider dying nearly a sin. So to prevent that, they prefer to give their soldiers the best equipment possible. ((Since this will be a small group of specialists, I'm not going to make them super badass heroes - they'll be killable like everyone else))
Important Characters:
Origins: Their race is Majin, a race of sentient humanoid AIs. Their creator race, the Djinn, were slowly going extinct due to a hostile world that was dying. Rather than face extinction, and not having enough research in space travel, they decided to upload their consciousness into robotic frames. They can range anywhere from 4 feet to 8 feet in height in their frames, and only one Majin or 'program' can be run in a frame at a time. Most prefer to live in large servers that can host thousands of Majin, with them heading out into a frame when they need to perform maintenance or defend themselves.
Emblem: No emblem, just a red 201 imprinted onto their chassis.
Culture/Traditions: Being organic and synthetic, they don't feel entirely comfortable in either realm. They get along well enough with both organics and synthetics, but don't belong to either. In a situation where they feel uncomfortable, or scared (and they can be scared), they like to resort to private channels that only Majin can access. This communication is fast and almost unnoticeable to organics, but leaves organics out of the loop and synthetics wondering what they are talking about.
Specialization: Tough to Kill. They feel no pain, only discomfort, so they can't be incapacitated via normal methods. The only way to kill them is to destroy their AI core, flood the core with massive amounts of junk data, or cut them off from an electrical supply and let them 'starve' from lack of electricity. They can be rendered helpless by massively damaging their frame, but given time and materials they can repair themselves - though they'll usually need another's help to do that.
Units: No standard unit. Majin consider themselves too hardy to die given their bodies. When they fight, they prefer highly specialized frames and small groups of soldiers. This leaves them vulnerable to large scale invasion, but works well in smaller fights. And given their hardiness, they consider dying nearly a sin. So to prevent that, they prefer to give their soldiers the best equipment possible. ((Since this will be a small group of specialists, I'm not going to make them super badass heroes - they'll be killable like everyone else))
Important Characters:
In
Endymion: Symphony of Echoes [Sci-FI Squad based Horror-ish w/ Exploration elements] (Always Accepting)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Name: Threat Neutralization Squad 201, or TN-201. Since it can sound a bit like TNT, they like to call themselves Squad Dynamite.
Origins: Their race is Majin, a race of sentient humanoid AIs. Their creator race, the Djinn, were slowly going extinct due to a hostile world that was dying. Rather than face extinction, and not having enough research in space travel, they decided to upload their consciousness into robotic frames. They can range anywhere from 4 feet to 8 feet in height in their frames, and only one Majin or 'program' can be run in a frame at a time. Most prefer to live in large servers that can host thousands of Majin, with them heading out into a frame when they need to perform maintenance or defend themselves.
Emblem: No emblem, just a red 201 imprinted onto their chassis.
Culture/Traditions: Being organic and synthetic, they don't feel entirely comfortable in either realm. They get along well enough with both organics and synthetics, but don't belong to either. In a situation where they feel uncomfortable, or scared (and they can be scared), they like to resort to private channels that only Majin can access. This communication is fast and almost unnoticeable to organics, but leaves organics out of the loop and synthetics wondering what they are talking about.
Specialization: Tough to Kill. They feel no pain, only discomfort, so they can't be incapacitated via normal methods. The only way to kill them is to destroy their AI core, flood the core with massive amounts of junk data, or cut them off from an electrical supply and let them 'starve' from lack of electricity. They can be rendered helpless by massively damaging their frame, but given time and materials they can repair themselves - though they'll usually need another's help to do that.
Units: No standard unit. Majin consider themselves too hardy to die given their bodies. When they fight, they prefer highly specialized frames and small groups of soldiers. This leaves them vulnerable to large scale invasion, but works well in smaller fights. And given their hardiness, they consider dying nearly a sin. So to prevent that, they prefer to give their soldiers the best equipment possible. ((Since this will be a small group of specialists, I'm not going to make them super badass heroes - they'll be killable like everyone else))
Important Characters:
So, that's that! Small squad, each with their strengths and weaknesses. And before anyone asks, yes, I recognize people are supposed to die in this RP. I'm planning on it. No redshirts here, so that means more of an emotional impact... hopefully.
If any changes need to be made, or if there are any questions/concerns, I'd be more than happy to address them!
Origins: Their race is Majin, a race of sentient humanoid AIs. Their creator race, the Djinn, were slowly going extinct due to a hostile world that was dying. Rather than face extinction, and not having enough research in space travel, they decided to upload their consciousness into robotic frames. They can range anywhere from 4 feet to 8 feet in height in their frames, and only one Majin or 'program' can be run in a frame at a time. Most prefer to live in large servers that can host thousands of Majin, with them heading out into a frame when they need to perform maintenance or defend themselves.
Emblem: No emblem, just a red 201 imprinted onto their chassis.
Culture/Traditions: Being organic and synthetic, they don't feel entirely comfortable in either realm. They get along well enough with both organics and synthetics, but don't belong to either. In a situation where they feel uncomfortable, or scared (and they can be scared), they like to resort to private channels that only Majin can access. This communication is fast and almost unnoticeable to organics, but leaves organics out of the loop and synthetics wondering what they are talking about.
Specialization: Tough to Kill. They feel no pain, only discomfort, so they can't be incapacitated via normal methods. The only way to kill them is to destroy their AI core, flood the core with massive amounts of junk data, or cut them off from an electrical supply and let them 'starve' from lack of electricity. They can be rendered helpless by massively damaging their frame, but given time and materials they can repair themselves - though they'll usually need another's help to do that.
Units: No standard unit. Majin consider themselves too hardy to die given their bodies. When they fight, they prefer highly specialized frames and small groups of soldiers. This leaves them vulnerable to large scale invasion, but works well in smaller fights. And given their hardiness, they consider dying nearly a sin. So to prevent that, they prefer to give their soldiers the best equipment possible. ((Since this will be a small group of specialists, I'm not going to make them super badass heroes - they'll be killable like everyone else))
Important Characters:
So, that's that! Small squad, each with their strengths and weaknesses. And before anyone asks, yes, I recognize people are supposed to die in this RP. I'm planning on it. No redshirts here, so that means more of an emotional impact... hopefully.
If any changes need to be made, or if there are any questions/concerns, I'd be more than happy to address them!
Gonna pop a character here soon because interest.
In
Tales from the ARK: Axiom (Fantasy Steampunk Free-form Nonlinear Viral Apocalypse!)
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
fuckin' love it. Count me interested. Also, its even better because i know a guy on here who's RP'ing as a dog, and jimquisition is his profile pic.
...it's funny, trust me
edit: annnd it seems it was cancelled. Phooey.
...it's funny, trust me
edit: annnd it seems it was cancelled. Phooey.
It had taken him a few hours of traveling the streets and tunnels of DC, but Terry finally could see the sprawling aircraft carrier known as Rivet City. As he walked closer, though, he noticed something was off. Like the crashed Vertibird, and the pitmarks and grappling cables along the hull.
"What in the hell happened..." Terry whispered to himself.
Time to take precautions. Terry pulled out his plasma rifle and activated his suit's cloak. He carefully made his way up to the entrance, only to find that all the guards on the other side were dead, and that the bridge was drawn in. He couldn't get across. Sighing, Terry made his way into the irradiated water. He had often done this late at night, when the guards wouldn't open the drawbridge. Clambering onto the part of the boat that had been sheared away, he looked for the way up.
Five minutes later, he was inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell. His suit wasn't hard-sealed, and the air filtration had long since stopped working. He wondered just what that smell was up until he found the first Enclave bodies. Only mildly surprised, he leaned down and examined the suit and corpse.
Electronics are fried, the weapons are inoperative, he lifted the face plate and grimaced. Bodies are practically melted. Looks worse than me now, hehe. Slowly, it was coming together. Some kind of EMP fried them, probably took out the Vertibird as well. It must have been one hell of a burst.
Still, he didn't let his guard up until he reached the marketplace. There he saw a few piles of plasmic goo and more bodies of fallen Enclave soldiers. Seems Terry had missed all the fun. He put his rifle back onto the clamp on his back and deactivated his cloak, then walked down from the catwalk he was on. He walked past the people cleaning up, looking for someone who wasn't quite busy. He found that in what appeared to be a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, who from Terry could tell was overseeing everything. Beside him was a young woman, though she seemed almost as lost as he was.
"What the hell happened here? Did the Enclave make an attack?" Terry asked the Paladin.
"What in the hell happened..." Terry whispered to himself.
Time to take precautions. Terry pulled out his plasma rifle and activated his suit's cloak. He carefully made his way up to the entrance, only to find that all the guards on the other side were dead, and that the bridge was drawn in. He couldn't get across. Sighing, Terry made his way into the irradiated water. He had often done this late at night, when the guards wouldn't open the drawbridge. Clambering onto the part of the boat that had been sheared away, he looked for the way up.
Five minutes later, he was inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell. His suit wasn't hard-sealed, and the air filtration had long since stopped working. He wondered just what that smell was up until he found the first Enclave bodies. Only mildly surprised, he leaned down and examined the suit and corpse.
Electronics are fried, the weapons are inoperative, he lifted the face plate and grimaced. Bodies are practically melted. Looks worse than me now, hehe. Slowly, it was coming together. Some kind of EMP fried them, probably took out the Vertibird as well. It must have been one hell of a burst.
Still, he didn't let his guard up until he reached the marketplace. There he saw a few piles of plasmic goo and more bodies of fallen Enclave soldiers. Seems Terry had missed all the fun. He put his rifle back onto the clamp on his back and deactivated his cloak, then walked down from the catwalk he was on. He walked past the people cleaning up, looking for someone who wasn't quite busy. He found that in what appeared to be a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin, who from Terry could tell was overseeing everything. Beside him was a young woman, though she seemed almost as lost as he was.
"What the hell happened here? Did the Enclave make an attack?" Terry asked the Paladin.
In one of the many side streets of D.C., Terry crouched behind an ancient car. He peeked over, trusting his camouflage to keep him hidden. Forty feet away stood three Enclave soldiers on patrol. Terry had been tailing them for over two hours, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. If the bastards would just stay in one area he could deal with them, but they kept walking past other patrols in the streets. It took all of Terry's patience to remain hidden.
Three years. Three years since his kin were killed without warning. Three years of waiting, running, snapping necks and shooting Enclave soldiers until they turned into plasmic goo. He had lost count of how many small patrols he had killed. This would just be one more notch for his belt, if he had one.
Terry turned his attention back to the soldiers. They had stopped, the lead one raising his fist. Both soldier and ghoul waited.
The bark of an assault rifle shattered the relative calm. The two soldiers in front took cover, taking aim with their plasma rifles. The one in the back, a hellfire trooper, hefted his incinerator and fired off volley after volley at the super mutants who had just surprised them.
This was his chance. Terry rushed up to the hellfire soldier. He clambered onto the soldier's back, then hammered his fist into the top of the helmet. This forced the seals in the helmet too hiss and unclamp, rendering the servos in the neck area inert. Before the dazed soldier could do anything, Terry twisted the helmet around and snapped the man's neck.
The corpse fell, the power suit crashing to the ground. The two soldiers in front were still busy shooting at the super mutants. Terry eyed the dropped incinerator with calm satisfaction. He picked it up.
"Derrick, what the hell are you doing!? Keep them suppressed!" cried the lead soldier. Terry decided to oblige the man, but instead of firing at the super mutants, he aimed and shot the incinerator at the sergeant. It was unwieldy, and Terry had rarely if ever fired a weapon this big. It didn't matter though, considering the size of the projectiles and their area of effect. The first soldier was doused in flames, and he cried in pain and shock as the napalm-like substance burned through his armor.
It was at that point the last soldier turned around. Dropping the incinerator, Terry rolled to the side and activated his cloak, the plasma bolts missing him by a wide margin. Now it was just the lone soldier against two remaining super mutants. Terry decided to wait it out. He would kill whomever came out of the firefight alive.
Several minutes later, during which time a Vertibird had flown by in the distance, the battle was over. The Enclave soldier had become victorious through his superior weaponry and armor, though his backup was dead. Terry got in position to finish the job. He snuck behind the soldier, who was cautiously surveying the area for the mysterious figure that had killed his friends.
Same as before, Terry thought to himself. He jumped onto the back and slammed his fist into the helmet. Then something unexpected happened.
The soldier reacted quicker than Terry thought possible, grabbing Terry's arms and throwing him bodily to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and he saw the Enclave soldier bending over to pick up his dropped plasma rifle. He needed to act. Terry flipped over and tackled the power armored soldier. The man was pushed back slightly, but stayed standing. Now both men were grappling with the plasma rifle, trying to wrest it away from the other. Thinking on his feet, Terry pushed instead of pulled the plasma rifle, staggering the unwary soldier. Terry clenched his cybernetic fist.
He punched the man's visor. It cracked. He punched it again. The cracks spider-webbed. Terry grabbed the plasma rifle from the soldier and rammed the stock into the visor, shattering it completely. Terry flipped the gun around and aimed the gun into the man's exposed eyes. Was that terror he saw? Confusion? Shock? The glazed over eyes of a man suffering from a concussion?
Terry pulled the trigger.
It was a good haul, Terry decided. Three helmets to add to his collection, two plasma rifles to repair and modify, and a load of caps and microfusion cells. The armor and incinerator he decided was dead weight, so he left it there.
His job done for the day, Terry decided to head to Rivet City. He could burn some caps, maybe repair his aging pistol, or maybe replace it with something a bit better.
In the distance, he heard a rumble and a boom. Thinking back, Terry decided it must have been the Vertibird from before. It must have crashed, he thought. A small grin crept onto his face.
"This day just keeps getting better, huh?"
Three years. Three years since his kin were killed without warning. Three years of waiting, running, snapping necks and shooting Enclave soldiers until they turned into plasmic goo. He had lost count of how many small patrols he had killed. This would just be one more notch for his belt, if he had one.
Terry turned his attention back to the soldiers. They had stopped, the lead one raising his fist. Both soldier and ghoul waited.
The bark of an assault rifle shattered the relative calm. The two soldiers in front took cover, taking aim with their plasma rifles. The one in the back, a hellfire trooper, hefted his incinerator and fired off volley after volley at the super mutants who had just surprised them.
This was his chance. Terry rushed up to the hellfire soldier. He clambered onto the soldier's back, then hammered his fist into the top of the helmet. This forced the seals in the helmet too hiss and unclamp, rendering the servos in the neck area inert. Before the dazed soldier could do anything, Terry twisted the helmet around and snapped the man's neck.
The corpse fell, the power suit crashing to the ground. The two soldiers in front were still busy shooting at the super mutants. Terry eyed the dropped incinerator with calm satisfaction. He picked it up.
"Derrick, what the hell are you doing!? Keep them suppressed!" cried the lead soldier. Terry decided to oblige the man, but instead of firing at the super mutants, he aimed and shot the incinerator at the sergeant. It was unwieldy, and Terry had rarely if ever fired a weapon this big. It didn't matter though, considering the size of the projectiles and their area of effect. The first soldier was doused in flames, and he cried in pain and shock as the napalm-like substance burned through his armor.
It was at that point the last soldier turned around. Dropping the incinerator, Terry rolled to the side and activated his cloak, the plasma bolts missing him by a wide margin. Now it was just the lone soldier against two remaining super mutants. Terry decided to wait it out. He would kill whomever came out of the firefight alive.
Several minutes later, during which time a Vertibird had flown by in the distance, the battle was over. The Enclave soldier had become victorious through his superior weaponry and armor, though his backup was dead. Terry got in position to finish the job. He snuck behind the soldier, who was cautiously surveying the area for the mysterious figure that had killed his friends.
Same as before, Terry thought to himself. He jumped onto the back and slammed his fist into the helmet. Then something unexpected happened.
The soldier reacted quicker than Terry thought possible, grabbing Terry's arms and throwing him bodily to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and he saw the Enclave soldier bending over to pick up his dropped plasma rifle. He needed to act. Terry flipped over and tackled the power armored soldier. The man was pushed back slightly, but stayed standing. Now both men were grappling with the plasma rifle, trying to wrest it away from the other. Thinking on his feet, Terry pushed instead of pulled the plasma rifle, staggering the unwary soldier. Terry clenched his cybernetic fist.
He punched the man's visor. It cracked. He punched it again. The cracks spider-webbed. Terry grabbed the plasma rifle from the soldier and rammed the stock into the visor, shattering it completely. Terry flipped the gun around and aimed the gun into the man's exposed eyes. Was that terror he saw? Confusion? Shock? The glazed over eyes of a man suffering from a concussion?
Terry pulled the trigger.
It was a good haul, Terry decided. Three helmets to add to his collection, two plasma rifles to repair and modify, and a load of caps and microfusion cells. The armor and incinerator he decided was dead weight, so he left it there.
His job done for the day, Terry decided to head to Rivet City. He could burn some caps, maybe repair his aging pistol, or maybe replace it with something a bit better.
In the distance, he heard a rumble and a boom. Thinking back, Terry decided it must have been the Vertibird from before. It must have crashed, he thought. A small grin crept onto his face.
"This day just keeps getting better, huh?"
Name: Terry the Terrible
Race: Ghoul
Age: Pre-War
Appearance: Much like other Ghouls, Terry's hair has fallen out, and his skin is a mottled grey-yellow. However, most of the time he is inside his chinese Dragoon armor, from his time before the war started. Aside from that, large parts of his body are composed of cybernetics, most of them by choice from his many years of living. Both arms have been completely replaced, his legs have been augmented though not removed, and he has received ocular implants that improve his vision. The last implant causes his eyes to glow a dull blue.
Sexual Preference: Asexual
Perks:
Thief
Ninja
Cyborg
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength: 7
Perception: 8
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 3
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 8
Luck: 2
Personality: Terry's personality could be likened to a flame: he can help those he considers friend, of which there are few, but treat him wrong and he'll become a raging torrent that consumes anything that comes his way. That isn't to say he will become out of control; instead he will methodically plan out his revenge, and then strike when his opponent least expects it. Whether it be a simple prank or full blown murder depends on the slight against him.
It doesn't help that he's gruff and seems to have no way with words. And that he's a ghoul. And chinese. And a cyborg.
Equipment:
Biography: A former Chinese espionage agent, Terry worked along with other chinese agents at Mama Dolce's factory near Arlington Cemetery. Being one of the few Dragoons stationed in America, he was tasked with protecting the other agents in the event of a war or their discovery. The war came first.
Not long after the nukes went off, the workers in the factory became ghouls due to the radiation, and Terry was no exception. Knowing they would need supplies, Terry became the scavenger of the group, going out for supplies and trading for bits and pieces. In this way, his knowledge of the english language excelled while the skills of those at the factory floundered.
A few years before the present day, Terry was out on one of his supply runs when the Lone Wanderer attacked the factory. When he came back, all of his colleagues were dead, and checking the factory cameras he saw that a single man had done the deed. He swore revenge, and soon found out the man who had massacred Mama Dolce's factory was working with the Enclave. Already hateful of the Enclave for their supremacist views, Terry's loathing for them only increased. He now swears revenge against both the Lone Wanderer and the Enclave.
With almost nothing left from his chinese heritage, Terry left behind his original name, and began to use his scavenger name full time. He has never looked back, but has never forgotten the crimes committed against him.
Other Notes: Terry rarely if ever takes off his stealth armor. It hides the fact that he's a ghoul and a cyborg, and it lets him turn invisible at a moment's notice. He's become rather attached to it.
Race: Ghoul
Age: Pre-War
Appearance: Much like other Ghouls, Terry's hair has fallen out, and his skin is a mottled grey-yellow. However, most of the time he is inside his chinese Dragoon armor, from his time before the war started. Aside from that, large parts of his body are composed of cybernetics, most of them by choice from his many years of living. Both arms have been completely replaced, his legs have been augmented though not removed, and he has received ocular implants that improve his vision. The last implant causes his eyes to glow a dull blue.
Sexual Preference: Asexual
Perks:
Thief
Ninja
Cyborg
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength: 7
Perception: 8
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 3
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 8
Luck: 2
Personality: Terry's personality could be likened to a flame: he can help those he considers friend, of which there are few, but treat him wrong and he'll become a raging torrent that consumes anything that comes his way. That isn't to say he will become out of control; instead he will methodically plan out his revenge, and then strike when his opponent least expects it. Whether it be a simple prank or full blown murder depends on the slight against him.
It doesn't help that he's gruff and seems to have no way with words. And that he's a ghoul. And chinese. And a cyborg.
Equipment:
- Chinese Stealth Armor (well worn but still serviceable)
- Chinese pistol (nearly broken)
- Chinese sword
- Plasma Rifle
- Ripper
- 10 stimpacks
- 965 caps
Biography: A former Chinese espionage agent, Terry worked along with other chinese agents at Mama Dolce's factory near Arlington Cemetery. Being one of the few Dragoons stationed in America, he was tasked with protecting the other agents in the event of a war or their discovery. The war came first.
Not long after the nukes went off, the workers in the factory became ghouls due to the radiation, and Terry was no exception. Knowing they would need supplies, Terry became the scavenger of the group, going out for supplies and trading for bits and pieces. In this way, his knowledge of the english language excelled while the skills of those at the factory floundered.
A few years before the present day, Terry was out on one of his supply runs when the Lone Wanderer attacked the factory. When he came back, all of his colleagues were dead, and checking the factory cameras he saw that a single man had done the deed. He swore revenge, and soon found out the man who had massacred Mama Dolce's factory was working with the Enclave. Already hateful of the Enclave for their supremacist views, Terry's loathing for them only increased. He now swears revenge against both the Lone Wanderer and the Enclave.
With almost nothing left from his chinese heritage, Terry left behind his original name, and began to use his scavenger name full time. He has never looked back, but has never forgotten the crimes committed against him.
Other Notes: Terry rarely if ever takes off his stealth armor. It hides the fact that he's a ghoul and a cyborg, and it lets him turn invisible at a moment's notice. He's become rather attached to it.
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