» Sat May 28, 2011 5:43 am
Nice storyline. I'm in. All I've added are a general apperence and a personality. You'll wanna know what they people you're dealing with look like, and a basic idea of their personality.
Name: Tom Miller
Age: 28
Race: Caucasion
Appearence: About 6'0 and 180 lbs, Tom is muscled, but only from doing the things he has needed to do to survive. He has dirty blond hair, cut with a knife out of his eyes, away from his ears, and close to his neck. It most resembles the unsettler style. His hair is only really there to protect his head from point-blank radiation. His eyes are a gray-blue color. His face is hardened, but you can still see the young man he should have been. As most Wastelanders go, he is fairly handsome. Scars cover much of his body, and there is a large, thin one going from his right eyebrow up to his forehead, past his ear.
Armour from Fallout games: Merc Charmer Outfit, Sunglasses, and a Headwrap. He only wears the latter two when traveling in daylight.
Weapons from Fallout games: Chinese Assualt Rifle, Sawed-Off Shotgun, .32 caliber pistol hidden in his left boot and a combat knife in his right.
7 Skills from Fallout games: Small Guns, Explosives, Repair, Medicine, Lockpick, Science, and Melee Weapons
Personality: Tom is a detached person. To survive in the wasteland, you have to separate yourself from it, and he achieves this better than many. He does not build bonds easily, especially since anyone could die the next day. If a stranger approaches him, he will engage in conversation, but only small talk, as Tom ends it before it goes any farther. He doesn't make enemies, but he doesn't make friends either. Tom isn't antisocial, but he isn't social. He wouldn't give a crap whether or not people were around him or not.
Tom is silent most of the time, although others don't usually take his silence as an aloof one, rather that he simply didn't have anything to say. Tom has a sense of fairness lost on most in the Wasteland. He is by no means gullible, and knows what his work is worth. However, Tom isn't one to save someone from Super Mutants and charge them for the ammo he used. If they offer compensation, he'll take it.
Tom isn't one for extraordinary acts of good or evil, but he does lean towards good. If someone has a bomb strapped to their chest, Tom will disarm it. Tom won't go out of his way to be a hero. His ultimate goal is self-preservation. He does what he needs to survive.
Character's Bio: Tom was born in the capital wasteland to two people just trying to get by. They loved each other, and each of them desperately wanted a child together. They decided that even if it was dangerous, they would try. Tom was born in Rivet City, where the birth would be safest. His parents, for the most part, lived off the Wasteland. They taught their son from an early age to do the same. They knew all they needed to survive. They didn't need a doctor; Tom's parents knew most of the common maladies of the Wasteland, and how to cure them. They didn't need a mechanic; His parents could fix most things on their own. They taught their son how to live without the help of anyone. They taught their son the basic things he needed. By the time he was 14, Tom had an entire expanse of knowledge that allowed him to survive.
It turned out that Tom would need that early on in his life. When he was 15 years old, his parents succumbed to radiation poisoning. They had been running low on Rad-X and Rad-Away after traveling for a while, and gave the last of it to their son. Tom was saved by his parents, and then he was on his own. In his grief, Tom obsessed over why his parents decided to have a child in the unforgiving Wasteland, ultimately killing themselves by doing so. Once his grieving was done, he resolved to live so his parents' wouldn't have sacrificed themselves only for their son to die.
Tom distanced himself from his emotions. Using what his parents taught him, Tom did what he needed to survive, staying in a town until no one had a job for him to do. He then spent his caps on supplies, and set off for the closest settlement in search of more work. Tom got better and better at the things he did, having professional level work by the time he was in his later teens. He learned new things from people he met in various places, improving on his own technique. By his twentieth birthday, Tom was a literal jack-of-all-trades.
Tom traveled all over the Capital Wasteland, and even to The Pitt, simply finding work for himself to do. The jobs he did ranged from handyman to doctor. If someone needed their roof repaired, Tom was the guy for the job. If someone had been stabbed or shot, Tom could patch them up. If old man Abernathy locked himself in his room, Tom could pick the lock. Tom even served with Riley's Rangers as a cartographer for a while.
One job that made more money than most was that of the hired gun. Tom didn't take these jobs often. The only times he did were when he had a good feel for the moral character of the person. Tom had learned that some people assumed he'd do anything, based on his lines of work. However, Tom kept his morals even while he was on the job. He simply refused to follow through with it. His ex-employer was not happy and sent a hitman after him. Needless to say, Tom dispatched him, and learned his lesson.
By this time in his life, Tom had succeded in blending into the Wasteland. Tom has little reputation, aside from him being up for hire. In this way, he has managed to stay alive.
How the character was captured ((Can be IC or OOC)):
Tom wiped off his forehead before bringing the hammer back down on a nail. The slavers at Paradise Falls needed some roof repair done, and none of them would be bothered to do it. Since they wouldn't do it, and since they were lacking slaves recently, they needed someone outside to do the work. Not many people would work for slavers. But their caps were the same as anyone elses. Tom put his headwrap back on, tying it tight. His shades were with the jacket of his charmer outfit, leaving the undershirt of it. He hammered a few more nails and put some pressure on the roof. Enough levels of sheet metal and nails, and the roof would last for a good while. He grabbed the jacket and slipped it back on, as well as putting the gasmask back around his neck. Tom slipped his shades on and grabbed his weapons, the sawed-off going into a holster on his left hip and the chinese assualt rifle was hung on his back by the strap connected to it. He slipped off the roof, landing with a loud thud on the dead earth as he made his way back to the front of Paradise Falls.
Tom had been using the same policy he always had; half up front and the other half when he was done. As he approached, he noticed the Slavers in conversation with some other people he hadn't seen when he walked in. They were in discussion. It appeared friendly, but Tom sensed an electricity in the air. He walked up to the man who gave him the job. "I'm done. Where're my caps?" Tom asked to the guy, not bothering to wait for the conversation to end. Tom wasn't one for civilities among the savage.
The newcomers gave Tom a comptemptive glance before they nodded to the Slavers and headed off, taking a few slaves with them. The guy cursed and turned to me "Yeah, here you go." he said, glancing back to the others "Damn Spartans coming in here and taking our slaves for thier little games. As long as they pay us, Eulogy doesn't give a damn, but when we loose them, we end up paying you to do the stuff they're supposed to do." Tom realized the man was thinking out loud to him. He had that effect on people. They took his silence for openess. It all depended on the person. This slaver wasn't one of them, but still, Tom found himself wondering about the Spartans.
Tom walked past the gate guards and out of the Falls. His eyes, accustomed to watching his own back, caught a glimpse of the so-called Spartans from before coming from behind the sheet metal of the Falls. Most of them had melee weapons, but a pair were holding a mesmerizor and a slave collar. He kept his body language neutral as to not alude he'd seen them. Tom didn't think the Falls' Slavers would back him if a fight broke out. He got out of sight of the gate guards and kept walking.
A particularly eager Spartan with a lead pipe sped up to Tom. Tom's hand drifted from the walking pattern and grasped the shotgun. The Spartan lifted the pipe, and before he could even start to bring it down, Tom swung and fired the first shell point blank into the Spartan's head. The gore splattered Tom's shades and the other slavers. He fired the last one into the group, hoping to do a bit of damage to buy him enough time to grab his rifle from his back. Tom fired at them and moved backwards. He downed another one, the body dropping the pool cue and tripping the guy with the mesmerizor. One of the slavers with part of the buck shot lodged into his side swung at him with a tire iron. He blocked it with the rifle and then brought the butt up into the guy's nose, dropping him. Tom then swung a kick at the slaver with a mesmerizor, landing it on the side of his face and rolling him over, unconsious. Tom fired the rest of the rifle's clip into the last slaver standing. He tried to reload when the wave of a mesmorizer scrambled his head. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees, his vision swimming. He forgot where he was. Tom was grabbed by the top of his head. His eyes were tilted up to the slaver who he had butted in the nose. He had no idea what was going to happen. Apparently, he didn't need to use the collar. He swung the tire iron and caught Tom on the head, a few inches above the ear. Tom toppled over, black closing in to the center of his vision. He saw his shades sitting akwardly upon his face before he drifted into unconciousness.
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