» Sat Mar 30, 2013 4:50 am ----------------------------------------------------------
Plot
After the second battle of Hoover Dam, the New California Republic emerged victorious over Caesar's Legion. The Legion soldiers were pushed out of the Mojave wasteland, as far back as Flagstaff, Caesar and Legate Lanius included. The NCR tightened their grip over the wasteland, taking over the territory that used to belong to their former enemies. They began recruiting every able body they found, training them up and making the New California Republic the largest military force within the USA.
But one last obstacle remained, the large gang of convicts known as the Powder Gangers. The NCR mounted an attack on the prisoner's camps, arresting them and keeping them in temporary, makeshift cells at Camps McCarran, Golf and Forlorn Hope. The soldiers then planned on attack on the Correctional Facility, because it would prove useful to keep their enemies out their way for a period of time. On the 22nd of October, 2283 (one year after Hoover Dam), the NCR attacked.
The Powder Gangers were so surprised that they didn't have any time to prepare their defense and were almost immediately quelled. They to were transferred to one of the three temporary prison camps while the NCR got to rebuilding the former prison.
Another year passed, and the New California Republic Correctional Facility was rebuilt, with some modifications. It was double the size of the last one and split into five blocks. Block A (for non-violent and petty crimes), Block B (for assault, attempted murder), Block C (for murder, war crimes), Block D (for prisoners on death row) and the Segregation Block. It could hold over 1,500 prisoners. It's convicts range from former Caesar's Legion soldiers, Powder Gangers and just your average criminal.
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Character Sheet (Prisoner)
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Height:
Weight:
Skills:
Reason for incarceration:
Block:
Appearance:
Weapons (Optional): (No guns unless myself or Aldin_Kiris say otherwise. At most, you're allowed a knife/shiv.)
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.)
Bio:
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Character Sheet (Guard)
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Height:
Weight:
Skills:
Appearance:
Rank:
Weapons: (No overpowered weapons like a minigun.)
Clothing: (You would have the NCR uniform/armour on, but feel free to make modifications.)
Bio:
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Rules
1. No character controlling unless the character's owner has given you permission.
2. Keep all the OOC to this thread.
3. At least 2 paragraphs per post. Each paragraph must have a minimum of 4 sentences.
4. Please respect your GM (me) and co-GM (Aldin_Kiris).
5. Two post minimum per week.
6. You can not kill another person's character without permission from myself, Aldin_Kiris or the characters owner.
7. HAVE FUN!!!
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Characters (Prisoners)
Unconcluded
Spoiler
Name: Desmond Williams
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Height: 6"2
Weight: 178lbs
Skills: Desmond is an extremely skilled hand-to-hand and weapon fighter thanks to 14 years under the New California Republic. He is also rather good at sneaking and being stealthy because he had to go on recon missions for the NCR to scout out Legion bases and encampments so they could be attacked and eradicated.
Reason for incarceration: War crimes.
Block: Block C.
Appearance: Desmond is a muscular and fit man since he'd served in the NCR for 14 years (seven as a normal soldier, another seven as a Ranger). He also has some large bruising on his abdomen and chest area. There is a vertical scar down the side of his left eye due being slashed by a Great Khan while he was defending Boulder City. Other than that, Desmond has newly-shaven brown hair with his brown eyes and a thin, light brown mustache above his upper lip.
Weapons (Optional): Desmond is unarmed.
Clothing: Standard prison overalls, just with the sleeves rolled up.
Bio: (Coming soon, just want to get the CSs sorted out.)
Name: Desmond Williams
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Height: 6"2
Weight: 178lbs
Skills: Desmond is an extremely skilled hand-to-hand and weapon fighter thanks to 14 years under the New California Republic. He is also rather good at sneaking and being stealthy because he had to go on recon missions for the NCR to scout out Legion bases and encampments so they could be attacked and eradicated.
Reason for incarceration: War crimes.
Block: Block C.
Appearance: Desmond is a muscular and fit man since he'd served in the NCR for 14 years (seven as a normal soldier, another seven as a Ranger). He also has some large bruising on his abdomen and chest area. There is a vertical scar down the side of his left eye due being slashed by a Great Khan while he was defending Boulder City. Other than that, Desmond has newly-shaven brown hair with his brown eyes and a thin, light brown mustache above his upper lip.
Weapons (Optional): Desmond is unarmed.
Clothing: Standard prison overalls, just with the sleeves rolled up.
Bio: (Coming soon, just want to get the CSs sorted out.)
Aldin_Kiris
Spoiler
Name: Cress
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3
Weight: 195 lbs.
Reason for incarceration: Impersonation of NCR Military, murder of NCR civilians, military personnel, and most notably Jacobstown mutants, rioting, and (seemingly) random acts of terrorism against NCR property by way of Improvised explosives.
Block: Block C, a lot of times the segregation block.
Appearance: Big, tall, and menacing. A walking Juggernaut, Cress isn't your average man. Scars mar his body top to bottom, including a rather nasty one spanning the length of his right fore-arm and another across his back. Built like a tank, he isn't afraid to use his massive structure to his advantage. Brown hair with piercing green eyes, his face wears a almost constant look of resentment or otherwise malcontent. As far a hair goes, has extremely short buzz cut and a goatee. Not the most silent, but he tends to not need to be.
Personality: Cress is generally quite and keeps to himself. However, it's not out of a sense of shyness or insecurity, but a cold,calculating mind bent on causing as much destruction as he possibly can. He has a extreme hatred of the NCR which has led him to murder and terrorism against lager settlements. He's particularly fond of explosives as well. Very spiteful. The main thing that characterizes his personality though is his general love to kill or cause as much pain and suffering as he possibly can, a trait that can only be classified as a mental illness of sorts.
Weapons (Optional): (No guns unless myself or Aldin_Kiris say otherwise. At most, you're allowed a knife/shank.) A sharpened kitchen knife he "acquired" from the mess hall. Keeps hidden inside his clothes most of the time.
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Regular prison overalls, just with a few tares/holes here and there.
Bio: Born in the Mojave Brotherhood's chapter, Cress went AWOL when he was 21 due to the isolationist way of the Elder. Parents being killed in the battle of Helios 1, Cress was left to raise himself, and decided to become a Paladin as his career choice.
However, not everything went as planned. The young man grew, but not in the ways of the Codex. He grew to be full of hate and malice, frequently ambushing random strangers while on patrol, and seldom for the sake of preserving the past's tech. This led him to have many personal conflicts with the Brotherhood's higher ups. Despite his tendency to be rather brutal and attack seemingly at random, he was permitted to stay due to his combat efficiency, though with the stimulation that he would not be allowed to go on any more patrols and be used only when absolutely necessary, such as if the bunker itself was ever in danger.
This didn't sit well with the young man however. And so began the young soldier's plot. Suppressing his inner rage, he trained for the next 3 years, refining his body into a killing machine and learning many techniques he would need for the road ahead, mainly CQC and marksmanship. Until one day he made his move.
When he was 21, he made his escape. Taking up a suit of Power Armor and a plasma rifle, he stormed out the bunker and into the waste, seeking revenge on the very people that forced the Brotherhood into the bunker in the first place, the NCR. It was then he vowed to make life as miserable and brief as he possibly could for any NCR person, civilian or otherwise.
The next few years were spent as a raider, finally deciding to take up residence in the a small shack nestled in between dunes to the South of Novac. It was from here he harassed passing NCR patrols and caravans, making somewhat of a reputation for himself. It was also here he acquired a NCR grunt uniform for his personal use down the road. It was around that time he expanded his knowledge of explosives.
In 2282, the Second Battle of Hoover Dam was fought and resulted in a NCR victory, much to Cress' distraught. The NCR, his hated enemy, now had free run of the Mojave.
There was a silver lining to this cloud however. Because the NCR had begun to settle the area now that they had no one to fight against, travelers and merchants were much more frequent, which meant more pillaging for Cress. Soon however, Cress became bored with brutally slaughtering passerbys, and decided to set his sights on a large goal, the NCR itself. He packed up his things and left his little shack, donning the NCR armor he had gained prior.
From there, he made his way to Jacobstown, where he made his first act of terrorism. Dressed as a NCR soldier, he opened fire on the community of mutants, making sure they got a good look at him before retreating back over the mountains. This ended up causing a few hostile encounters with the mutants and NCR troops sent there, and in the end, Cress revealed it was he who started the whole thing via a holotape in the wreckage of a NCR patrol, along with the ominous message that this was only the beginning of the pain he would cause.
Cress ditched his NCR uniform and made his way through various towns, each time using his knowledge of explosives to either mine a road or blow up some buildings, causing many civilian as well as military casualties. He was also known to just randomly open fire on anyone if he felt the urge to do so. Soon though, he found he wanted something more. To watch the disgruntled people of the Pre-NCR Mojave try and fight the NCR, and watch as the two would slaughter each other. In order to do this, he donned a guise of a normal civilian and incited a riot, at the end of which he ended up using a couple of frag grenades to cause mass panic and escaped into the desert once again.
Becoming bored once more with petty thievery and murder, Cress set out on his biggest target yet, the Mojave outpost. This time though, it didn't go exactly as planned. The NCR caught wind of where he was headed, and finally captured the desert marauder, though not without taking a good number of casualties. In the end, they managed to subdue him and has since sentenced him to the NCRCF, where he is plotting his next move...
Name: Cress
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3
Weight: 195 lbs.
Reason for incarceration: Impersonation of NCR Military, murder of NCR civilians, military personnel, and most notably Jacobstown mutants, rioting, and (seemingly) random acts of terrorism against NCR property by way of Improvised explosives.
Block: Block C, a lot of times the segregation block.
Appearance: Big, tall, and menacing. A walking Juggernaut, Cress isn't your average man. Scars mar his body top to bottom, including a rather nasty one spanning the length of his right fore-arm and another across his back. Built like a tank, he isn't afraid to use his massive structure to his advantage. Brown hair with piercing green eyes, his face wears a almost constant look of resentment or otherwise malcontent. As far a hair goes, has extremely short buzz cut and a goatee. Not the most silent, but he tends to not need to be.
Personality: Cress is generally quite and keeps to himself. However, it's not out of a sense of shyness or insecurity, but a cold,calculating mind bent on causing as much destruction as he possibly can. He has a extreme hatred of the NCR which has led him to murder and terrorism against lager settlements. He's particularly fond of explosives as well. Very spiteful. The main thing that characterizes his personality though is his general love to kill or cause as much pain and suffering as he possibly can, a trait that can only be classified as a mental illness of sorts.
Weapons (Optional): (No guns unless myself or Aldin_Kiris say otherwise. At most, you're allowed a knife/shank.) A sharpened kitchen knife he "acquired" from the mess hall. Keeps hidden inside his clothes most of the time.
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Regular prison overalls, just with a few tares/holes here and there.
Bio: Born in the Mojave Brotherhood's chapter, Cress went AWOL when he was 21 due to the isolationist way of the Elder. Parents being killed in the battle of Helios 1, Cress was left to raise himself, and decided to become a Paladin as his career choice.
However, not everything went as planned. The young man grew, but not in the ways of the Codex. He grew to be full of hate and malice, frequently ambushing random strangers while on patrol, and seldom for the sake of preserving the past's tech. This led him to have many personal conflicts with the Brotherhood's higher ups. Despite his tendency to be rather brutal and attack seemingly at random, he was permitted to stay due to his combat efficiency, though with the stimulation that he would not be allowed to go on any more patrols and be used only when absolutely necessary, such as if the bunker itself was ever in danger.
This didn't sit well with the young man however. And so began the young soldier's plot. Suppressing his inner rage, he trained for the next 3 years, refining his body into a killing machine and learning many techniques he would need for the road ahead, mainly CQC and marksmanship. Until one day he made his move.
When he was 21, he made his escape. Taking up a suit of Power Armor and a plasma rifle, he stormed out the bunker and into the waste, seeking revenge on the very people that forced the Brotherhood into the bunker in the first place, the NCR. It was then he vowed to make life as miserable and brief as he possibly could for any NCR person, civilian or otherwise.
The next few years were spent as a raider, finally deciding to take up residence in the a small shack nestled in between dunes to the South of Novac. It was from here he harassed passing NCR patrols and caravans, making somewhat of a reputation for himself. It was also here he acquired a NCR grunt uniform for his personal use down the road. It was around that time he expanded his knowledge of explosives.
In 2282, the Second Battle of Hoover Dam was fought and resulted in a NCR victory, much to Cress' distraught. The NCR, his hated enemy, now had free run of the Mojave.
There was a silver lining to this cloud however. Because the NCR had begun to settle the area now that they had no one to fight against, travelers and merchants were much more frequent, which meant more pillaging for Cress. Soon however, Cress became bored with brutally slaughtering passerbys, and decided to set his sights on a large goal, the NCR itself. He packed up his things and left his little shack, donning the NCR armor he had gained prior.
From there, he made his way to Jacobstown, where he made his first act of terrorism. Dressed as a NCR soldier, he opened fire on the community of mutants, making sure they got a good look at him before retreating back over the mountains. This ended up causing a few hostile encounters with the mutants and NCR troops sent there, and in the end, Cress revealed it was he who started the whole thing via a holotape in the wreckage of a NCR patrol, along with the ominous message that this was only the beginning of the pain he would cause.
Cress ditched his NCR uniform and made his way through various towns, each time using his knowledge of explosives to either mine a road or blow up some buildings, causing many civilian as well as military casualties. He was also known to just randomly open fire on anyone if he felt the urge to do so. Soon though, he found he wanted something more. To watch the disgruntled people of the Pre-NCR Mojave try and fight the NCR, and watch as the two would slaughter each other. In order to do this, he donned a guise of a normal civilian and incited a riot, at the end of which he ended up using a couple of frag grenades to cause mass panic and escaped into the desert once again.
Becoming bored once more with petty thievery and murder, Cress set out on his biggest target yet, the Mojave outpost. This time though, it didn't go exactly as planned. The NCR caught wind of where he was headed, and finally captured the desert marauder, though not without taking a good number of casualties. In the end, they managed to subdue him and has since sentenced him to the NCRCF, where he is plotting his next move...
Cineres
Spoiler
Name: Ryan Stone
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11
Weight: 190lb
Reason for incarceration: Two counts of first degree murder, assault, possession of a controlled substance with intent to supply and resisting arrest.
Block: Block C
Appearance: Ryan is distinctively muscular when compared to some of the unhealthier NCRCF prisoners, having the build one would expect a pre-war boxer to of had. He is in relatively good health, keeping his fitness in almost peak condition despite the crappy living standards in the prison. He has tanned white skin and dark brown hair. His hair is always kept short in a military like fashion and a rough beard the same dark colour as his hair adorns his face. He has more than one scar as well. There is a slice like scar crossing the left side of his neck as well as a stab wound scar on his abdomen. Finally there are numerous cut scars on his left forearm.
Skills and Talents: Ryan is extremely skilled at unarmed fighting and is also extensively knowledgeable in the usage of firearms. Ryan is intelligent, more often than not taking a moment to anolyse a situation before putting himself into it. He is also well read and possess a knowledge of history and old world books.
Weapons: http://ddq74coujkv1i.cloudfront.net/knuckleduster2.jpg
Clothing: Ryan wears the standard prison issue uniform with the sleeves torn off of the jacket to counter the heat of the Mojave desert. One of the sleeves has been fashioned into a blue bandanna that Ryan keeps wrapped around his head.
Bio: Ryan grew up on the rough streets of Freeside, raised by a man who worked as the head of security at the only casino in Freeside; the Atomic Wrangler. It wasn't the worst beginning to a kids life in Freeside. There were numerous others who were far worse off than Ryan running around outside on the streets. A lot of the poorest youngsters even having to sleep in the mostly demolished buildings where some of the plentiful Freeside junkies and vagrants also rested their heads. Nope, having a free room at the Wrangler was far from the bottom in Freeside. At a young age Ryan discovered he was one of the, or maybe even the luckiest kid in the place.
He was also raised reasonably well. Until he was about twelve years old he wasn't allowed to leave the Wrangler without his father at his side. Until then he spent nearly his whole life reading pre-war magazines and books after being taught to read by his father when he was young. He loved being able to read the pre-war wonders and marvelled at those featured in the stories. Even the Garrets treated him well, feeding him when his father was forced to spend his earnings on something else and often giving him a snack or drink on the house even when his father did have money. It certainly wasn't a bad place for a young boy to live, even despite being so exposed to gambling, drinking and the occasional violence.
Ryan got his first taste of the cold and violent Freeside streets when he was twelve years old. It was the first time he had ever left the Wrangler without his father or one of his closer guard friends by his side. It was a simple errand. All he was tasked to do was bring a payment of forty five caps to Mick at his general store. Half way there a boy threw a stone at him, hurling insults at the young lad. Slightly angered and very excited Ryan chased him into the alley, running down one or two of them before the boy suddenly stopped, turned around and smiled. A few older teenagers came out from behind the dumpsters in the alley. Surrounding the young boy. When he tried to run he was robbed and beaten, rather badly by the older lads.
The pain was bad but the shame was far greater for the boy when he finally wandered back into the casino battered and without any of his fathers caps. The muggers had even stolen his shoes. His father however did not punish him despite looking extremely angry. More than anything he said he was disappointed that Ryan had broken his promise of never going into an alleyway no matter the circumstances. He also made the boy stay in bed for nearly a week, promising that as soon as he had fully recovered he would be taught how to defend himself properly.
His father kept his promise. As soon as his bruises had healed and he was well enough to go about his usual days again his father began teaching him before and after his guard shift. First were general knowledge lessons and how to judge and assess intelligently. Diving into a situation without thinking like Ryan had done less than a week before could easily lose him his life. It was important to think about a situation before, during and after. Doing so was a great way to save your own life and maybe even the life of your friend or loved one.
When his father thought his son was knowledgeable enough to make intelligent decisions when it came to trouble out on the Freeside streets he moved on to the actual physical unarmed fighting. A lesson he said would take many years and would truly never end but the more they worked at it the stronger, faster and generally more dangerous they both would be. After six months Ryan was a talented fighter for a thirteen year old, able to punch in a combo correctly and fast enough to dodge even his fathers light speed punches.
Finally came the firearm training. His father had bought him a small Makarov pistol and explained that he was not to touch it until he had read the book his father had gave him on handguns and how to use them. Once he did that and passed the quiz his father gave him on the usage of a handgun his father allowed him to hold the piece. Soon they both were training.
Ryan wasn't great with the gun and more often than not missed his target, but he kept trying and eventually started getting good at it. Finally his fourteenth birthday came and his father gave him an errand. Take a sixty caps to Mick. Ryan was confident this time around and completed his task. Upon arriving at Mick's store he handed over the money and was given a fully loaded Beretta handgun along with two clips. Mick wished him a happy birthday and sent him on his way.
On his way back he spotted a sight he didn't expect to. He had only fantasized about such a moment. The boy who had lured him down the alleyway over a year before was dozily walking down the road. Ryan jogged up behind him, calling him before smashing the slightly older kid in the jaw as he turned, dropping him instantly. The confident Ryan told him he could keep the shoes before setting on his way. It was the first day Ryan had ever felt truly capable of handling himself. The handgun tucked in his waist band made him feel even more powerful.
Over the next few years Ryan did more or less of the same. Every day he sparred with his father, becoming bigger, stronger and faster as time went by. Every weekend they would have a shooting competition with a bunch of empty Nuka Cola bottles. His father always won but Ryan came closer and closer every time. Finally the boys eighteenth birthday came. The young man could fight with the best of them physically and his muscular young body had taken the form of a man. It was time for the young lad to get a job. At first he wanted to work with his father, but his old dad convinced him not to, instead telling him to seek guard work with the Followers of Apocalypse.
He did just that and quite happily worked as a guard for them for nearly ten years. At first he saw action quite often, having to maim and sometimes kill the thieves and murderers who often tried to steal the FOA supplies. Over the years though the action died down and finally after the second battle of the Hoover Dam the action was pretty much non-existent. In fact, because no one ever attacked the work paid a pitiful sum. Finally, and sadly after years of great free reading material and the company of intelligent people Ryan had to quit to seek a better paying job now that his old father was starting to earn less as well.
He sought well paying work, but it was also illegal. He became the debt collector and general muscle man for both the Garret Twins and The King. It paid well and after a few months Ryan had saved over three thousand caps that he stored in a safe in his room at the Wrangler.
One day things went bad though. He went on a job to swap some chemicals that could be used to manufacture all sorts of drugs for something that the Garret Twins seemed to badly want. He wasn't to ask what it was, he was just to get it. He turned up at the meeting and showed the pair the chemicals and told them to drop the bag in the middle and he would do the same. He did it first as a matter of trust, but as soon as he dropped it one of them pulled a gun. Firing at him. Falling to the ground out of instinct he tore his Beretta out of it's holster and fired at them, getting multiple chest shots. They both lay deathly still, obviously dead.
Before he knew it three NCR solders were yelling at him to drop his gun and put his hands in the air. He holstered his weapon instead, but raised his hands, awaiting for them to near him. They did, and as soon as he felt the hand barely touch one of his arms he span around, head butting the soldier, ducking down and grabbing the chemicals before sprinting away as the other man helped his partner up.
Arriving back at the Wrangler he explained how the deal had gone. They seemed shocked but were glad he was back with their expensive chemicals. He went upstairs to tell his father of what had happened. With the NCR in power he knew it was only a matter of time before they heard his name somewhere and came for him. He told his father the combination to his safe before settling down to having one last meal with the man. Spending over a hundred caps on food and drink. The officers did come, and the twenty eight year old hired gun was sentenced to twenty three years in NCRCF. He found out later that one of the men he had killed during the sour deal was the younger brother of a rather powerful Politician back in Shady Sands, which was why they had been so eager in detaining him.
Name: Ryan Stone
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11
Weight: 190lb
Reason for incarceration: Two counts of first degree murder, assault, possession of a controlled substance with intent to supply and resisting arrest.
Block: Block C
Appearance: Ryan is distinctively muscular when compared to some of the unhealthier NCRCF prisoners, having the build one would expect a pre-war boxer to of had. He is in relatively good health, keeping his fitness in almost peak condition despite the crappy living standards in the prison. He has tanned white skin and dark brown hair. His hair is always kept short in a military like fashion and a rough beard the same dark colour as his hair adorns his face. He has more than one scar as well. There is a slice like scar crossing the left side of his neck as well as a stab wound scar on his abdomen. Finally there are numerous cut scars on his left forearm.
Skills and Talents: Ryan is extremely skilled at unarmed fighting and is also extensively knowledgeable in the usage of firearms. Ryan is intelligent, more often than not taking a moment to anolyse a situation before putting himself into it. He is also well read and possess a knowledge of history and old world books.
Weapons: http://ddq74coujkv1i.cloudfront.net/knuckleduster2.jpg
Clothing: Ryan wears the standard prison issue uniform with the sleeves torn off of the jacket to counter the heat of the Mojave desert. One of the sleeves has been fashioned into a blue bandanna that Ryan keeps wrapped around his head.
Bio: Ryan grew up on the rough streets of Freeside, raised by a man who worked as the head of security at the only casino in Freeside; the Atomic Wrangler. It wasn't the worst beginning to a kids life in Freeside. There were numerous others who were far worse off than Ryan running around outside on the streets. A lot of the poorest youngsters even having to sleep in the mostly demolished buildings where some of the plentiful Freeside junkies and vagrants also rested their heads. Nope, having a free room at the Wrangler was far from the bottom in Freeside. At a young age Ryan discovered he was one of the, or maybe even the luckiest kid in the place.
He was also raised reasonably well. Until he was about twelve years old he wasn't allowed to leave the Wrangler without his father at his side. Until then he spent nearly his whole life reading pre-war magazines and books after being taught to read by his father when he was young. He loved being able to read the pre-war wonders and marvelled at those featured in the stories. Even the Garrets treated him well, feeding him when his father was forced to spend his earnings on something else and often giving him a snack or drink on the house even when his father did have money. It certainly wasn't a bad place for a young boy to live, even despite being so exposed to gambling, drinking and the occasional violence.
Ryan got his first taste of the cold and violent Freeside streets when he was twelve years old. It was the first time he had ever left the Wrangler without his father or one of his closer guard friends by his side. It was a simple errand. All he was tasked to do was bring a payment of forty five caps to Mick at his general store. Half way there a boy threw a stone at him, hurling insults at the young lad. Slightly angered and very excited Ryan chased him into the alley, running down one or two of them before the boy suddenly stopped, turned around and smiled. A few older teenagers came out from behind the dumpsters in the alley. Surrounding the young boy. When he tried to run he was robbed and beaten, rather badly by the older lads.
The pain was bad but the shame was far greater for the boy when he finally wandered back into the casino battered and without any of his fathers caps. The muggers had even stolen his shoes. His father however did not punish him despite looking extremely angry. More than anything he said he was disappointed that Ryan had broken his promise of never going into an alleyway no matter the circumstances. He also made the boy stay in bed for nearly a week, promising that as soon as he had fully recovered he would be taught how to defend himself properly.
His father kept his promise. As soon as his bruises had healed and he was well enough to go about his usual days again his father began teaching him before and after his guard shift. First were general knowledge lessons and how to judge and assess intelligently. Diving into a situation without thinking like Ryan had done less than a week before could easily lose him his life. It was important to think about a situation before, during and after. Doing so was a great way to save your own life and maybe even the life of your friend or loved one.
When his father thought his son was knowledgeable enough to make intelligent decisions when it came to trouble out on the Freeside streets he moved on to the actual physical unarmed fighting. A lesson he said would take many years and would truly never end but the more they worked at it the stronger, faster and generally more dangerous they both would be. After six months Ryan was a talented fighter for a thirteen year old, able to punch in a combo correctly and fast enough to dodge even his fathers light speed punches.
Finally came the firearm training. His father had bought him a small Makarov pistol and explained that he was not to touch it until he had read the book his father had gave him on handguns and how to use them. Once he did that and passed the quiz his father gave him on the usage of a handgun his father allowed him to hold the piece. Soon they both were training.
Ryan wasn't great with the gun and more often than not missed his target, but he kept trying and eventually started getting good at it. Finally his fourteenth birthday came and his father gave him an errand. Take a sixty caps to Mick. Ryan was confident this time around and completed his task. Upon arriving at Mick's store he handed over the money and was given a fully loaded Beretta handgun along with two clips. Mick wished him a happy birthday and sent him on his way.
On his way back he spotted a sight he didn't expect to. He had only fantasized about such a moment. The boy who had lured him down the alleyway over a year before was dozily walking down the road. Ryan jogged up behind him, calling him before smashing the slightly older kid in the jaw as he turned, dropping him instantly. The confident Ryan told him he could keep the shoes before setting on his way. It was the first day Ryan had ever felt truly capable of handling himself. The handgun tucked in his waist band made him feel even more powerful.
Over the next few years Ryan did more or less of the same. Every day he sparred with his father, becoming bigger, stronger and faster as time went by. Every weekend they would have a shooting competition with a bunch of empty Nuka Cola bottles. His father always won but Ryan came closer and closer every time. Finally the boys eighteenth birthday came. The young man could fight with the best of them physically and his muscular young body had taken the form of a man. It was time for the young lad to get a job. At first he wanted to work with his father, but his old dad convinced him not to, instead telling him to seek guard work with the Followers of Apocalypse.
He did just that and quite happily worked as a guard for them for nearly ten years. At first he saw action quite often, having to maim and sometimes kill the thieves and murderers who often tried to steal the FOA supplies. Over the years though the action died down and finally after the second battle of the Hoover Dam the action was pretty much non-existent. In fact, because no one ever attacked the work paid a pitiful sum. Finally, and sadly after years of great free reading material and the company of intelligent people Ryan had to quit to seek a better paying job now that his old father was starting to earn less as well.
He sought well paying work, but it was also illegal. He became the debt collector and general muscle man for both the Garret Twins and The King. It paid well and after a few months Ryan had saved over three thousand caps that he stored in a safe in his room at the Wrangler.
One day things went bad though. He went on a job to swap some chemicals that could be used to manufacture all sorts of drugs for something that the Garret Twins seemed to badly want. He wasn't to ask what it was, he was just to get it. He turned up at the meeting and showed the pair the chemicals and told them to drop the bag in the middle and he would do the same. He did it first as a matter of trust, but as soon as he dropped it one of them pulled a gun. Firing at him. Falling to the ground out of instinct he tore his Beretta out of it's holster and fired at them, getting multiple chest shots. They both lay deathly still, obviously dead.
Before he knew it three NCR solders were yelling at him to drop his gun and put his hands in the air. He holstered his weapon instead, but raised his hands, awaiting for them to near him. They did, and as soon as he felt the hand barely touch one of his arms he span around, head butting the soldier, ducking down and grabbing the chemicals before sprinting away as the other man helped his partner up.
Arriving back at the Wrangler he explained how the deal had gone. They seemed shocked but were glad he was back with their expensive chemicals. He went upstairs to tell his father of what had happened. With the NCR in power he knew it was only a matter of time before they heard his name somewhere and came for him. He told his father the combination to his safe before settling down to having one last meal with the man. Spending over a hundred caps on food and drink. The officers did come, and the twenty eight year old hired gun was sentenced to twenty three years in NCRCF. He found out later that one of the men he had killed during the sour deal was the younger brother of a rather powerful Politician back in Shady Sands, which was why they had been so eager in detaining him.
Spoiler
Name: George Hunt
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2
Weight: 185lb
Skills: George's skill with a blade is almost unmatched, his stature and agility make him incredibly dangerous in fights that require him to be up close and personal and if someone's stupid or suicidal enough to face him whilst he's wielding a blade they'll be extremely lucky to come out of the encounter alive. Another valuable skill of George's is his ability to pickpocket. It is a natural talent to him with him being so nimble and quick, he can pick everything from caps to smaller blades and guns with relative ease. Lastly he is extremely quiet and overall stealthy, able to be little more than a shadow when he really wants to.
Reason for incarceration: Assault, GBH and resisting arrest.
Block: B
Appearance: George is a tall bloke, standing at 6'2. He looks even taller than he actually is because of his lean build. He is relatively slim but also has an extremely athletic build, his muscles being honed from years of hunting. He has long hair, or at least longer than most. Like his rough beard and eyes it is of a dark brown colour. Lastly George has a two inch scar crossing part of his face and his cheek bone, a reminder of a handgun round that nearly took his face off.
Personality: George is extremely quiet and reserved. Years of being alone have made him incredibly anti-social and only when he truly gets to know someone will he ever consider them a friend. He is cold and displays many traits that would be considered sociopathic by many. However, because of his long standing loneliness he has a deep rooted loyalty. If anyone was ever to truly befriend him they would find him their protector through practically anything.
Weapons: None
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Standard prison overalls without the blue jacket. George only wears the shirt for his torso, wrapping his jacket around his pillow to make it a little comfier.
Bio: George was raised in the hills between Primm and Goodsprings by a drug dealing and drug addicted mother. Despite having a reasonably good bit of wealth his childhood was far from great. His mother was constantly high on her own product and she frequently beat and starved the young boy. This did however eventually lead to one thing good. George's love and talent for hunting. At first it was simply an excuse to escape his mother for a few hours but eventually it became a way for the eleven year old boy to provide for himself what his mother did not.
He stole a large machete from one of the fiends who had come to see his mother one day and with that started hunting the geckos and coyotes that had also made the hills their home. At first the small boy was crap at it, but as the weeks passed by he gradually became quieter. After a while it became so he could get within five feet of the animals before they detected him. Another two months or so passed and they didn't detect him. His machete found their body or head before they had a chance to anolyse his presence.
At first he simply cut their meat, cooked it on a camp fire and ate it to keep himself fed, but eventually he found that people would actually pay him for the hides of the animals he killed. With that the now fifteen year old kid started going into the settlements to sell his goods. He didn't really understand or like people all that much but if they were going to pay him for doing what he loved he wasn't going to argue about it. So he continued to hunt, avoiding his mother as much as possible, instead focusing on his hunting skills.
Eventually though a day came when things changed for the kid. Now eighteen years of age he knew how to kill an animal with complete ease and was so quiet he could sneak up on a coyote and end it's life within seconds. With a blade he was more than dangerous, he was always fatal. One day he had returned from Goodsprings after a day of hunting and trading to find something he had never expected. A lone powder ganger stood over his dead mother. A bullet round in her head. George flipped into a rage, charging at the larger man with his machete, grappling with him. He head butted him and struggled to put the blade into the man's throat. The man had managed to get his hand free though and manoeuvred his handgun so it was almost pressed against the George's cheek. The handgun went off and red hot pain shot through George's face. It only fuelled his rage. He plunged his machete into the man's throat, stabbing him repeatedly in the neck and chest.
That night George stumbled into Goodsprings, eventually getting patched up by the small towns doctor. For two weeks he couldn't hunt. His face was in too bad a condition and he couldn't risk getting an infection. Finally though it cleared up and he was just left with one hell of a scar to show for his first ever human kill. From that day George decided from then on he would hunt a different type of animal. The human species. Specifically those that were in the Powder Gang. At first George told himself it was in revenge of his mother, but really, deep down he knew he just wanted that feeling again. The feeling he got when he ended another humans life. He got it.
Over the next two years George terrorized the powder ganger's. Slaughtering any he found in the hills between the two small towns of Primm and Goodsprings. They never saw or heard him coming, more often than not falling to his machete one by one. Eventually they stopped staying out, only coming out in heavily armed patrols and such. It was then that George decided to attack the prison itself. He got inside, slaughtering at least ten of them before three huge explosions rang out and the prison was raided by NCR soldiers. He tried to escape, rushing the men, dropping two of them before beating one badly with the pummel of his machete. Leaving his face smashed and the man unconscious. Despite his efforts he was restrained by the solders and shipped out to be contained.
Two years later he was shipped back to NCRCF, to the home of the powder gang.
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2
Weight: 185lb
Skills: George's skill with a blade is almost unmatched, his stature and agility make him incredibly dangerous in fights that require him to be up close and personal and if someone's stupid or suicidal enough to face him whilst he's wielding a blade they'll be extremely lucky to come out of the encounter alive. Another valuable skill of George's is his ability to pickpocket. It is a natural talent to him with him being so nimble and quick, he can pick everything from caps to smaller blades and guns with relative ease. Lastly he is extremely quiet and overall stealthy, able to be little more than a shadow when he really wants to.
Reason for incarceration: Assault, GBH and resisting arrest.
Block: B
Appearance: George is a tall bloke, standing at 6'2. He looks even taller than he actually is because of his lean build. He is relatively slim but also has an extremely athletic build, his muscles being honed from years of hunting. He has long hair, or at least longer than most. Like his rough beard and eyes it is of a dark brown colour. Lastly George has a two inch scar crossing part of his face and his cheek bone, a reminder of a handgun round that nearly took his face off.
Personality: George is extremely quiet and reserved. Years of being alone have made him incredibly anti-social and only when he truly gets to know someone will he ever consider them a friend. He is cold and displays many traits that would be considered sociopathic by many. However, because of his long standing loneliness he has a deep rooted loyalty. If anyone was ever to truly befriend him they would find him their protector through practically anything.
Weapons: None
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Standard prison overalls without the blue jacket. George only wears the shirt for his torso, wrapping his jacket around his pillow to make it a little comfier.
Bio: George was raised in the hills between Primm and Goodsprings by a drug dealing and drug addicted mother. Despite having a reasonably good bit of wealth his childhood was far from great. His mother was constantly high on her own product and she frequently beat and starved the young boy. This did however eventually lead to one thing good. George's love and talent for hunting. At first it was simply an excuse to escape his mother for a few hours but eventually it became a way for the eleven year old boy to provide for himself what his mother did not.
He stole a large machete from one of the fiends who had come to see his mother one day and with that started hunting the geckos and coyotes that had also made the hills their home. At first the small boy was crap at it, but as the weeks passed by he gradually became quieter. After a while it became so he could get within five feet of the animals before they detected him. Another two months or so passed and they didn't detect him. His machete found their body or head before they had a chance to anolyse his presence.
At first he simply cut their meat, cooked it on a camp fire and ate it to keep himself fed, but eventually he found that people would actually pay him for the hides of the animals he killed. With that the now fifteen year old kid started going into the settlements to sell his goods. He didn't really understand or like people all that much but if they were going to pay him for doing what he loved he wasn't going to argue about it. So he continued to hunt, avoiding his mother as much as possible, instead focusing on his hunting skills.
Eventually though a day came when things changed for the kid. Now eighteen years of age he knew how to kill an animal with complete ease and was so quiet he could sneak up on a coyote and end it's life within seconds. With a blade he was more than dangerous, he was always fatal. One day he had returned from Goodsprings after a day of hunting and trading to find something he had never expected. A lone powder ganger stood over his dead mother. A bullet round in her head. George flipped into a rage, charging at the larger man with his machete, grappling with him. He head butted him and struggled to put the blade into the man's throat. The man had managed to get his hand free though and manoeuvred his handgun so it was almost pressed against the George's cheek. The handgun went off and red hot pain shot through George's face. It only fuelled his rage. He plunged his machete into the man's throat, stabbing him repeatedly in the neck and chest.
That night George stumbled into Goodsprings, eventually getting patched up by the small towns doctor. For two weeks he couldn't hunt. His face was in too bad a condition and he couldn't risk getting an infection. Finally though it cleared up and he was just left with one hell of a scar to show for his first ever human kill. From that day George decided from then on he would hunt a different type of animal. The human species. Specifically those that were in the Powder Gang. At first George told himself it was in revenge of his mother, but really, deep down he knew he just wanted that feeling again. The feeling he got when he ended another humans life. He got it.
Over the next two years George terrorized the powder ganger's. Slaughtering any he found in the hills between the two small towns of Primm and Goodsprings. They never saw or heard him coming, more often than not falling to his machete one by one. Eventually they stopped staying out, only coming out in heavily armed patrols and such. It was then that George decided to attack the prison itself. He got inside, slaughtering at least ten of them before three huge explosions rang out and the prison was raided by NCR soldiers. He tried to escape, rushing the men, dropping two of them before beating one badly with the pummel of his machete. Leaving his face smashed and the man unconscious. Despite his efforts he was restrained by the solders and shipped out to be contained.
Two years later he was shipped back to NCRCF, to the home of the powder gang.
Agrona
Spoiler
Name: Bernadette Hicks aka Trix
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 110 lbs
Reason for incarceration: Assaulting a Caravan. However, they were no match for her and the other two Vipers. The Mercenaries apprehended her and turned her over to the authorities.
Block: B
Appearance: Trix keeps her black hair cut short and spiky, she really has not time or patience to mess with it. Most Viper camps don’t feature any facilities where you can wash up and make yourself look pretty. The first real shower she can remember was the one she had in prison. Most of the grime that usually caked her body, face and clothing had been washed away to reveal a sun tanned beauty. Her high cheekbones, accented her emerald green eyes and even the shaved head didn’t take away from her looks.
She’s on the skinny/boney side of the weight spectrum, since she was always on the move and can’t remember the last decent meal she has had.
However, a scar on her left cheek indicated that she lead a violent life. Her eyes lacked the warmth one would expect. They were cold and hard and calculating, just like the woman.
Weapons (Optional): just her fists
Clothing: Prison overalls with cut-off sleeves. She also tries to show her cleavage, so she has modified the front in order to do so.
Bio: Abandoned as a baby, Trix had been found and raised by a hard frontier woman, Mary Hicks, who owned a small shack in the middle of the Mojave. This is also where she got her name, which she loathes with a passion. Not only did she think it’s a stupid name, but it reminded her of Old Lady Hicks. She will only introduce herself as Trix.
Hunger was a constant companion and when Trix forgot to do her shores, hunger was replaced with pain. It was a hard life, but it also made a survivor out of Trix. Nothing was too tough or too low for her.
At the age of 12, Trix had enough of the constant beatings, the terrible hunger and ran away into the hills. Here she stumbled over a Viper camp, and the leader almost shot her. However, considering that their gang had been in decline, they welcomed her as a new member. When she turned 18, the leader took her as his prize. He was rough, but as the time went on, Trix even came to know gentleness. They stayed together for four years, until he was gunned down during a failed robbery attempt.
Trix, who had just begun to open her heart and had broken down some of the walls she had put up, was devastated. She learned a hard lesson that day, to love means to loose. Therefore, she decided to never love again; from now on, she would take what she wanted, when she wanted it and to never stick her neck out for others. It was a dog eat dog world and she would make sure she was the dog who got to eat.
Years later, she and two other Vipers decided to take on one of the Crimson Caravans. One merchant and one mercenary against three Vipers would be an easy job. However, they didn’t realize that they had doubled up on the mercenaries or that they would wield powerful Laser Rifles.
During the fire fight, one of the Vipers was gunned down, the other fled, leaving Trix to her fate. Life had been rough, but Trix was a survivor, she had no intentions of dying on a dusty highway over a botched robbery. No, she wouldn’t follow down her lover’s path. Fate had more in store for her, of that she was sure.
Name: Bernadette Hicks aka Trix
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 110 lbs
Reason for incarceration: Assaulting a Caravan. However, they were no match for her and the other two Vipers. The Mercenaries apprehended her and turned her over to the authorities.
Block: B
Appearance: Trix keeps her black hair cut short and spiky, she really has not time or patience to mess with it. Most Viper camps don’t feature any facilities where you can wash up and make yourself look pretty. The first real shower she can remember was the one she had in prison. Most of the grime that usually caked her body, face and clothing had been washed away to reveal a sun tanned beauty. Her high cheekbones, accented her emerald green eyes and even the shaved head didn’t take away from her looks.
She’s on the skinny/boney side of the weight spectrum, since she was always on the move and can’t remember the last decent meal she has had.
However, a scar on her left cheek indicated that she lead a violent life. Her eyes lacked the warmth one would expect. They were cold and hard and calculating, just like the woman.
Weapons (Optional): just her fists
Clothing: Prison overalls with cut-off sleeves. She also tries to show her cleavage, so she has modified the front in order to do so.
Bio: Abandoned as a baby, Trix had been found and raised by a hard frontier woman, Mary Hicks, who owned a small shack in the middle of the Mojave. This is also where she got her name, which she loathes with a passion. Not only did she think it’s a stupid name, but it reminded her of Old Lady Hicks. She will only introduce herself as Trix.
Hunger was a constant companion and when Trix forgot to do her shores, hunger was replaced with pain. It was a hard life, but it also made a survivor out of Trix. Nothing was too tough or too low for her.
At the age of 12, Trix had enough of the constant beatings, the terrible hunger and ran away into the hills. Here she stumbled over a Viper camp, and the leader almost shot her. However, considering that their gang had been in decline, they welcomed her as a new member. When she turned 18, the leader took her as his prize. He was rough, but as the time went on, Trix even came to know gentleness. They stayed together for four years, until he was gunned down during a failed robbery attempt.
Trix, who had just begun to open her heart and had broken down some of the walls she had put up, was devastated. She learned a hard lesson that day, to love means to loose. Therefore, she decided to never love again; from now on, she would take what she wanted, when she wanted it and to never stick her neck out for others. It was a dog eat dog world and she would make sure she was the dog who got to eat.
Years later, she and two other Vipers decided to take on one of the Crimson Caravans. One merchant and one mercenary against three Vipers would be an easy job. However, they didn’t realize that they had doubled up on the mercenaries or that they would wield powerful Laser Rifles.
During the fire fight, one of the Vipers was gunned down, the other fled, leaving Trix to her fate. Life had been rough, but Trix was a survivor, she had no intentions of dying on a dusty highway over a botched robbery. No, she wouldn’t follow down her lover’s path. Fate had more in store for her, of that she was sure.
tundrafrog1124
Spoiler
Name: Benjamin “Big Ben” Watts
Age: Old
Gender: Male
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 196 pounds
Race: Ghoul
Skills: Ben is a rat, through and through. A killer, dealer and a fighter but above all an opportunist; Ben follows his own motto “Wherever there is a problem, there’s a solution I’m willing it to sell at a good price.” In his 200+ years of being alive Ben has done everything from mercenary work to being a chem dealer. Ben is a talented individual, good in a fight, though better with a gun than a knife but still pretty good. But Ben’s true skill is his wit; Ben surrounds himself with muscle and influential figures at all times. Being on good terms with the guards and even setting up a little smuggling operation Ben has managed to make himself known and very rich. Ben's weakness though is his trust, Ben trusts no one and is extremely paranoid. At all times Ben is thinking of ways to get out of situations if they go bad, Ben truly only cares for himself.
Reason for incarceration: Possession of illegal drugs, selling of illegal drugs, and resisting arrest.
Block: B
Appearance: http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/217/e/a/larry_by_citrinequartz-d59wyz9.jpg
Weapons (Optional): A small shiv made out of a small piece of metal bar, and three razor blades
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) The standard prison coveralls, primarily with the top part tied around his waist either revealing his white shirt or his bare chest. And http://img2.etsystatic.com/000/0/5291955/il_fullxfull.50211242.jpg on his head
Bio: Ben has lived along life and doesn’t remember a lot of it, but it doesn’t slow him down. Right after the war Ben spent an unnumbered amount of years scavenging and raiding to survive. But once things started to pick up and towns were created Ben found his true talent, entrepreneurship. Forming a gang Ben set up a drug and weapons dealing business deep within the Boneyard. All the drugs one could imagine and enough weapons and ammo to rival some mercenary groups. But Ben’s prized items were energy weapons and other advanced tech. While the N.C.R. was at war with the world Ben had his gang to scavenge off the battlefield, returning with laser rifles and plasma pistols and a few times even power armor. Things only got better when the N.C.R. turned its hunger towards the Brotherhood, once more was Ben making a grossly large profit. But all this would not last for one day a man asked t meet with Ben about a business deal.
A tall handsome dark skinned man stepped into the dimly lit room, the air was thick with smoke and smelt of ash.
“I wish to speak with Ben.” The man asked out loud, figures moved in response. A light turned on and the man found himself looking at a desk with a particularly pleased ghoul sitting behind it.
“My boys tell me you have a business proposition.” Ben remarked licking his lips and rubbing together two caps.
“Yes, the Van Graffs send their regards.” At that moment the pulled out a plasma defender and opened fire, Ben took cover behind his desk. Laser beams and bolts of plasma shot in through the windows, Ben’s men fired in response. Fearing death Benjamin took a risk and fired his sawed off shotgun into the tall man and ran out through the back door, and he didn’t stop running till he was out of the Boneyard. Ben lived the next few weeks off the grid and on a low profile until he found out the Van Graffs had put a bounty on his head, 11,000 caps dead 22,000 alive. Ben knew if he stayed in Van Graff territory he was done for so he set off to the East. For a few years Ben laid low in a small peaceful little town called Eastwood on the border of California and Nevada, Ben made and sold drugs mostly jet to make a living. It was an easy life and just as Ben was getting more and more comfortable, word came to town about a pre-war city still alive, New Vegas.
Seeing caps ahead Ben packed his bag and him and his new gang set off. It wasn’t long before they found the city of sin and began their work. Setting up in Freeside Ben and his gang started pumping out jet and psycho and dealing out to the local gangs and population. This made Ben enemies with the Great Khans and the Fiends but after a few deals and handshakes Ben was back on top. All was going well, Ben was even helping out the Kings and had become the official dealer for the Atomic Wrangler when Gloria, Jean-Baptise and Simone Van Graff arrived. Ben panicked and quickly shut down his operation planning to mive it to Nipton, but they weren't out in time before Simone Van Graff caught sight of Ben. As she ran back to the Silver Rush Ben tackled her and knocked her out, dragging her into an alleyway. There out of rage and fear he beat her to death before escaping on foot. Ben fled to Nipton and felt at home in the seedy atmosphere but kept a low profile in case the Van Graffs came sniffing. Ben sold to the town and also to the Vipers and Jackal raider gangs that roamed the Mojave. Once again Ben’s plans would be interrupted as a decisive Legion raid on the town commenced. Abandoning his gang Ben fled on foot with Legionaries hot on his trail. Ben fled to Vegas once again but chose to reside in Westside, forming another gang Ben opened his shop up again. Selling half his stock to the population and the other to the Fiends, Ben played both sides. He did this until N.C.R. presence became heavier and forced the Fiend’s into remission; Ben was then forced to sell to any druggie, waste land addict that would buy. Ben had made his fourteenth Jet sale of the day when a strike force of N.C.R. troops took down his operation. Ben fled on foot but was detained in Freeside, he was then tried for his crimes and sent to the newly rebuilt N.C.R.C.F. Using his contacts like the Great Khans, Vipers, Jackals, Kings and Garret Twins; Ben had managed to set up another operation in the prison. A trusted guard gets the product in and Ben sells it, they share the profits 50/50. Because of this Ben owns in his bunk: a chessboard, deck of cards, hand rolled cigarettes, books and an assortment of other things to sell.
Name: Benjamin “Big Ben” Watts
Age: Old
Gender: Male
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 196 pounds
Race: Ghoul
Skills: Ben is a rat, through and through. A killer, dealer and a fighter but above all an opportunist; Ben follows his own motto “Wherever there is a problem, there’s a solution I’m willing it to sell at a good price.” In his 200+ years of being alive Ben has done everything from mercenary work to being a chem dealer. Ben is a talented individual, good in a fight, though better with a gun than a knife but still pretty good. But Ben’s true skill is his wit; Ben surrounds himself with muscle and influential figures at all times. Being on good terms with the guards and even setting up a little smuggling operation Ben has managed to make himself known and very rich. Ben's weakness though is his trust, Ben trusts no one and is extremely paranoid. At all times Ben is thinking of ways to get out of situations if they go bad, Ben truly only cares for himself.
Reason for incarceration: Possession of illegal drugs, selling of illegal drugs, and resisting arrest.
Block: B
Appearance: http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/217/e/a/larry_by_citrinequartz-d59wyz9.jpg
Weapons (Optional): A small shiv made out of a small piece of metal bar, and three razor blades
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) The standard prison coveralls, primarily with the top part tied around his waist either revealing his white shirt or his bare chest. And http://img2.etsystatic.com/000/0/5291955/il_fullxfull.50211242.jpg on his head
Bio: Ben has lived along life and doesn’t remember a lot of it, but it doesn’t slow him down. Right after the war Ben spent an unnumbered amount of years scavenging and raiding to survive. But once things started to pick up and towns were created Ben found his true talent, entrepreneurship. Forming a gang Ben set up a drug and weapons dealing business deep within the Boneyard. All the drugs one could imagine and enough weapons and ammo to rival some mercenary groups. But Ben’s prized items were energy weapons and other advanced tech. While the N.C.R. was at war with the world Ben had his gang to scavenge off the battlefield, returning with laser rifles and plasma pistols and a few times even power armor. Things only got better when the N.C.R. turned its hunger towards the Brotherhood, once more was Ben making a grossly large profit. But all this would not last for one day a man asked t meet with Ben about a business deal.
A tall handsome dark skinned man stepped into the dimly lit room, the air was thick with smoke and smelt of ash.
“I wish to speak with Ben.” The man asked out loud, figures moved in response. A light turned on and the man found himself looking at a desk with a particularly pleased ghoul sitting behind it.
“My boys tell me you have a business proposition.” Ben remarked licking his lips and rubbing together two caps.
“Yes, the Van Graffs send their regards.” At that moment the pulled out a plasma defender and opened fire, Ben took cover behind his desk. Laser beams and bolts of plasma shot in through the windows, Ben’s men fired in response. Fearing death Benjamin took a risk and fired his sawed off shotgun into the tall man and ran out through the back door, and he didn’t stop running till he was out of the Boneyard. Ben lived the next few weeks off the grid and on a low profile until he found out the Van Graffs had put a bounty on his head, 11,000 caps dead 22,000 alive. Ben knew if he stayed in Van Graff territory he was done for so he set off to the East. For a few years Ben laid low in a small peaceful little town called Eastwood on the border of California and Nevada, Ben made and sold drugs mostly jet to make a living. It was an easy life and just as Ben was getting more and more comfortable, word came to town about a pre-war city still alive, New Vegas.
Seeing caps ahead Ben packed his bag and him and his new gang set off. It wasn’t long before they found the city of sin and began their work. Setting up in Freeside Ben and his gang started pumping out jet and psycho and dealing out to the local gangs and population. This made Ben enemies with the Great Khans and the Fiends but after a few deals and handshakes Ben was back on top. All was going well, Ben was even helping out the Kings and had become the official dealer for the Atomic Wrangler when Gloria, Jean-Baptise and Simone Van Graff arrived. Ben panicked and quickly shut down his operation planning to mive it to Nipton, but they weren't out in time before Simone Van Graff caught sight of Ben. As she ran back to the Silver Rush Ben tackled her and knocked her out, dragging her into an alleyway. There out of rage and fear he beat her to death before escaping on foot. Ben fled to Nipton and felt at home in the seedy atmosphere but kept a low profile in case the Van Graffs came sniffing. Ben sold to the town and also to the Vipers and Jackal raider gangs that roamed the Mojave. Once again Ben’s plans would be interrupted as a decisive Legion raid on the town commenced. Abandoning his gang Ben fled on foot with Legionaries hot on his trail. Ben fled to Vegas once again but chose to reside in Westside, forming another gang Ben opened his shop up again. Selling half his stock to the population and the other to the Fiends, Ben played both sides. He did this until N.C.R. presence became heavier and forced the Fiend’s into remission; Ben was then forced to sell to any druggie, waste land addict that would buy. Ben had made his fourteenth Jet sale of the day when a strike force of N.C.R. troops took down his operation. Ben fled on foot but was detained in Freeside, he was then tried for his crimes and sent to the newly rebuilt N.C.R.C.F. Using his contacts like the Great Khans, Vipers, Jackals, Kings and Garret Twins; Ben had managed to set up another operation in the prison. A trusted guard gets the product in and Ben sells it, they share the profits 50/50. Because of this Ben owns in his bunk: a chessboard, deck of cards, hand rolled cigarettes, books and an assortment of other things to sell.
Fisheye98
Spoiler
Name: Hannibal
Weight: Approximately 380 pounds (that's kind of a wild guess mixed in with some most-likely-incorrect math)
Gender: Male
Age: 230-ish
Race: Mutant, possibly Native American or Middle Eastern.
Reason for incarceration: Two cases attempted murder, one case of partial cannibalism, and fleeing the scene. The charge was lessened because of his "Long, dutiful servitude to the NCR and it's citizens."
Block: Block B
Appearance & Physical Traits: After his mutation Hannibal developed a large frame. The first thing most people notice is his substantial height. Hannibal stands at an unnatural seven feet and seven inches tall. While this height doesn't even compare to a Super Mutant's ten and a half feet Hannibal stands completely straight-backed (unlike Super Mutants), therefore appearing only slightly shorter. His mutation also greatly increased his muscle mass and eliminated almost all fat, giving him a heavily muscled, yet still lanky frame. The man-beast has a great, barreled chest with large lungs that give him a substantial amount of endurance and long limbs that allow large strides and the use of his long bow. When around others Hannibal tries to hide his height by punching his back and bending his knees slightly, though he still appears massive.
Hannibal's skin has green tint to it, clearly marking him as the mutant he is. Blue veins crisscross his body, easily visible, and despite his dangerous lifestyle his skin remains devoid of scars from both blade and bullet (though the one time he got shot he almost died). This is because of his regenerative abilities, though they do their work much slower than a normal mutant's (weeks or months). One of Hannibal's three great shames is his face. What he thinks was once a relatively attractive face has become monstrous. His cheekbones now jut out grotesquely and his eyes are deeply hooded by his brow. His jaw is thickly muscled and too wide to be natural while his chin juts forward. Thankfully, Hannibal has not been cursed with the cruel sneer of his more heavily mutated brethren and his eyes, which are a soft brown, have remained unchanged. Hannibal has lost the ability to grow hair at all.
His second great shame is his voice. His vocal chords were altered in his mutation so that, despite his greatest efforts, his voice always comes out somewhere between a snarl and a harsh whisper. Because of this Hannibal avoids talking around those he thinks will judge, outcast, or even attack him. Because of his lack of speech many think him a simpleton.
Personality: The best way to describe Hannibal is conflicted. While he is at heart a good man who wants to help others in any way possible he struggles to control the animalistic impulses that came with his mutation. Hannibal views things in black and white, a leftover from his past life perhaps, and firmly places people, actions, and things in one category or the other. So when thoughts of murder and cannibalism frequently cloud his mind you can imagine the pain it brings him. He has yet to place himself in one of the categories but after his last two "accidents" he has been leaning more towards black.
Despite what any others infer, Hannibal is by no stretch a savage or antisocial. The mutant simply does not feel comfortable in the company of most others because of the hate they exude towards his kind. When he does feel comfortable around a person, or perhaps even comes to call them a friend, he is fiercely loyal. He jokes and converses just like any other man and is not afraid to speak his mind and be blunt. Despite his appearance, Hannibal is a rather patient, forgiving, and calm person, usually preferring non-violence and almost never getting angry. The one sure way to make him your enemy, however, is bigotry towards him.
Skills: Years of experience in the wasteland have made Hannibal an expert hunter and tracker. He can remain self-sufficient for an extreme amount of time, perhaps forever. Massive muscles, long arms, decades of practice, and an iron grip make Hannibal an excellent archer with his over sized long bow, able to draw extreme weights and put an arrow into a small moving target from a substantial distance away. In addition, Hannibal is a force of nature in close quarters, being able to effectively wield either his axe or knife. Hannibal is also an experienced falconer and has, oddly enough, mastered sewing from decades of practical experience.
Disadvantages (Thought these could help balance my character out a bit): Hannibal knows nothing of computers and has the lowest grade of mechanical understanding possible. His mutation also makes it nearly impossible to interact with most people. The mutant doesn't like the feel of a trigger in his over sized hands and therefore has never had practised with a gun or energy weapon (the extent of his knowledge is what end shoots the bullet/laser). His hands are also too large for doing more delicate things (besides sewing) and his frame is too big for him to even think of sneaking. Hannibal also can't fit into any armor that is not custom made for him, and even then it's difficult.
Specialty/career: Hunter, tracker, hermit, falconer, and Ranger.
Weapons: Railway knife: In prison Hannibal's main weapon is a railway spike that has been thinned out, lengthened, and sharpened into a blade. The 'handle' is wrapped in cloth to provide a better grip on the blade. While the weapon would be moderately large to a normal man it looks almost pitiful in Hannibal's hands, most certainly not as good as his ancient, battle proven blade that has been confiscated from him.
Aphrodite: Aphrodite is the name of Hannibal's hunting bird, a great, unmutated Golden Eagle. The eagle's wingspan is a massive 7.5 feet and she weighs 13 pounds (which is pretty average for a female Golden Eagle). Aphrodite is expertly trained and has a sort of "bond" or "understanding" with Hannibal. The eagle has normal markings (dark brown feathers on the majority of the body with a lighter, more golden color around the back of the neck and head) and is outfitted with all of the proper equipment (tethers, bells, and a hood). Aphrodite is used for hunting all sorts of prey, ranging from small birds to coyotes and even a lone wolf every once in a while. The bird can also preform something Hannibal calls "spotting" which is an activity where the bird flat high overhead Hannibal and screams loudly when she spots a humanoid before starting to circle over them. More recently, though, the bird flies overhead and feeds itself, waiting for the moment Hannibal will need her.
Apparel: With no standard prison clothing really being able to fit him, Hannibal was given a dark blue shirt and pair of pants made by the people working at the Correctional Facility. While the clothes are massive, they actually fit quite snuggly on Hannibal's form. For this reason Hannibal has cut the shirt in half vertically down the from, cut off the sleeves, loosened up the shoulder area a bit by tearing it loose around the armpit section, turning it into a vest that covers just his back, sides, and a little bit of his chest and abdomen. The sleeves are both wrapped tightly into a bracer on his forearm, replacing the empty feeling where a hawk bracer has rested for roughly a century and a half. Hannibal was allowed to keep his homemade leather sandals because the guards decided it would be too difficult to try to craft shoes for the giant.
Backstory/Bio: Hannibal was born thirty or so years before the bombs dropped. Remembering things from that time of his life is difficult and the memories he does have are muddled and jumbled. The only two significant things he remembers is that his name started with an H and he had a sizable library, the only location he can vividly remember. Then things became clouded, he remembers great pain and madness from that time period.
What actually happened in that time was Hannibal's transformation. He's not sure what caused it, FEV, radiation, or a mixture of the two, but then again, it doesn't really matter. The transformation was a relatively fast one, within a week his hair had fallen off and his veins bulged out grotesquely. Then he started to forget the simplest thing from his past life and his muscle mass grew rapidly without training. Soon after thoughts of the hunt forced their way into his mind and he started forgetting who he was. Within two or three months he had become something completely different, bulging muscles, distant eyes, a massive form, and a savage face. He hunted like a lone wolf and lost any semblance of humanity killing and eating man and beast alike.
But then the process started to lessen for some reason. Now Hannibal thinks that the savage behavior was a result of high radiation levels or the initial madness of mutation, moat likely the former. His kills brought thoughts to the edge of his mind, telling him what he was doing was wrong in some way. The process of returning to a human state of mind was a very slow one and by the time it was done the year was 2080. The animalistic urges stayed but Hannibal could control them easier, probably because of his strong belief that those thoughts were evil ones.
His first idea was to visit civilization just days after he regained himself. From what he could gather he was somewhere in Central Illinois and, knowing that there was population up north, that's the way he went. Hannibal, still drowsy from his transformation and stripped naked from his time as a beast, wandered into a small town. When the villagers saw him they cried out and retreated, afraid of the mutant. Hannibal was confused, as he hadn't been thinking correctly lately and hadn't yet seen his reflection. Within seconds the town was devoid of people and the man-beast stumbled into an in of cowering people, drawn by the smell of food.
He approached the bartender, covering behind his bar, and started to ask for food. But then Hannibal heard his voice, a bestial sound that barely counted as "human" at all. The shock and horror he felt seemed to snap him out of his trance. He looked at his horribly deformed hands for the first time and recoiled at the sight. Green, heavily muscled hands with blood- human or animal, he didn't know- caked into the nails replaced what we're once delicate fingers. The rest of his body looked the same, grotesquely muscled and a green tint all over crisscrossed by bulging veins and the hint of quickly fading scars. He was a monstrosity, towing over the people who eyed him with great fear in the far corners of the inn.
The beast ran from the small, new town in fear of himself. He wandered for a while in the crippled planes of Illinois, once again hunting like an animal but now using his superior human intelligence and reasoning. He gave other people a wide berth and only snuck into small villages at night to snatch something essential. He began honing his hunting skills, setting up traps and snares to catch smaller game and setting up stands in the stunted trees to sleep at night and keep away from the predators below. For the longest time Hannibal (who had not yet named himself) lived like this, hunting with his knife and clothing himself in cloaks of furs in the colder months. He was something of a fictional character around the area, told in stories around campfires. He had no goal in life other than to survive.
He came to accept his mutation and begrudgingly admitted that without it he would be long dead. He soon grew a great love for the hunt, the ability to sustain himself with his own muscle and smarts. He fashioned spears from bone and wood and started practicing with the sling, gradually hunting larger arrows. The mutant never stayed in one area for long to prevent a shortage of game and edible plants. Then one day he found the ruins of a large, seemingly abandoned town and entered it, hoping to find something useful. But instead he found something completely different, mutants.
This piqued Hannibal's curiosity. The memory of his first visit to civilization, who knows how long ago, was still vivid in his memory. The people had cringed and ran because he looked different but these people- no, things- looked like him, disgusting. So Hannibal approached them with his back straight and confidence in his walk. He asked for the leader of the group and was escorted to a larger than average mutant by the name of Axle. The mutant greeted him as a brother and did not cringe at his appearance or voice. Hannibal asked what this group was and the mutant simply replied "We are kin".
Hannibal liked the sound of that. He hadn't had so much as a civilized conversation since before the Great War, much less friendship or brotherhood. So the destitute man-beast asked he could join, offering up his skills of hunting. Axle let out a great, bellowing laugh and told him that he would be happily welcomed into the society. Hannibal felt happier than he had in years. So that night, Axle invited Hannibal to hunt with them in the downtown area. Hannibal was confused at why the beasts would hunt in the city but accepted anyway.
The a small band of six or seven mutants, all larger than Hannibal, ran off deeper into the tangle of buildings, hooting and hollering. Hannibal was slightly annoyed that the men were making so much racket and likely scaring away the game but he followed all the same, not wanting to be kicked out of the Brotherhood. The he caught sight of their prey and his heart stopped.
A small family hid within a tangle of rubble, three females and one male, none of them armed. But this didn't matter to the mutants, they proceeded to fall upon the family, tearing their bodies in half with blade, hand, and tooth alike. They wasted no time cooking, or even picking out the bones and hair. Hannibal simply stood petrified. But the worst part was not the scene in front of him, it was the stirring within him. Something bestial hungered within his briast at the sight of the fresh blood and meat. His blood grew hot and his lips salivated, the family looked delicious.
Axle saw his stillness and stopped in the middle of his meal of young intestines, asking what was wrong. It took great effort on Hannibal's part to respond, and when he did he doesn't think that they were the right ones to say.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked quietly.
Axle simply looked at him questionably and said words that would haunt Hannibal for years into the future.
"It is what our kind does."
It is what our kind does. It was true enough, Hannibal thought, he had felt the urge to do unspeakably evil things on more than one occasion. Just moments earlier he had wanted to feed on the flesh so badly. He was a monster, a sinner, there was no lying to himself.
So Hannibal ran from what could have been his brothers, what could have been his life, what could have been his next meal. He ran for a long time, not sure of which direction he was going, drawn to a location by an invisible beacon. Dark turned to day and he stumbled along, not quite sure of what he was doing. He past through another town which seemed to tickle at s mind and fell asleep in a house that seemed to radiate memories from a life long gone.
He woke and realized that he was indeed in a place he knew. The library, his library, the only place of clarity in his memories of his pre-war life. He surmised that the house was his house, the tiny village his village. Hannibal was bewildered by sight and searched the rest of the house. It was mostly destroyed, with only the library and basemant intact, and most everything from Pre-war times was burned away or looted. But one thing miraculously stayed intact, a picture frame of a family of three, a couple in their 30s and young boy.
The picture didn't stir up any memories but when he looked at the eyes of the man he recognized his own. Hannibal wasn't sure if the man was him, his father, his brother, or a stranger with similar eyes, but he kept the picture and cherished it anyway. Upon checking the basemant he found two skeletons, one small and male and one average sized and female. Wondering if perhaps the couple were his wife and kind Hannibal picked up the two skeletons piece by piece and buried them deep in the backyard together. With watery eyes and a trembling hand the beast brought his knife up to his own neck, he had nothing to live for anyway, why not get rid of one more monstrosity that plagued the hell hole that earth now was?
But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead the brute simply covered up the hole, marked it properly, and set up shop in the old house. He wasn't sure exactly what year it was because he had no way of keeping time in the wasteland, which now had seasons that were sometimes completely unnoticed. He hunted around the area and scavenged the deserted town that couldn't have held more than 700 people in its hay day. He started a garden in the backyard and even tamed a wild Brahmin for milk. Every night he read a new book from the library, hoping one of them would conjure up some sort of of recognization but disappointed when he found that none did.
He did gather something from the books, though. Along with the town library's stock, the books taught him many things of both the old world that he had forgotten and the art of survival which he had already almost mastered. In one particular volume of books he learned of both archery and falconry. Seeing that both of these arts could help his chance of survival he studied them eagerly, starting the long process of producing a Welsh longbow and searching every day while hunting for raptor nests. In preparation of keeping the raptor he made the proper supplies and set up a large netted flying area outside.
While he searched for his bird an made his bow he also found the house of what was apparently a tailor. Intrigued, the mutant searched the area and saw something that sparked his imagination. A box of hundreds of feet of grey cloth that was both both breathable and light. The giant wrapped himself with the garb and quickly learned how to mend the cloth when needed. He also tailor made a sleeveless longcoat from his now-butchered Brahmin to fit over his massive form.
Almost simultaneously, the longbow was found and the proper. raptor was found. He practised nonstop with both, having nothing else to do. Before long he could easily punch an arrow through a wolf and command his hawk (a Harris Hawk) with great precision. He fortified the small village and protected it from small groups of Raiders and other mutants on numerous occasions. The town became somewhat of a legend in the area, just like Hannibal had long ago. This is also around the time Hannibal had started calling himself Hannibal, based off of one of the many books he spent his time reading.
The game started to grow scarce in the area. Hannibal wasn't sure how many years he spent there, three at least, but he was certain that he had either killed off all the game or scared them away. The place was basically a fortress, built for one man and meant to be held by one man. He had put so much effort into the village, but he found himself both needing to leave and wanting to leave.
Life in the fort was... boring. There was no excitement of exploration, no challenge of new game in different environments. So the mutant decided to give his fort away to people who deserved it. He donned his gray garb, covering his skin completely, and went to the nearest settlement. Acting as a beggar, the giant stood on the side of the street and asked for money or food from the pedestrians. The first person who parted with a bit of money received the location of Hannibal's fort and the way in.
Then Hannibal took his equipment, falcon, and a bit of food and headed westward. The giant started to interact a bit more with people as he slowly went east. He would lend aid to people on the road and trade in towns more frequency. Hannibal was in no hurry, he had eternity and he knew it. He knew that he could ask the year but he didn't see how it was relevant. He crossed over old state boundaries until he reached Colorado. He set up a house there for some time and found a much larger hunting bird, a Golden Eagle, before leaving the complex to a person who deserves it after a few years, just like before.
Then, after a venture south, Hannibal found the Desert Rangers. Seeing their pure goals he decided to join and try to lend aid any way he could. The first few months at the fort were tedious for him as he faced the open hate of many people around the area. But before long Hannibal made some friends within a special-crafted squad and had some of his first normal conversations with a human for as long as he could remember.
Hannibal stayed with the Rangers for years, honing his skills, saving lives, climbing the ranks, and bringing Law to the Lawless (
). Slowly, Hannibal became a regular among the Rangers and rarely received the stares and mutters that followed him when he first signed up. Eventually the Desert Rangers met up with the NCR Rangers and formed into one organization. Hannibal was torn between his old ways as a independent and a helper of the people of the wastes serving under a corrupt government.
Deciding he could help more in the NCR, Hannibal stuck with the Rangers. Over the years he became one of the most battle hardened and experienced Rangers in the NCR. He participated in operations varying from scouting in the north for future expansion, chasing the classified "Ghosts of Baja", and, eventually, the second battle of Hoover Dam. Hannibal showed utmost loyalty to his brothers in arms and earned a legendary reputation and kill count.
He came to accept his beat form and no longer let it hinder him, until he had his first incident in over a century. On a expedition into Legion remnant territory something snapped in Hannibal's head, something almost forgotten. Suddenly turning savage, the man-beast attacked the two other Rangers with him, knocking one out and breaking many of his bones while eating the majority of the other's arm off. Eventually he snapped out of the trance and fell into shock. When the first Ranger awoke he radioed in the incident and another team took the three to the Mojave outpost.
There the two injured Rangers received heavy medical treatment. While both lived one was left an amputee while the other had his leg broken so badly that he was told he would never walk again. Still in shock, Hannibal was given a trial to which he pled guilty to all charges. Because of him pleading guilty and his long history of military service his sentence was lessened and he was sent to the NCRCF in Block B for 18 years.
Hannibal accepted his punishment, telling himself that he deserved it. But no matter what, Hannibal is a free creature at heart, not meant to be caged.
Name: Hannibal
Weight: Approximately 380 pounds (that's kind of a wild guess mixed in with some most-likely-incorrect math)
Gender: Male
Age: 230-ish
Race: Mutant, possibly Native American or Middle Eastern.
Reason for incarceration: Two cases attempted murder, one case of partial cannibalism, and fleeing the scene. The charge was lessened because of his "Long, dutiful servitude to the NCR and it's citizens."
Block: Block B
Appearance & Physical Traits: After his mutation Hannibal developed a large frame. The first thing most people notice is his substantial height. Hannibal stands at an unnatural seven feet and seven inches tall. While this height doesn't even compare to a Super Mutant's ten and a half feet Hannibal stands completely straight-backed (unlike Super Mutants), therefore appearing only slightly shorter. His mutation also greatly increased his muscle mass and eliminated almost all fat, giving him a heavily muscled, yet still lanky frame. The man-beast has a great, barreled chest with large lungs that give him a substantial amount of endurance and long limbs that allow large strides and the use of his long bow. When around others Hannibal tries to hide his height by punching his back and bending his knees slightly, though he still appears massive.
Hannibal's skin has green tint to it, clearly marking him as the mutant he is. Blue veins crisscross his body, easily visible, and despite his dangerous lifestyle his skin remains devoid of scars from both blade and bullet (though the one time he got shot he almost died). This is because of his regenerative abilities, though they do their work much slower than a normal mutant's (weeks or months). One of Hannibal's three great shames is his face. What he thinks was once a relatively attractive face has become monstrous. His cheekbones now jut out grotesquely and his eyes are deeply hooded by his brow. His jaw is thickly muscled and too wide to be natural while his chin juts forward. Thankfully, Hannibal has not been cursed with the cruel sneer of his more heavily mutated brethren and his eyes, which are a soft brown, have remained unchanged. Hannibal has lost the ability to grow hair at all.
His second great shame is his voice. His vocal chords were altered in his mutation so that, despite his greatest efforts, his voice always comes out somewhere between a snarl and a harsh whisper. Because of this Hannibal avoids talking around those he thinks will judge, outcast, or even attack him. Because of his lack of speech many think him a simpleton.
Personality: The best way to describe Hannibal is conflicted. While he is at heart a good man who wants to help others in any way possible he struggles to control the animalistic impulses that came with his mutation. Hannibal views things in black and white, a leftover from his past life perhaps, and firmly places people, actions, and things in one category or the other. So when thoughts of murder and cannibalism frequently cloud his mind you can imagine the pain it brings him. He has yet to place himself in one of the categories but after his last two "accidents" he has been leaning more towards black.
Despite what any others infer, Hannibal is by no stretch a savage or antisocial. The mutant simply does not feel comfortable in the company of most others because of the hate they exude towards his kind. When he does feel comfortable around a person, or perhaps even comes to call them a friend, he is fiercely loyal. He jokes and converses just like any other man and is not afraid to speak his mind and be blunt. Despite his appearance, Hannibal is a rather patient, forgiving, and calm person, usually preferring non-violence and almost never getting angry. The one sure way to make him your enemy, however, is bigotry towards him.
Skills: Years of experience in the wasteland have made Hannibal an expert hunter and tracker. He can remain self-sufficient for an extreme amount of time, perhaps forever. Massive muscles, long arms, decades of practice, and an iron grip make Hannibal an excellent archer with his over sized long bow, able to draw extreme weights and put an arrow into a small moving target from a substantial distance away. In addition, Hannibal is a force of nature in close quarters, being able to effectively wield either his axe or knife. Hannibal is also an experienced falconer and has, oddly enough, mastered sewing from decades of practical experience.
Disadvantages (Thought these could help balance my character out a bit): Hannibal knows nothing of computers and has the lowest grade of mechanical understanding possible. His mutation also makes it nearly impossible to interact with most people. The mutant doesn't like the feel of a trigger in his over sized hands and therefore has never had practised with a gun or energy weapon (the extent of his knowledge is what end shoots the bullet/laser). His hands are also too large for doing more delicate things (besides sewing) and his frame is too big for him to even think of sneaking. Hannibal also can't fit into any armor that is not custom made for him, and even then it's difficult.
Specialty/career: Hunter, tracker, hermit, falconer, and Ranger.
Weapons: Railway knife: In prison Hannibal's main weapon is a railway spike that has been thinned out, lengthened, and sharpened into a blade. The 'handle' is wrapped in cloth to provide a better grip on the blade. While the weapon would be moderately large to a normal man it looks almost pitiful in Hannibal's hands, most certainly not as good as his ancient, battle proven blade that has been confiscated from him.
Aphrodite: Aphrodite is the name of Hannibal's hunting bird, a great, unmutated Golden Eagle. The eagle's wingspan is a massive 7.5 feet and she weighs 13 pounds (which is pretty average for a female Golden Eagle). Aphrodite is expertly trained and has a sort of "bond" or "understanding" with Hannibal. The eagle has normal markings (dark brown feathers on the majority of the body with a lighter, more golden color around the back of the neck and head) and is outfitted with all of the proper equipment (tethers, bells, and a hood). Aphrodite is used for hunting all sorts of prey, ranging from small birds to coyotes and even a lone wolf every once in a while. The bird can also preform something Hannibal calls "spotting" which is an activity where the bird flat high overhead Hannibal and screams loudly when she spots a humanoid before starting to circle over them. More recently, though, the bird flies overhead and feeds itself, waiting for the moment Hannibal will need her.
Apparel: With no standard prison clothing really being able to fit him, Hannibal was given a dark blue shirt and pair of pants made by the people working at the Correctional Facility. While the clothes are massive, they actually fit quite snuggly on Hannibal's form. For this reason Hannibal has cut the shirt in half vertically down the from, cut off the sleeves, loosened up the shoulder area a bit by tearing it loose around the armpit section, turning it into a vest that covers just his back, sides, and a little bit of his chest and abdomen. The sleeves are both wrapped tightly into a bracer on his forearm, replacing the empty feeling where a hawk bracer has rested for roughly a century and a half. Hannibal was allowed to keep his homemade leather sandals because the guards decided it would be too difficult to try to craft shoes for the giant.
Backstory/Bio: Hannibal was born thirty or so years before the bombs dropped. Remembering things from that time of his life is difficult and the memories he does have are muddled and jumbled. The only two significant things he remembers is that his name started with an H and he had a sizable library, the only location he can vividly remember. Then things became clouded, he remembers great pain and madness from that time period.
What actually happened in that time was Hannibal's transformation. He's not sure what caused it, FEV, radiation, or a mixture of the two, but then again, it doesn't really matter. The transformation was a relatively fast one, within a week his hair had fallen off and his veins bulged out grotesquely. Then he started to forget the simplest thing from his past life and his muscle mass grew rapidly without training. Soon after thoughts of the hunt forced their way into his mind and he started forgetting who he was. Within two or three months he had become something completely different, bulging muscles, distant eyes, a massive form, and a savage face. He hunted like a lone wolf and lost any semblance of humanity killing and eating man and beast alike.
But then the process started to lessen for some reason. Now Hannibal thinks that the savage behavior was a result of high radiation levels or the initial madness of mutation, moat likely the former. His kills brought thoughts to the edge of his mind, telling him what he was doing was wrong in some way. The process of returning to a human state of mind was a very slow one and by the time it was done the year was 2080. The animalistic urges stayed but Hannibal could control them easier, probably because of his strong belief that those thoughts were evil ones.
His first idea was to visit civilization just days after he regained himself. From what he could gather he was somewhere in Central Illinois and, knowing that there was population up north, that's the way he went. Hannibal, still drowsy from his transformation and stripped naked from his time as a beast, wandered into a small town. When the villagers saw him they cried out and retreated, afraid of the mutant. Hannibal was confused, as he hadn't been thinking correctly lately and hadn't yet seen his reflection. Within seconds the town was devoid of people and the man-beast stumbled into an in of cowering people, drawn by the smell of food.
He approached the bartender, covering behind his bar, and started to ask for food. But then Hannibal heard his voice, a bestial sound that barely counted as "human" at all. The shock and horror he felt seemed to snap him out of his trance. He looked at his horribly deformed hands for the first time and recoiled at the sight. Green, heavily muscled hands with blood- human or animal, he didn't know- caked into the nails replaced what we're once delicate fingers. The rest of his body looked the same, grotesquely muscled and a green tint all over crisscrossed by bulging veins and the hint of quickly fading scars. He was a monstrosity, towing over the people who eyed him with great fear in the far corners of the inn.
The beast ran from the small, new town in fear of himself. He wandered for a while in the crippled planes of Illinois, once again hunting like an animal but now using his superior human intelligence and reasoning. He gave other people a wide berth and only snuck into small villages at night to snatch something essential. He began honing his hunting skills, setting up traps and snares to catch smaller game and setting up stands in the stunted trees to sleep at night and keep away from the predators below. For the longest time Hannibal (who had not yet named himself) lived like this, hunting with his knife and clothing himself in cloaks of furs in the colder months. He was something of a fictional character around the area, told in stories around campfires. He had no goal in life other than to survive.
He came to accept his mutation and begrudgingly admitted that without it he would be long dead. He soon grew a great love for the hunt, the ability to sustain himself with his own muscle and smarts. He fashioned spears from bone and wood and started practicing with the sling, gradually hunting larger arrows. The mutant never stayed in one area for long to prevent a shortage of game and edible plants. Then one day he found the ruins of a large, seemingly abandoned town and entered it, hoping to find something useful. But instead he found something completely different, mutants.
This piqued Hannibal's curiosity. The memory of his first visit to civilization, who knows how long ago, was still vivid in his memory. The people had cringed and ran because he looked different but these people- no, things- looked like him, disgusting. So Hannibal approached them with his back straight and confidence in his walk. He asked for the leader of the group and was escorted to a larger than average mutant by the name of Axle. The mutant greeted him as a brother and did not cringe at his appearance or voice. Hannibal asked what this group was and the mutant simply replied "We are kin".
Hannibal liked the sound of that. He hadn't had so much as a civilized conversation since before the Great War, much less friendship or brotherhood. So the destitute man-beast asked he could join, offering up his skills of hunting. Axle let out a great, bellowing laugh and told him that he would be happily welcomed into the society. Hannibal felt happier than he had in years. So that night, Axle invited Hannibal to hunt with them in the downtown area. Hannibal was confused at why the beasts would hunt in the city but accepted anyway.
The a small band of six or seven mutants, all larger than Hannibal, ran off deeper into the tangle of buildings, hooting and hollering. Hannibal was slightly annoyed that the men were making so much racket and likely scaring away the game but he followed all the same, not wanting to be kicked out of the Brotherhood. The he caught sight of their prey and his heart stopped.
A small family hid within a tangle of rubble, three females and one male, none of them armed. But this didn't matter to the mutants, they proceeded to fall upon the family, tearing their bodies in half with blade, hand, and tooth alike. They wasted no time cooking, or even picking out the bones and hair. Hannibal simply stood petrified. But the worst part was not the scene in front of him, it was the stirring within him. Something bestial hungered within his briast at the sight of the fresh blood and meat. His blood grew hot and his lips salivated, the family looked delicious.
Axle saw his stillness and stopped in the middle of his meal of young intestines, asking what was wrong. It took great effort on Hannibal's part to respond, and when he did he doesn't think that they were the right ones to say.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked quietly.
Axle simply looked at him questionably and said words that would haunt Hannibal for years into the future.
"It is what our kind does."
It is what our kind does. It was true enough, Hannibal thought, he had felt the urge to do unspeakably evil things on more than one occasion. Just moments earlier he had wanted to feed on the flesh so badly. He was a monster, a sinner, there was no lying to himself.
So Hannibal ran from what could have been his brothers, what could have been his life, what could have been his next meal. He ran for a long time, not sure of which direction he was going, drawn to a location by an invisible beacon. Dark turned to day and he stumbled along, not quite sure of what he was doing. He past through another town which seemed to tickle at s mind and fell asleep in a house that seemed to radiate memories from a life long gone.
He woke and realized that he was indeed in a place he knew. The library, his library, the only place of clarity in his memories of his pre-war life. He surmised that the house was his house, the tiny village his village. Hannibal was bewildered by sight and searched the rest of the house. It was mostly destroyed, with only the library and basemant intact, and most everything from Pre-war times was burned away or looted. But one thing miraculously stayed intact, a picture frame of a family of three, a couple in their 30s and young boy.
The picture didn't stir up any memories but when he looked at the eyes of the man he recognized his own. Hannibal wasn't sure if the man was him, his father, his brother, or a stranger with similar eyes, but he kept the picture and cherished it anyway. Upon checking the basemant he found two skeletons, one small and male and one average sized and female. Wondering if perhaps the couple were his wife and kind Hannibal picked up the two skeletons piece by piece and buried them deep in the backyard together. With watery eyes and a trembling hand the beast brought his knife up to his own neck, he had nothing to live for anyway, why not get rid of one more monstrosity that plagued the hell hole that earth now was?
But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead the brute simply covered up the hole, marked it properly, and set up shop in the old house. He wasn't sure exactly what year it was because he had no way of keeping time in the wasteland, which now had seasons that were sometimes completely unnoticed. He hunted around the area and scavenged the deserted town that couldn't have held more than 700 people in its hay day. He started a garden in the backyard and even tamed a wild Brahmin for milk. Every night he read a new book from the library, hoping one of them would conjure up some sort of of recognization but disappointed when he found that none did.
He did gather something from the books, though. Along with the town library's stock, the books taught him many things of both the old world that he had forgotten and the art of survival which he had already almost mastered. In one particular volume of books he learned of both archery and falconry. Seeing that both of these arts could help his chance of survival he studied them eagerly, starting the long process of producing a Welsh longbow and searching every day while hunting for raptor nests. In preparation of keeping the raptor he made the proper supplies and set up a large netted flying area outside.
While he searched for his bird an made his bow he also found the house of what was apparently a tailor. Intrigued, the mutant searched the area and saw something that sparked his imagination. A box of hundreds of feet of grey cloth that was both both breathable and light. The giant wrapped himself with the garb and quickly learned how to mend the cloth when needed. He also tailor made a sleeveless longcoat from his now-butchered Brahmin to fit over his massive form.
Almost simultaneously, the longbow was found and the proper. raptor was found. He practised nonstop with both, having nothing else to do. Before long he could easily punch an arrow through a wolf and command his hawk (a Harris Hawk) with great precision. He fortified the small village and protected it from small groups of Raiders and other mutants on numerous occasions. The town became somewhat of a legend in the area, just like Hannibal had long ago. This is also around the time Hannibal had started calling himself Hannibal, based off of one of the many books he spent his time reading.
The game started to grow scarce in the area. Hannibal wasn't sure how many years he spent there, three at least, but he was certain that he had either killed off all the game or scared them away. The place was basically a fortress, built for one man and meant to be held by one man. He had put so much effort into the village, but he found himself both needing to leave and wanting to leave.
Life in the fort was... boring. There was no excitement of exploration, no challenge of new game in different environments. So the mutant decided to give his fort away to people who deserved it. He donned his gray garb, covering his skin completely, and went to the nearest settlement. Acting as a beggar, the giant stood on the side of the street and asked for money or food from the pedestrians. The first person who parted with a bit of money received the location of Hannibal's fort and the way in.
Then Hannibal took his equipment, falcon, and a bit of food and headed westward. The giant started to interact a bit more with people as he slowly went east. He would lend aid to people on the road and trade in towns more frequency. Hannibal was in no hurry, he had eternity and he knew it. He knew that he could ask the year but he didn't see how it was relevant. He crossed over old state boundaries until he reached Colorado. He set up a house there for some time and found a much larger hunting bird, a Golden Eagle, before leaving the complex to a person who deserves it after a few years, just like before.
Then, after a venture south, Hannibal found the Desert Rangers. Seeing their pure goals he decided to join and try to lend aid any way he could. The first few months at the fort were tedious for him as he faced the open hate of many people around the area. But before long Hannibal made some friends within a special-crafted squad and had some of his first normal conversations with a human for as long as he could remember.
Hannibal stayed with the Rangers for years, honing his skills, saving lives, climbing the ranks, and bringing Law to the Lawless (
). Slowly, Hannibal became a regular among the Rangers and rarely received the stares and mutters that followed him when he first signed up. Eventually the Desert Rangers met up with the NCR Rangers and formed into one organization. Hannibal was torn between his old ways as a independent and a helper of the people of the wastes serving under a corrupt government.Deciding he could help more in the NCR, Hannibal stuck with the Rangers. Over the years he became one of the most battle hardened and experienced Rangers in the NCR. He participated in operations varying from scouting in the north for future expansion, chasing the classified "Ghosts of Baja", and, eventually, the second battle of Hoover Dam. Hannibal showed utmost loyalty to his brothers in arms and earned a legendary reputation and kill count.
He came to accept his beat form and no longer let it hinder him, until he had his first incident in over a century. On a expedition into Legion remnant territory something snapped in Hannibal's head, something almost forgotten. Suddenly turning savage, the man-beast attacked the two other Rangers with him, knocking one out and breaking many of his bones while eating the majority of the other's arm off. Eventually he snapped out of the trance and fell into shock. When the first Ranger awoke he radioed in the incident and another team took the three to the Mojave outpost.
There the two injured Rangers received heavy medical treatment. While both lived one was left an amputee while the other had his leg broken so badly that he was told he would never walk again. Still in shock, Hannibal was given a trial to which he pled guilty to all charges. Because of him pleading guilty and his long history of military service his sentence was lessened and he was sent to the NCRCF in Block B for 18 years.
Hannibal accepted his punishment, telling himself that he deserved it. But no matter what, Hannibal is a free creature at heart, not meant to be caged.
SoveriegnTeddy
Spoiler
Name: Billy Winston
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6"1
Weight: 185 Ibs.
Skills: Billy knows his way around any run-of-the-mill pistol or submachine gun due to his experience in street fights as a Kings gang member. He is also fairly proficient in hand-to-hand combat, a skill most would wish to have when in a prison like the NCRCF.
Reason for incarceration: Two counts of first degree murder, and assault on an NCR Officer.
Block: C
Appearance: Billy Winston has a medium, muscular build unlike some of his fellow smaller-framed Kings, with icy blue eyes, recently-buzzed black hair, and slightly tanned skin. He has several lash marks on his back from his childhood, which he maintains a secret to anyone but the most trusted of his friends.
Weapons (Optional): Fists
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Standard, un-bottoned prison coveralls revealing an armless undershirt. He was also able to bribe prison guards into letting him wear his scuffed black shoes from Freeside.
Bio: Billy Winston was certainly what you could call a hoodlum. Born to a well-known King and young groupie, Billy was the victim of much abuse from his Jet-addict mother, Jane, and the partner in crime with his father, Calvin. Spending most of the day smuggling small arms to Mick & Ralph's by storing them in his toy box, Billy was earning two hundred caps a day at the age of ten, and earning the praise of the King and his most prominent lieutenants, including Pacer. As time progressed, however, Billy's mother was getting high on a daily basis, and began to get bitter with the boy and his mounds of separate money. The young Winston simply ignored his mother in the corner of their shack and continued to smuggle goods to Mick, while his father and the King proudly watched from the sidelines. Although he had little affiliation with the Kings at the moment, Billy began styling himself off that of the younger gang members, constantly seen swaggering through the streets in denim jeans and a jacket with a flipped-up collar, along with smooth black hair that blew gently to the left in a greasy wave. He continued to smuggle weapons until the age of fourteen, when finally he was attacked in the streets by a gang of thugs in the dead of night. Unfortunately, the jumping was on the other side of the town, and the only things the Kings could do was sit and listen to the cries for help that echoed through the winding and dark alleys of Freeside.
The morning after he was beaten, he awoke in a dumpster along with his empty toy box in nothing but his bare skivvies. He had been robbed blind. Enraged and embarrassed, the boy wrapped himself in an empty trash bag and hobbled back to his shack. As he arrived, his mother was yet again holed up in the corner, ensuring every last bit of free Pyscho had been injected into her system. She looked up, smiling the same smile Billy saw everyday after she got a hold of her cricket bat. “I see you've been blowing Dixon again for the free chems, huh [censored]?” Billy muttered angrily. The woman continued to stare at him blankly with her bloodshot eyes, stumbling to her feet. Young Winston, aware of what was coming, started for the door. Old Jane screeched curses at the boy from under her vile breath, grasping the cricket bat and swinging as hard as she could in the direction of Billy's head. Ducking, the bat collided with an empty book shelf connected to a bundle of old flickering Christmas lights and lamps, sending them crashing into the walls of the hut as a shower of sparks and flame engulfed the small room. “[censored]! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!?” The boy yelped in surprise, kicking the creaking door straight off its hinges and flying out the doorway.
Despite his nudity, Billy continued to sprint down the street without a second thought about what would happen if his mother was still in a confining room with her chems, ignoring the snickering of wandering vagrants and the screams of his addict mother.
Name: Billy Winston
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Height: 6"1
Weight: 185 Ibs.
Skills: Billy knows his way around any run-of-the-mill pistol or submachine gun due to his experience in street fights as a Kings gang member. He is also fairly proficient in hand-to-hand combat, a skill most would wish to have when in a prison like the NCRCF.
Reason for incarceration: Two counts of first degree murder, and assault on an NCR Officer.
Block: C
Appearance: Billy Winston has a medium, muscular build unlike some of his fellow smaller-framed Kings, with icy blue eyes, recently-buzzed black hair, and slightly tanned skin. He has several lash marks on his back from his childhood, which he maintains a secret to anyone but the most trusted of his friends.
Weapons (Optional): Fists
Clothing: (You would have the prison overalls on, but feel free to make modifications.) Standard, un-bottoned prison coveralls revealing an armless undershirt. He was also able to bribe prison guards into letting him wear his scuffed black shoes from Freeside.
Bio: Billy Winston was certainly what you could call a hoodlum. Born to a well-known King and young groupie, Billy was the victim of much abuse from his Jet-addict mother, Jane, and the partner in crime with his father, Calvin. Spending most of the day smuggling small arms to Mick & Ralph's by storing them in his toy box, Billy was earning two hundred caps a day at the age of ten, and earning the praise of the King and his most prominent lieutenants, including Pacer. As time progressed, however, Billy's mother was getting high on a daily basis, and began to get bitter with the boy and his mounds of separate money. The young Winston simply ignored his mother in the corner of their shack and continued to smuggle goods to Mick, while his father and the King proudly watched from the sidelines. Although he had little affiliation with the Kings at the moment, Billy began styling himself off that of the younger gang members, constantly seen swaggering through the streets in denim jeans and a jacket with a flipped-up collar, along with smooth black hair that blew gently to the left in a greasy wave. He continued to smuggle weapons until the age of fourteen, when finally he was attacked in the streets by a gang of thugs in the dead of night. Unfortunately, the jumping was on the other side of the town, and the only things the Kings could do was sit and listen to the cries for help that echoed through the winding and dark alleys of Freeside.
The morning after he was beaten, he awoke in a dumpster along with his empty toy box in nothing but his bare skivvies. He had been robbed blind. Enraged and embarrassed, the boy wrapped himself in an empty trash bag and hobbled back to his shack. As he arrived, his mother was yet again holed up in the corner, ensuring every last bit of free Pyscho had been injected into her system. She looked up, smiling the same smile Billy saw everyday after she got a hold of her cricket bat. “I see you've been blowing Dixon again for the free chems, huh [censored]?” Billy muttered angrily. The woman continued to stare at him blankly with her bloodshot eyes, stumbling to her feet. Young Winston, aware of what was coming, started for the door. Old Jane screeched curses at the boy from under her vile breath, grasping the cricket bat and swinging as hard as she could in the direction of Billy's head. Ducking, the bat collided with an empty book shelf connected to a bundle of old flickering Christmas lights and lamps, sending them crashing into the walls of the hut as a shower of sparks and flame engulfed the small room. “[censored]! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!?” The boy yelped in surprise, kicking the creaking door straight off its hinges and flying out the doorway.
Despite his nudity, Billy continued to sprint down the street without a second thought about what would happen if his mother was still in a confining room with her chems, ignoring the snickering of wandering vagrants and the screams of his addict mother.
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Characters (Guards/Staff)
OldRPG'sAreGood
Spoiler
Name: Terry Logan
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Height: 1,81 meters
Weight: 87 kg
Skills: Handy with a police baton, adequate with a pistol and a rifle and a tough bargainer.
Appearance: Quite the fleshy face, with coarse stubble covering his cheeks and a "walrus mustache" covering his upper lip. Unkempt brown hair that just barely covers his ears.
Rank: Private(as a military rank) and a cell guard(the guy who checks the prisoners are found during the morning and locked away at night) by prison duty.
Weapons: A police baton, 9mm pistol and a hunting shotgun in the prisons armory in case of a riot.
Clothing: NCR mantle uniform with a 'NCRCF' tags on the shoulder pads, a cowboy hat with the sides flipped up and with a thin string going under the chin. Also wears a pair of sunglasses and is often seen with a cigarette in his mouth.
Bio: Terry was raised in Redding, back in the depths of NCR. In that harsh town he lived a harsh childhood, his father bringing in a meagre miners salary while his mother worked in the local casino as a waiter. He had little and on the top of that, his father enjoyed beating him when drunk, which means quite often. And sometimes Terry even got beaten by his mother.
This childhood hell made Terry Logan a sadist of his own in the making, and he grew up to be a bitter and agressive teenager. By a sudden whim, after a really brutal beatdown by his father, he decided to join the army. His motives to that were quite simple really, the desire to get away from his parents and the lust to kill someone, to vent his anger in the only way he could think of. He signed up, got his two weeks of training, and was shipped off to fight the war in the Mojave.
He proved to be a good soldier in the first weeks, gaining a kill of a legionaire as well, but never rose in ranks farther than his initial rank of private due to his constant bull headedness against his superiors outside of battle. Terry did not get any friends from the others privates either, as he was very unpleasant to be with and even less so when he drank when not on duty.
The second battle of Hoover Dam came and went, Terry living through it just barely and thus waking up in some sense. He decided the risks in active service were not worth it and as the option to join the guards in the NCRCF came up, Terry signed in on the program. It turned out he was born to the job, being harsh enough with the vile scum inside and efficient on the actual guard duties.
Though Terry never was a clean guard, as he decided to make a little on the side besides his salary, and after befriending couple of similar persons as himself in the guard ranks, started to sell small items to the prisoners. Small shivs, drugs here and there, even things like harmonicas, all manner of objects that held little value in the outside world but great "on the inside". And because of this Terry is especially harsh and brutal to prisoners thinking of the smuggling business without giving him or his friends a cut. And seeing how he enjoyes beating prisoners even from the pettiest reasons, one can imagine what he does to those he scorns on...
Name: Terry Logan
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Height: 1,81 meters
Weight: 87 kg
Skills: Handy with a police baton, adequate with a pistol and a rifle and a tough bargainer.
Appearance: Quite the fleshy face, with coarse stubble covering his cheeks and a "walrus mustache" covering his upper lip. Unkempt brown hair that just barely covers his ears.
Rank: Private(as a military rank) and a cell guard(the guy who checks the prisoners are found during the morning and locked away at night) by prison duty.
Weapons: A police baton, 9mm pistol and a hunting shotgun in the prisons armory in case of a riot.
Clothing: NCR mantle uniform with a 'NCRCF' tags on the shoulder pads, a cowboy hat with the sides flipped up and with a thin string going under the chin. Also wears a pair of sunglasses and is often seen with a cigarette in his mouth.
Bio: Terry was raised in Redding, back in the depths of NCR. In that harsh town he lived a harsh childhood, his father bringing in a meagre miners salary while his mother worked in the local casino as a waiter. He had little and on the top of that, his father enjoyed beating him when drunk, which means quite often. And sometimes Terry even got beaten by his mother.
This childhood hell made Terry Logan a sadist of his own in the making, and he grew up to be a bitter and agressive teenager. By a sudden whim, after a really brutal beatdown by his father, he decided to join the army. His motives to that were quite simple really, the desire to get away from his parents and the lust to kill someone, to vent his anger in the only way he could think of. He signed up, got his two weeks of training, and was shipped off to fight the war in the Mojave.
He proved to be a good soldier in the first weeks, gaining a kill of a legionaire as well, but never rose in ranks farther than his initial rank of private due to his constant bull headedness against his superiors outside of battle. Terry did not get any friends from the others privates either, as he was very unpleasant to be with and even less so when he drank when not on duty.
The second battle of Hoover Dam came and went, Terry living through it just barely and thus waking up in some sense. He decided the risks in active service were not worth it and as the option to join the guards in the NCRCF came up, Terry signed in on the program. It turned out he was born to the job, being harsh enough with the vile scum inside and efficient on the actual guard duties.
Though Terry never was a clean guard, as he decided to make a little on the side besides his salary, and after befriending couple of similar persons as himself in the guard ranks, started to sell small items to the prisoners. Small shivs, drugs here and there, even things like harmonicas, all manner of objects that held little value in the outside world but great "on the inside". And because of this Terry is especially harsh and brutal to prisoners thinking of the smuggling business without giving him or his friends a cut. And seeing how he enjoyes beating prisoners even from the pettiest reasons, one can imagine what he does to those he scorns on...
MrSmileySmile
Spoiler
Name: Northrop Frye
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 188 pounds
Rank: Lieutenant - Segregation
Skills/Bio:
Frye is a tough little scrap of a man. Life in the wasteland was difficult, particularly for a little guy like him. He discovered early that if you hit a man once he will come back for another. If you want to be left alone you've got to teach him from the very beginning exactly why you are not to be messed with. He taught. When enough had been so educated he found himself becoming friends with those that might otherwise have tormented him.
He served in the war along with many of his friends. He came back short most of those friends and decided he wanted to do what he could to keep his town safe. He found his niche trying to keep law amongst the thieves, murderers, rapists, and general scum of the wasteland.
In an environment with little real regulation he tries to govern as justly as possible in an environment composed entirely of the worst of the worst.
Appearance: Short, Mustached, compared to a bulldog
Weapons: Baton, Radio, Sense of Humor, and Patience
Clothing: Uniform
Name: Northrop Frye
Age: 45
Gender: Male
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 188 pounds
Rank: Lieutenant - Segregation
Skills/Bio:
Frye is a tough little scrap of a man. Life in the wasteland was difficult, particularly for a little guy like him. He discovered early that if you hit a man once he will come back for another. If you want to be left alone you've got to teach him from the very beginning exactly why you are not to be messed with. He taught. When enough had been so educated he found himself becoming friends with those that might otherwise have tormented him.
He served in the war along with many of his friends. He came back short most of those friends and decided he wanted to do what he could to keep his town safe. He found his niche trying to keep law amongst the thieves, murderers, rapists, and general scum of the wasteland.
In an environment with little real regulation he tries to govern as justly as possible in an environment composed entirely of the worst of the worst.
Appearance: Short, Mustached, compared to a bulldog
Weapons: Baton, Radio, Sense of Humor, and Patience
Clothing: Uniform
Padawan228
Spoiler
Name: Joshua Smith
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 199 lbs
Skills: Speech, Guns, Survival, Melee Weapons
Appearance: Joshua is a bald man who is clean cut. He is in shape of an average soldier and he has no tattoos. He has green eyes and a few scars on his face.
Rank: Lieutenant
Weapons: Cattle Prod and a Service Rifle.
Clothing: Joshua wears a normal NCR outfit but with a few modifications. He wears a bulletproof vest underneath the armor and on his left sleeve he holds a tally count for Legionairres he killed during the Second Battle. He has a patch on his shoulder with a bull on fire and on the other shoulder sits his rank. He also bears a beret and a pair of Aviator Sunglasses.
Bio: Joshua joined the NCR when he was 25 and got put straight into battle for the first battle of Hoover Dam. He barely survived the first battle but was a veteran in the second battle. Afterwards, Joshua was appointed to be one of the men in charge of the NCRCF. His job includes being a decision maker for the future of the prison, firing squad member, and a patroller.
He tries to make decisions for the better. He keeps a watchful eye on the prisoners who behave well or keep quiet for hope that they can reach parole. You may think it is because he is a nice guy, well kind of but he mainly wants the prison to be empty so he can relax and get paid.
Name: Joshua Smith
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 199 lbs
Skills: Speech, Guns, Survival, Melee Weapons
Appearance: Joshua is a bald man who is clean cut. He is in shape of an average soldier and he has no tattoos. He has green eyes and a few scars on his face.
Rank: Lieutenant
Weapons: Cattle Prod and a Service Rifle.
Clothing: Joshua wears a normal NCR outfit but with a few modifications. He wears a bulletproof vest underneath the armor and on his left sleeve he holds a tally count for Legionairres he killed during the Second Battle. He has a patch on his shoulder with a bull on fire and on the other shoulder sits his rank. He also bears a beret and a pair of Aviator Sunglasses.
Bio: Joshua joined the NCR when he was 25 and got put straight into battle for the first battle of Hoover Dam. He barely survived the first battle but was a veteran in the second battle. Afterwards, Joshua was appointed to be one of the men in charge of the NCRCF. His job includes being a decision maker for the future of the prison, firing squad member, and a patroller.
He tries to make decisions for the better. He keeps a watchful eye on the prisoners who behave well or keep quiet for hope that they can reach parole. You may think it is because he is a nice guy, well kind of but he mainly wants the prison to be empty so he can relax and get paid.
himynameislonewonderer
Spoiler
Name: Kate Snowden
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Height: 5’4
Weight: 120
Skills: Unarmed combat and long-ranged shooting.
Appearance: Kate has the look of a polished NCR trooper, her light, almost white, blonde hair is always pulled cleanly into a low ponytail, her bangs always smoothed away from her face. Her face always holds a serious demeanor, and her dark blue eyes are always alert and ready for another prison break. Overall she is physically fit, pretty fresh from her previous recruit training. She always seems to sport bruises on her body, as she is known for fist-fighting over using a conventional gun.
Rank: Corporal
Weapons: Scoped hunting rifle and a knife in her boot.
Clothing: Standard NCR Armor, with a red bandana around her neck. She also has a corporal patch on her uniform since she recently obtained rank.
Bio: Kate grew up around New Vegas, raised by her three brothers. She had never met her parents, but she knew her dad was an NCR Ranger and her mother was a civilian officer working in New Vegas. She had a somewhat normal childhood growing up, but being raised by men she was a lot sturdier than many girls her age. She got into fights and hung out with questionable people growing up as she spent a lot of time in Westside when the family would take trips to trade. Her oldest brother was in constant fear that she would go down the wrong path and tried to take her under his wing and teach her all he knew. He was close to their father and he passed down unarmed techniques as well as how to shoot a gun. At the age of 11 she was hunting and shooting already, and at 15 she spent most of her time on their porch keeping watch, and occasionally picking off raiders and other undesirables wandering too close to their house.
Kate’s upbringing near and around New Vegas, especially in Westside exposed her to many people from different walks of life. Two groups in particular, the Scorpions and the Fiends, whom she came to dislike because they seemed to be the core of New Vegas’s troubles. At the same time, she didn’t completely like the NCR either but knew they were the best for their Mojave. Kate felt the only thing good about the NCR was the military and looked up to the Rangers and other special ops divisions and hoped one day to enlist. At 18, she officially enlisted with the NCR and was immediately moved to the front lines in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, where she fought and earned some recognition with her ability to take out Legionnares coming in from a distance. After the battle she was promoted to Corporal and had heard she was up for review to possibly be trained and transferred into 1st recon. But with the NCRCF newly built and her few years with the NCR in general, she was stationed there instead. Kate is still a little bitter about her situation but does her job anyways, hoping that one day she won’t have to babysit prisoners anymore.
Currently her job in the Prison is to patrol C Block and D Block, and occasionally mans the guard tower.
Name: Kate Snowden
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Height: 5’4
Weight: 120
Skills: Unarmed combat and long-ranged shooting.
Appearance: Kate has the look of a polished NCR trooper, her light, almost white, blonde hair is always pulled cleanly into a low ponytail, her bangs always smoothed away from her face. Her face always holds a serious demeanor, and her dark blue eyes are always alert and ready for another prison break. Overall she is physically fit, pretty fresh from her previous recruit training. She always seems to sport bruises on her body, as she is known for fist-fighting over using a conventional gun.
Rank: Corporal
Weapons: Scoped hunting rifle and a knife in her boot.
Clothing: Standard NCR Armor, with a red bandana around her neck. She also has a corporal patch on her uniform since she recently obtained rank.
Bio: Kate grew up around New Vegas, raised by her three brothers. She had never met her parents, but she knew her dad was an NCR Ranger and her mother was a civilian officer working in New Vegas. She had a somewhat normal childhood growing up, but being raised by men she was a lot sturdier than many girls her age. She got into fights and hung out with questionable people growing up as she spent a lot of time in Westside when the family would take trips to trade. Her oldest brother was in constant fear that she would go down the wrong path and tried to take her under his wing and teach her all he knew. He was close to their father and he passed down unarmed techniques as well as how to shoot a gun. At the age of 11 she was hunting and shooting already, and at 15 she spent most of her time on their porch keeping watch, and occasionally picking off raiders and other undesirables wandering too close to their house.
Kate’s upbringing near and around New Vegas, especially in Westside exposed her to many people from different walks of life. Two groups in particular, the Scorpions and the Fiends, whom she came to dislike because they seemed to be the core of New Vegas’s troubles. At the same time, she didn’t completely like the NCR either but knew they were the best for their Mojave. Kate felt the only thing good about the NCR was the military and looked up to the Rangers and other special ops divisions and hoped one day to enlist. At 18, she officially enlisted with the NCR and was immediately moved to the front lines in the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, where she fought and earned some recognition with her ability to take out Legionnares coming in from a distance. After the battle she was promoted to Corporal and had heard she was up for review to possibly be trained and transferred into 1st recon. But with the NCRCF newly built and her few years with the NCR in general, she was stationed there instead. Kate is still a little bitter about her situation but does her job anyways, hoping that one day she won’t have to babysit prisoners anymore.
Currently her job in the Prison is to patrol C Block and D Block, and occasionally mans the guard tower.
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Feel free to ask any questions.
