» Mon Feb 11, 2013 12:49 pm 
Introduction:
Tales speak of a noble people, able to survive in the harshest of lands after the Apocalypse. Fierce in combat, knowledgeable of the world around them, dedicated to protecting those who cannot defend themselves. They were saviors to the weak yet civilized, a bane to the strong yet cruel. Their name; the Desert Rangers. Arising from the ruins in the former state of Nevada, descended from the legendary Texas Rangers, they protected those in need while they carved their own path.
In the brutal wasteland left over in the aftermath of the end of the world, the Desert Rangers were a beacon, drawing eager young adventurers to them as well as anyone else interested in joining the illustrious ranks. Though the order remained relatively small. It was 2119, the leader of the Desert Rangers; Marcus Howell, in an effort to secure a home for his people, declared an expedition be rounded up. This expedition was destined for a land not seen since before the devastating Armageddon of 2077, a land once patrolled by the ancestor-order of the Desert Rangers; the Texas Rangers themselves. In Texas lay an a land unknown, new fields to claim, more innocents to protect from the horrors of the wastes, potential recruits, and supply depots ripe with weapons and provisions.
A leader by the name of Norman Jones was selected by Howell himself to lead a fairly large group, all well-versed in living off the land and holding their own in battle. Some members were noted as being among the Rangers' most formidable fighters, others were called brilliant minds. This conglomeration of Rangers was sent with the minimum amount of supplies so the loss in their departure would not be any larger. Jones set out under orders of establishing a base, starting a settlement to protect locals, recovering something tied to the Desert Rangers' heritage, and settling the assuredly wild frontier.
Together, the group trekked through the hellish lands between themselves and Texas. Jones was a natural leader, leaving no man behind during the journey. The younger Rangers were awed by the new areas they came to, finding small villages and stopping for short periods to rest and add to their supplies. Along the way, fighting was abundant. Thanks to the combat-tested among them, the gathering cut through the raider bands that assailed them, repelling mutated horrors as well.
It took many months to finally reach the lands they'd dreamed of since their adventure's beginning. The pre-war border for Texas was crossed. Jones had been given a map of the state from before the War, he'd circled the location Howell had mentioned; Fort Hood. The base was supposed to house an arsenal enough to supply a massive army, which would more than suit the group who couldn't compare to the armies before the End. Jones dreamed of claiming the Fort for his people. It was there he planned to make the settlement Howell ordered, it would be a safe haven for the weak and the staging point of the Rangers' taming of the lawless hordes.
Hood was their objective and it required more travel. More months passed. Some of the Rangers grew restless. Their days were arduous but the misery ended when one of the forward scouts finally set his weary eyes upon the site Jones had ordered him to search for. A flag denoting a U.S. Fort blew in the wind above a veritable fortress. Steel pikes jutted from the sides of the seemingly insurmountable walls. Along the walls stood sentries in ragtag, patchwork armor. The scout bolted back to Jones to in form him of the opposition, the expedition leader was also an experienced tactician. He ordered two of the most capable fighters, a cocky hotshot who could back up his talk named Green and a serious vet by name of Walker to infiltrate the base and cause a ruckus.
Green was given an old flare gun to signal when the diversion would begin, so the rest of the fighters could storm the unwary raiders. The two Rangers used the cover of the ruins around Fort Hood to approach the base. Catching two sentries patrolling the outskirts, the Rangers neutralized them and suited up in their attire to provide a disguise. Green and Walker stole inside the base and started blindly firing the weapons they'd taken from the now-fallen raiders, the entire fortress went on alert, rushing to the site of the gunshots. While they did, Green ran out to the courtyard of the base and fired a red flare into the sky. The battlers among the Rangers charged in as Walker opened the gates. A small-scale war ensued, essentially something only slightly less than a bloodbath. The Desert Ranger forces cut the inexperienced brutes down while sustaining a low number of casualties.
The taking of Fort Hood was heralded as a glorious liberation of precious treasures by the more zealous of the Rangers. Green and Walker were celebrated as valorous heroes. Jones commended them and ordered a group to retrieve the thinkers of the group. The entire Ranger force entered the Fort and sealed it up while they checked the armory, kitchens, and med bays. Wounds were treated, famished stomachs filled, and fighters armed. Jones had imagined a greater bounty of weapons than what Hood had been left with. The higher-end weapons such as miniguns and missile launchers were gone. The stores of weapons would supply the Rangers fine but they did not have the powerful guns Jones had dreamed of.
The Rangers claimed Hood as their own that day. Jones took Green and Walker on as advisors for their crucial part in taking the Fort. The Rangers fortified and cleaned the old base, setting up defenses and disposing of all the gutter-trash the raiders had left. As they cleaned, they transformed the place into a proper fort once more. Once the Rangers finished, Jones instituted changes to the detachment's structure. Surrounded by a symbol of the United States' pre-war power, the commander implemented the U.S. Army ranking system and named himself General. Soon after, the Fort opened to outsiders as a place to take refuge.
People flocked to Fort Hood to be safe from the wildmen and mutants outside the walls of the base. Some of the more capable volunteered to join the ranks of the Rangers and were taken as recruits. The Rangers flourished, spreading from the walls of Fort Hood to the surrounding area, setting up outposts and growing as they went. They battled off all manners of aggressors, making the area a better place. The Rangers even formed their own town called Haven a little way from Fort Hood.
Now the year is 2120, a year has passed since the Desert Rangers arrived in the Fort Hood area. The frontier of their controlled land is still in-need of order and a crack team of survival-skilled, battle-tested Rangers led by the seasoned now-Captain Green, has been formed to bring civilization to the nightmarish lands around them.
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The Idea: This RP is based around a team of Desert Rangers operating out of Fort Hood. Their mission is to tame the chaotic territories. To clean them of mutants and raiders, make the lands safe for common-folk, and set up a town or two. Along the way this team will destroy gangs, take out bandit leaders, destroy supply caches belonging to wildmen, eradicate mutant-nests. But their one true goal... is to survive. You are one of them.
TheLoneRanger ( me ) is the GM. Co-Gm is Aldin_Kiris, he and I will see to the inner-workings of the RP. Listen to him as you would myself.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Rank:
Gender:
Age:
Race:
Appearance & Physical Traits: ( Basically what they look like minus armor and clothing )
Personality:
Skills: ( What is your character proficient in? Not just one word like " Speech ", describe them )
Specialty: ( In combat )
Weapons: ( Nothing crazy, at least for a while, not too many weapons either, think mid-tier of New Vegas for limitations, or run something by me in the OOC or PM's )
Armor: ( Feel free to make the armor your own, add little things like goggles around your character's neck, patches of cloth covering a hole if you'd like )
Clothes: ( Outside of combat )
Backstory/Bio: ( I'd like this to be a little lengthy, but nothing massive needed )
The Rules:
1. Please respect what the GM's, TheLoneRanger and Aldin_Kiris, ask of you.
2. CC ( Character controlling ) is only allowed with pre-approval from the owner of the character you wish to control.
3. Do not post anything OOC in the IC thread. The OOC is for talking about the RP, the IC is for actual RP'ing. If you wish to note something in your post OOC put it into brackets. ( OOC: [comment here] )
4. A paragraph is required for each post. That paragraph should be 5+ sentences. The only exception is if your character is engaged in conversation with another. Even then, try to hit at least 5.
5. You must post at the very minimum once a week. Posting at least every other day is preferred.
6. We're doing this for fun, take it easy. Just enjoy it all. It doesn't pay to take this too seriously.
Accepted (So far):
Aldin(Me):
Spoiler
Character Sheet:
Name: Trey "Cinder" Odelo
Rank: Lieutenant
Gender: Male
Age: Mid 30's
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: ( Basically what they look like minus armor and clothing ) Being in the Rangers for a good portion of his life, Trey "Cinder" is very physically fit, though some would consider him a bit lean, weighing in at approximately 175 lbs. He has short black hair in a buzz cut style, as well as a very short black beard (more stubble than anything, think http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vKWz0viRP-E/UC_rGCjQAsI/AAAAAAAAAuI/lvg-lkMoHUQ/s1600/beard+styles+oval+face.jpg). Height wise, Trey is about average, leveling out at about 6'2. His body is covered in scars, the most prominent being a rather large one starting from his right shoulder going across his chest/upper abdomen from a knife would he received from his father, who cut him with a bowie knife during training long ago.
Personality: Trey is a very quiet man, as well as very calculating, and some would even call him emotionless. That is not to say he is cold by any means however. He has a deep love for his parents, especially his dad, whom he reveres as a hero in every sense of the word. He's a very loyal man, and while quiet, will not hesitate to speak out against any injustice done to one of his comrades, especially to the ones who have been there longer and have gotten to know him. He is a man of duty though, willing to put the mission above all else as his father taught him to do. Morally, he would be considered "Chaotic Good", as he has no quarrel with killing those who he deems it necessary to kill, but at the same time wants to protect the innocent. With his fellow Rangers, he is a rather amiable person when approached, though true to form, does not initiate conversations much. This is not to say he is shy or insecure however, just that he isn't what one would call a "people's person". To others not of the Rangers, he would appear cold. He is very patriotic as well, always admiring the old stories his father would tell him of the U.S Marines, of which he himself was of. The one thing anyone who knows anything about him will say, is that he is above all a patient man, a skill he tends to exercise frequently.
Skills: ( What is your character proficient in? Not just one word like " Speech ", describe them ) Trey's main specialty is guns, more specifically a rifle or pistol. As he was in the Rangers for most of his life, as well as having a Marine for a father, he knows a good bit on survival as well as first aid, though nothing in-depth on the latter subject. He is also somewhat of a statistician, and can anolyze a combat scenario fairly easily. However, if one were to ask him what his best skill was, he would say that it is his patience, with other people as well as in combat.
Specialty: ( In Combat) Trey's primary role is a Scout Sniper. As such, he is a highly skilled marksman. He also does extensive training with his pistol and knife, and is rather fluent in CQC techniques.
Weapons: ( Nothing crazy, at least for a while, not too many weapons either, think mid-tier of New Vegas for limitations, or run something by me in the OOC or PM's ) There are three weapons Trey will carry with him into battle: First and foremost, his rifle, second his sidearm, and third his Bowie knife.
Sniper Rifle: The rifle is a scoped Springfield M1903 model rifle his father nicknamed Night Shade. As such, he inherited the rifle from his father. The rifle is very precious to him, as out of all the rifles his father had owned throughout the years, this had been his favorite, and out of a show of love, he game the rifle to Trey as gift when he joined up with the Rangers. Physically, the gun is old, though in good condition, as Trey is very meticulous about it's upkeep. The gun itself has a coat of deep matte black paint (hence Night Shade) with a similar colored scope.
9mm pistol: A standard 9mm pistol common throughout the wasteland. Serves as Trey's primary side arm. Though he doesn't have one with him, can be equipped with a silencer. No real personal side story attached to the gun, Trey simply purchased it long ago when he first joined the Rangers.
Bowie knife: Another gift from his father, the Bowie knife has been in Trey's possession ever since he turned 16. Before that, the knife was used by his father during the various conflicts he was in while serving with the Marine Corps. When Trey turned 16, his father presented it him as a gift. A standard Bowie knife by all accounts, has U.S.M.C etched into the blade itself.
Armor: Standard Desert Ranger Combat Armor with a few extras,changes, and basic modifications.
Armor itself is the basic riot gear and trench coat, with the upper portions of the armor looking similar to elite riot gear, minus the pauldrons. Instead of using jeans however, Trey has a full set, complete with leg armor to match the upper portion. The right shoulder of the armor has USMC etched into it, to honor his father. The left has rendition of a scope's cross hairs to show he is a sniper. Recently, the trench coat has had a patch of the symbol the U.S army used for Lieutenant added as well. The armor itself is the traditional desert camouflaged pattern used on most armors. The Trench coat is also camouflaged in the desert pattern. The armor also has a chest rig for holding the Bowie knife's scabbard as well as extra ammunition.
Helmet: The helmet tends to be a bit of a mix between the Elite Riot gear's helmet, and a traditional Ranger helmet, streamlined to fit a sniper's needs while providing him with a degree of protection.
Clothes: ( Outside of combat ) Standard civilian attire is a light brown T-Shirt and tan cargo pants. Usually wears a ball cap (Tan preferably) and sunglasses.
Backstory/Bio:
Trey "Cinder" Odelo was born the only son of Ivan and Maria Odelo, who lived in Nevada before the war. Ivan Odelo was no ordinary man however, as he himself was a decorated Marine Force Recon sniper who served during the Resource Wars and a few previous conflicts, mostly stationed on the front lines of places like China. Towards the end of the War, Ivan was granted a honorable discharge as his wife was announced to be having their baby, Trey. Ivan returned from the war to his wife and newborn in Nevada, and the small family started their new life together out in the country, a place where the family could relax and be away from all the hustle and bustle of city life.
However, life was not at all peaceful for the new family. In 2077, the unthinkable happened. China and the U.S had launched their nuclear weapons at each other, decimating most of the civilized world. The small family had turned to one of Ivan's father's friends for shelter in a old fallout shelter, and together, the group waited out the nuclear holocaust.
When they emerged, the world had changed. The cities that Ivan and Maria were so used to were gone, irradiated craters all that remained. So the small group was left with only one option, settle what they could and eek out an existence as best they could.
It wasn't so easy though. The family, seeing farming wasn't a great option anymore due to radiation, decided to head move out closer to the border of Nevada and California. Eventually, they decided to settle in a small, isolated town where Ivan and Maria decided it would be best to raise their son at.
Finally, things settled down. Peace, albeit fraught with the perils of the wastes, was finally granted unto the new family. Years passed. Trey grew up.
Trey's upbringing was a bit different from other children though. The main reason for that was Trey's dad was a Marine Force Recon sniper, and was hellbent on teaching Trey every single thing he could to keep his precious child alive, even if that meant putting the child himself into some rather perilous predicaments and emphasizing "tough love" on the young man. As soon as Trey was old enough, a rigorous training regime was placed on the boy, in order to sharpen both mind and body. Shooting was a main focus of this training, mainly rifles and small arms. CQC was also emphasized a good bit. The training method Ivan used was so brutal in fact, it often resulted in Trey getting injured, as exemplified when Trey got a rather large, deep scar from his right shoulder down to his left side from knife training with his father.
Despite the harsh upbringing, Trey's father loved the boy very much, and constantly made sure he knew that. And Trey did, growing up wanting to be exactly like him, looking up to him as if he were the perfect man.
Trey's father Ivan also made sure that the values of the Marine Corps, Honor, Courage, and Commitment were instilled upon the growing boy. His father taught him also of the world before, his love of what it stood for, and why he fought for it, giving Trey a great sense of patriotism for the old nation that he was born into, but never remembered. His father would often regale Trey with stories of his time as a sniper in the Marines, killing the enemies of his homeland with valor and pride. Such stories motivated Trey to become a sniper later on in life with the Rangers.
At the age of 16, Trey was given his first rifle, a old but well-maintained weapon known as Night Shade. The gun was his father's favorite among his vast assortment of rifles, and he gave Trey this as a symbol of his becoming a man.
When Trey turned the age of 18 however, something strange shattered the otherwise peaceful existence of the small community. A group calling themselves the Desert Rangers came to town, telling the people of their fight against tyranny, for justice and for honor, and how they were looking for a few good men to help in that fight. Trey was immediately enamored with the armored figures, their descriptions matching the old stories of the Marines his father had told him. Finally he had the chance he had dreamed of, to follow in his dear father's footsteps and fight for something that mattered, something the old United States the Marines fought for so long ago. And Trey was not one to let a chance like this go to waste.
With his father and mother's blessing, Trey officially joined the Desert Rangers at the age of 19, continuing to hone his skills as he fought for something he believed worth fighting for, living out his life's dream to be like his father.
And not long after, he ended up following in his father's footsteps a lot closer than he would have thought. Due to his extensive shooting experience from all his childhood years, as well as natural prowess, the Desert Ranger officially made Trey part of their sniper unit, a position Trey accepted with great pride, the realization that he was now more like his father the hero than ever swirling about his mind, filling him with confidence and pride. His family was quite proud as well, his father constantly praising him for his accomplishments.
While out on patrol one day, Trey and a small team of recon snipers found an village of what appeared to be cannibalistic raiders tormenting prisoners. After a disgusting display of mutilating the poor people, Trey had had enough. He opened fire on the raiders, taking them out one by one from afar. When all was said and done, the small sniper group had taken down a good number of the enemy forces, the rest surrendering. Trey himself tied up the self-proclaimed leader of the group and burned him alive in front of the raider survivors as punishment for the atrocities they had committed, reducing the savage to ash. Afterwards he did the same to the rest of the fiends. From then on, he was known as "Cinder" by friends and foe alike.
Time passed as it normally does, and Trey's parents, as well as Trey's father's friend, passed away, joy in their hearts that their son had become a strong, virtuous man who was able to fulfill his life's dream. Though the deaths affected Trey greatly, they only served to strengthen the young man's resolve to become a better soldier. Positive effects were not the only thing the deaths had on Trey though. He grew cold toward others, that part of his heart never fulling healing. He took up the name "Cinder" for real at that time, choosing to let only those who were close to him know his real name.
Over the course of the next few years, Trey was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant for meritorious service in the field of battle, as well as a host of other achievements and accomplishments. Trey was then transferred to the unit of Norman Jones due to his combat record of being a extremely deadly sniper. Trey bid farewell to his home and set out with the group to the lands of Texas, the roots of the Desert Rangers' ancestors.
After a grueling journey that tested the elite group's very limits, Trey, acting as one of the forward scouts, finally laid eyes upon the much sought-after Fort Hood, Pre-War flag flying in the glory he had imagined it. He reported his findings to his superiors, who then formed a plan of attack.
Trey himself was assigned to provide sniper support for the battle. Finally, after a rather cunning plan by two men named Greene and Walker and a grueling battle for the fort itself, the day was won. The fort now belonged to the Desert Rangers.
Now resupplied and rested, Trey now is under the direct command of his friend Captain Greene, ready and willing to protect those in need of him, just as his father had done decades ago.
Name: Trey "Cinder" Odelo
Rank: Lieutenant
Gender: Male
Age: Mid 30's
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: ( Basically what they look like minus armor and clothing ) Being in the Rangers for a good portion of his life, Trey "Cinder" is very physically fit, though some would consider him a bit lean, weighing in at approximately 175 lbs. He has short black hair in a buzz cut style, as well as a very short black beard (more stubble than anything, think http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vKWz0viRP-E/UC_rGCjQAsI/AAAAAAAAAuI/lvg-lkMoHUQ/s1600/beard+styles+oval+face.jpg). Height wise, Trey is about average, leveling out at about 6'2. His body is covered in scars, the most prominent being a rather large one starting from his right shoulder going across his chest/upper abdomen from a knife would he received from his father, who cut him with a bowie knife during training long ago.
Personality: Trey is a very quiet man, as well as very calculating, and some would even call him emotionless. That is not to say he is cold by any means however. He has a deep love for his parents, especially his dad, whom he reveres as a hero in every sense of the word. He's a very loyal man, and while quiet, will not hesitate to speak out against any injustice done to one of his comrades, especially to the ones who have been there longer and have gotten to know him. He is a man of duty though, willing to put the mission above all else as his father taught him to do. Morally, he would be considered "Chaotic Good", as he has no quarrel with killing those who he deems it necessary to kill, but at the same time wants to protect the innocent. With his fellow Rangers, he is a rather amiable person when approached, though true to form, does not initiate conversations much. This is not to say he is shy or insecure however, just that he isn't what one would call a "people's person". To others not of the Rangers, he would appear cold. He is very patriotic as well, always admiring the old stories his father would tell him of the U.S Marines, of which he himself was of. The one thing anyone who knows anything about him will say, is that he is above all a patient man, a skill he tends to exercise frequently.
Skills: ( What is your character proficient in? Not just one word like " Speech ", describe them ) Trey's main specialty is guns, more specifically a rifle or pistol. As he was in the Rangers for most of his life, as well as having a Marine for a father, he knows a good bit on survival as well as first aid, though nothing in-depth on the latter subject. He is also somewhat of a statistician, and can anolyze a combat scenario fairly easily. However, if one were to ask him what his best skill was, he would say that it is his patience, with other people as well as in combat.
Specialty: ( In Combat) Trey's primary role is a Scout Sniper. As such, he is a highly skilled marksman. He also does extensive training with his pistol and knife, and is rather fluent in CQC techniques.
Weapons: ( Nothing crazy, at least for a while, not too many weapons either, think mid-tier of New Vegas for limitations, or run something by me in the OOC or PM's ) There are three weapons Trey will carry with him into battle: First and foremost, his rifle, second his sidearm, and third his Bowie knife.
Sniper Rifle: The rifle is a scoped Springfield M1903 model rifle his father nicknamed Night Shade. As such, he inherited the rifle from his father. The rifle is very precious to him, as out of all the rifles his father had owned throughout the years, this had been his favorite, and out of a show of love, he game the rifle to Trey as gift when he joined up with the Rangers. Physically, the gun is old, though in good condition, as Trey is very meticulous about it's upkeep. The gun itself has a coat of deep matte black paint (hence Night Shade) with a similar colored scope.
9mm pistol: A standard 9mm pistol common throughout the wasteland. Serves as Trey's primary side arm. Though he doesn't have one with him, can be equipped with a silencer. No real personal side story attached to the gun, Trey simply purchased it long ago when he first joined the Rangers.
Bowie knife: Another gift from his father, the Bowie knife has been in Trey's possession ever since he turned 16. Before that, the knife was used by his father during the various conflicts he was in while serving with the Marine Corps. When Trey turned 16, his father presented it him as a gift. A standard Bowie knife by all accounts, has U.S.M.C etched into the blade itself.
Armor: Standard Desert Ranger Combat Armor with a few extras,changes, and basic modifications.
Armor itself is the basic riot gear and trench coat, with the upper portions of the armor looking similar to elite riot gear, minus the pauldrons. Instead of using jeans however, Trey has a full set, complete with leg armor to match the upper portion. The right shoulder of the armor has USMC etched into it, to honor his father. The left has rendition of a scope's cross hairs to show he is a sniper. Recently, the trench coat has had a patch of the symbol the U.S army used for Lieutenant added as well. The armor itself is the traditional desert camouflaged pattern used on most armors. The Trench coat is also camouflaged in the desert pattern. The armor also has a chest rig for holding the Bowie knife's scabbard as well as extra ammunition.
Helmet: The helmet tends to be a bit of a mix between the Elite Riot gear's helmet, and a traditional Ranger helmet, streamlined to fit a sniper's needs while providing him with a degree of protection.
Clothes: ( Outside of combat ) Standard civilian attire is a light brown T-Shirt and tan cargo pants. Usually wears a ball cap (Tan preferably) and sunglasses.
Backstory/Bio:
Trey "Cinder" Odelo was born the only son of Ivan and Maria Odelo, who lived in Nevada before the war. Ivan Odelo was no ordinary man however, as he himself was a decorated Marine Force Recon sniper who served during the Resource Wars and a few previous conflicts, mostly stationed on the front lines of places like China. Towards the end of the War, Ivan was granted a honorable discharge as his wife was announced to be having their baby, Trey. Ivan returned from the war to his wife and newborn in Nevada, and the small family started their new life together out in the country, a place where the family could relax and be away from all the hustle and bustle of city life.
However, life was not at all peaceful for the new family. In 2077, the unthinkable happened. China and the U.S had launched their nuclear weapons at each other, decimating most of the civilized world. The small family had turned to one of Ivan's father's friends for shelter in a old fallout shelter, and together, the group waited out the nuclear holocaust.
When they emerged, the world had changed. The cities that Ivan and Maria were so used to were gone, irradiated craters all that remained. So the small group was left with only one option, settle what they could and eek out an existence as best they could.
It wasn't so easy though. The family, seeing farming wasn't a great option anymore due to radiation, decided to head move out closer to the border of Nevada and California. Eventually, they decided to settle in a small, isolated town where Ivan and Maria decided it would be best to raise their son at.
Finally, things settled down. Peace, albeit fraught with the perils of the wastes, was finally granted unto the new family. Years passed. Trey grew up.
Trey's upbringing was a bit different from other children though. The main reason for that was Trey's dad was a Marine Force Recon sniper, and was hellbent on teaching Trey every single thing he could to keep his precious child alive, even if that meant putting the child himself into some rather perilous predicaments and emphasizing "tough love" on the young man. As soon as Trey was old enough, a rigorous training regime was placed on the boy, in order to sharpen both mind and body. Shooting was a main focus of this training, mainly rifles and small arms. CQC was also emphasized a good bit. The training method Ivan used was so brutal in fact, it often resulted in Trey getting injured, as exemplified when Trey got a rather large, deep scar from his right shoulder down to his left side from knife training with his father.
Despite the harsh upbringing, Trey's father loved the boy very much, and constantly made sure he knew that. And Trey did, growing up wanting to be exactly like him, looking up to him as if he were the perfect man.
Trey's father Ivan also made sure that the values of the Marine Corps, Honor, Courage, and Commitment were instilled upon the growing boy. His father taught him also of the world before, his love of what it stood for, and why he fought for it, giving Trey a great sense of patriotism for the old nation that he was born into, but never remembered. His father would often regale Trey with stories of his time as a sniper in the Marines, killing the enemies of his homeland with valor and pride. Such stories motivated Trey to become a sniper later on in life with the Rangers.
At the age of 16, Trey was given his first rifle, a old but well-maintained weapon known as Night Shade. The gun was his father's favorite among his vast assortment of rifles, and he gave Trey this as a symbol of his becoming a man.
When Trey turned the age of 18 however, something strange shattered the otherwise peaceful existence of the small community. A group calling themselves the Desert Rangers came to town, telling the people of their fight against tyranny, for justice and for honor, and how they were looking for a few good men to help in that fight. Trey was immediately enamored with the armored figures, their descriptions matching the old stories of the Marines his father had told him. Finally he had the chance he had dreamed of, to follow in his dear father's footsteps and fight for something that mattered, something the old United States the Marines fought for so long ago. And Trey was not one to let a chance like this go to waste.
With his father and mother's blessing, Trey officially joined the Desert Rangers at the age of 19, continuing to hone his skills as he fought for something he believed worth fighting for, living out his life's dream to be like his father.
And not long after, he ended up following in his father's footsteps a lot closer than he would have thought. Due to his extensive shooting experience from all his childhood years, as well as natural prowess, the Desert Ranger officially made Trey part of their sniper unit, a position Trey accepted with great pride, the realization that he was now more like his father the hero than ever swirling about his mind, filling him with confidence and pride. His family was quite proud as well, his father constantly praising him for his accomplishments.
While out on patrol one day, Trey and a small team of recon snipers found an village of what appeared to be cannibalistic raiders tormenting prisoners. After a disgusting display of mutilating the poor people, Trey had had enough. He opened fire on the raiders, taking them out one by one from afar. When all was said and done, the small sniper group had taken down a good number of the enemy forces, the rest surrendering. Trey himself tied up the self-proclaimed leader of the group and burned him alive in front of the raider survivors as punishment for the atrocities they had committed, reducing the savage to ash. Afterwards he did the same to the rest of the fiends. From then on, he was known as "Cinder" by friends and foe alike.
Time passed as it normally does, and Trey's parents, as well as Trey's father's friend, passed away, joy in their hearts that their son had become a strong, virtuous man who was able to fulfill his life's dream. Though the deaths affected Trey greatly, they only served to strengthen the young man's resolve to become a better soldier. Positive effects were not the only thing the deaths had on Trey though. He grew cold toward others, that part of his heart never fulling healing. He took up the name "Cinder" for real at that time, choosing to let only those who were close to him know his real name.
Over the course of the next few years, Trey was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant for meritorious service in the field of battle, as well as a host of other achievements and accomplishments. Trey was then transferred to the unit of Norman Jones due to his combat record of being a extremely deadly sniper. Trey bid farewell to his home and set out with the group to the lands of Texas, the roots of the Desert Rangers' ancestors.
After a grueling journey that tested the elite group's very limits, Trey, acting as one of the forward scouts, finally laid eyes upon the much sought-after Fort Hood, Pre-War flag flying in the glory he had imagined it. He reported his findings to his superiors, who then formed a plan of attack.
Trey himself was assigned to provide sniper support for the battle. Finally, after a rather cunning plan by two men named Greene and Walker and a grueling battle for the fort itself, the day was won. The fort now belonged to the Desert Rangers.
Now resupplied and rested, Trey now is under the direct command of his friend Captain Greene, ready and willing to protect those in need of him, just as his father had done decades ago.
Tandiman:
Spoiler
Name: Tommy Rutger
Rank: Warrant Officer
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Around 6 feet, Tommy is slightly below average in his height and is not the biggest or most muscular man around. He does not have a large amount of muscle compared to other Rangers but Rutger must maintain his level of strength to carry around his tools and equipment. He is not deeply toned, but his skin does have a light tan to it from years in the desert. Tommy’s face is slightly rounded and still somehow retains baby fat to it. He sports a bit of stubble in the light chocolate that his hair is. His hair is always cleanly cut so that he can use his comms equipment more effectively. Tommy is around 195 lbs and has little excess fat except in his cheeks.
Personality: Tommy is very socially awkward and generally speaks quickly, but when around friends his shell can be cracked open a little bit. He has a good sense of humor and shares it with those who are close to him. He doesn’t like to talk about his thoughts with other people and instead records his musings on holotapes or talks to his jury-rigged Mr. Gutsy.
Skills: (What is your character proficient in? Not just one word like “Speech ", describe them ) Tommy knows his way around a terminal and is very skilled at repairing weapons, armor, and even robots. He is also one of the few Rangers capable of using a radio and has to carry a bulky, jury rigged ham radio.
Specialty: (In combat) Tommy will usually use a rifle paired with a pistol for closer occasions but he generally stays out of the thick of the fray so his special equipment won’t get damaged.
Weapons: (Nothing crazy, at least for a while, not too many weapons either, think mid-tier of New Vegas for limitations, or run something by me in the OOC or PM’s) A Modified Service Rifle that has an extended magazine along with a smooth barrel to increase the rate of fire. Tommy will usually use a trusty 9mm Pistol as well, if only for when the carbine is overkill.
Armor: ( Feel free to make the armor your own, add little things like goggles around your character's neck, patches of cloth covering a whole if you'd like ) Tommy has modified combat armor to carry his tools and has a special pocket that is nature-proofed so that he can keep sensitive materials safe. He has use a special reinforced fiber to protect the joints of the armor and reinforced the pads to keep him safe from most low end melee weapons. He usually wears a wide brimmed Stetson with some plating instead of a helmet as his equipment is nigh impossible to use with a helmet on. He usually keeps some reinforced goggles on to protect part of his face, but is overall restricted by the comms equipment he has to use.
Clothes: (Outside of Combat) In most situations outside of combat Tommy will don a greasy red jumpsuit, but for more formal occasions he will clean himself up and put on some slightly dirty Prewar casual wear.
Backstory/Bio: (I’d like this to be a little lengthy, but nothing massive needed) Tommy’s parents were both Robco workers who had been at work when the bombs fell. His parents retreated to the company bunker with other workers and everyone stayed down there until the radiation had started to cool down. When they emerged they were scared of the horrors of the wasteland and decided to stay in the company building and kept the robots working to protect them. Around 6 years after the bombs fell Tommy’s mother was pregnant with him. He was born in 2084 on November 7th. His mother barely survived the birth, but thanks to help from the robots, both Tommy and his mother survived. There were very few children in the community, so they were all taught the ways of the machines and got some basic weapons training from the security portion, but never much. When Tommy was 27 the Desert Rangers first found the Robco building and he joined on with them. He had served eight years when he was selected to join a team that would be cleaning up the wasteland a little bit.
Rank: Warrant Officer
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Around 6 feet, Tommy is slightly below average in his height and is not the biggest or most muscular man around. He does not have a large amount of muscle compared to other Rangers but Rutger must maintain his level of strength to carry around his tools and equipment. He is not deeply toned, but his skin does have a light tan to it from years in the desert. Tommy’s face is slightly rounded and still somehow retains baby fat to it. He sports a bit of stubble in the light chocolate that his hair is. His hair is always cleanly cut so that he can use his comms equipment more effectively. Tommy is around 195 lbs and has little excess fat except in his cheeks.
Personality: Tommy is very socially awkward and generally speaks quickly, but when around friends his shell can be cracked open a little bit. He has a good sense of humor and shares it with those who are close to him. He doesn’t like to talk about his thoughts with other people and instead records his musings on holotapes or talks to his jury-rigged Mr. Gutsy.
Skills: (What is your character proficient in? Not just one word like “Speech ", describe them ) Tommy knows his way around a terminal and is very skilled at repairing weapons, armor, and even robots. He is also one of the few Rangers capable of using a radio and has to carry a bulky, jury rigged ham radio.
Specialty: (In combat) Tommy will usually use a rifle paired with a pistol for closer occasions but he generally stays out of the thick of the fray so his special equipment won’t get damaged.
Weapons: (Nothing crazy, at least for a while, not too many weapons either, think mid-tier of New Vegas for limitations, or run something by me in the OOC or PM’s) A Modified Service Rifle that has an extended magazine along with a smooth barrel to increase the rate of fire. Tommy will usually use a trusty 9mm Pistol as well, if only for when the carbine is overkill.
Armor: ( Feel free to make the armor your own, add little things like goggles around your character's neck, patches of cloth covering a whole if you'd like ) Tommy has modified combat armor to carry his tools and has a special pocket that is nature-proofed so that he can keep sensitive materials safe. He has use a special reinforced fiber to protect the joints of the armor and reinforced the pads to keep him safe from most low end melee weapons. He usually wears a wide brimmed Stetson with some plating instead of a helmet as his equipment is nigh impossible to use with a helmet on. He usually keeps some reinforced goggles on to protect part of his face, but is overall restricted by the comms equipment he has to use.
Clothes: (Outside of Combat) In most situations outside of combat Tommy will don a greasy red jumpsuit, but for more formal occasions he will clean himself up and put on some slightly dirty Prewar casual wear.
Backstory/Bio: (I’d like this to be a little lengthy, but nothing massive needed) Tommy’s parents were both Robco workers who had been at work when the bombs fell. His parents retreated to the company bunker with other workers and everyone stayed down there until the radiation had started to cool down. When they emerged they were scared of the horrors of the wasteland and decided to stay in the company building and kept the robots working to protect them. Around 6 years after the bombs fell Tommy’s mother was pregnant with him. He was born in 2084 on November 7th. His mother barely survived the birth, but thanks to help from the robots, both Tommy and his mother survived. There were very few children in the community, so they were all taught the ways of the machines and got some basic weapons training from the security portion, but never much. When Tommy was 27 the Desert Rangers first found the Robco building and he joined on with them. He had served eight years when he was selected to join a team that would be cleaning up the wasteland a little bit.
Padawan:
Spoiler
Name: Jesse White "Dead-Eye"
Rank: Gunnery Sergeant
Age: 28
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Jesse stands at about 5' 11" and has an athletic build. One of the first things people notice about Jesse is that his left eye is missing and replaced with an eyepatch. Jesse has jet black hair that he wears like a Mohawk. For facial hair he has a sole patch and stubble. His one eye that he still has is as green as an emerald. He also has a tattoo of an eye on his left bicep and a Pre-War California Flag on his chest.
Skills: Jesse is ironically good at using guns but mainly with rifles where he would have to squint an eye to use them. People will sometimes feel sympathetic for him and he uses it to his advantage to get his way.
Specials: Jesse always tries to aim for the head when shooting, he has a ratio of shots missed to hit of 3:1. Jesse uses a knife or his hands in close quarters situations.
Weapons: Jesse uses a hunting rifle that has an extended scope. He also has a trench knife with sharp, serrated, edges.
Armor: Jesse wears the usual Desert Ranger Combat Armor without a helmet. He wears a blood red bandana over his mouth and a pair of tinted goggles that are airtight to keep dust out of his missing eye. His trench coat on the combat armor is torn around the bottom of it with blood splats littering areas. He wears a pair of black steel-toed boots.
Clothes: Jesse wears a tank top and leather jacket. For pants he wears a pair of blue denim pants and he wears the same boots that he wears in combat. For headwear he wears a Boston Red Sox baseball cap and his eyepatch that has a skull on it.
Backstory/Bio: Jesse was born in a small town in Northern California. The NCR was nothing more than an idea at the time and California was as lawless as it used to be in the Wild Western days. He was taught how to hunt from his father who fed his family day to day with his hunting skills. Jesse had two brothers and two sisters and his mom died during child birth. His siblings disliked him and blamed him for the death of his mother.
When he was 21 he packed up all of his stuff and after years of being bullied by his family (except his father who loved him dearly) he finally left. He didn't even leave a note or anything telling him where he was going, maybe because he didn't know where he was going to go. He stole his oldest brother's Rifle, who didn't even use it, and left his small, unnamed, town and began heading South.
He reached the Mojave Wasteland at the age of 23 but he kept moving on. While he was still in the Mojave he was ambushed by a group of Raiders, who called themselves Vipers. He stepped on a land mine and jumped but and avoided a missing leg, but the shrapnel scraqed his left eye. He was fading in and out of reality and thought he was dead, until a group of heroes who were in the right place at the right time began attacking the Raiders. One of them took cover near him and he managed to sputter, "Help... Me..." Jesse passed out and thought he was dead for sure, but he woke up in an infirmary being tended to. His depth perception seemed different and a doctor told him what happened to his eye.
A few days later Jesse left the hospital and swore his life to the Rangers. He made a vow to owe his life to them until the day he dies.
Rank: Gunnery Sergeant
Age: 28
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Jesse stands at about 5' 11" and has an athletic build. One of the first things people notice about Jesse is that his left eye is missing and replaced with an eyepatch. Jesse has jet black hair that he wears like a Mohawk. For facial hair he has a sole patch and stubble. His one eye that he still has is as green as an emerald. He also has a tattoo of an eye on his left bicep and a Pre-War California Flag on his chest.
Skills: Jesse is ironically good at using guns but mainly with rifles where he would have to squint an eye to use them. People will sometimes feel sympathetic for him and he uses it to his advantage to get his way.
Specials: Jesse always tries to aim for the head when shooting, he has a ratio of shots missed to hit of 3:1. Jesse uses a knife or his hands in close quarters situations.
Weapons: Jesse uses a hunting rifle that has an extended scope. He also has a trench knife with sharp, serrated, edges.
Armor: Jesse wears the usual Desert Ranger Combat Armor without a helmet. He wears a blood red bandana over his mouth and a pair of tinted goggles that are airtight to keep dust out of his missing eye. His trench coat on the combat armor is torn around the bottom of it with blood splats littering areas. He wears a pair of black steel-toed boots.
Clothes: Jesse wears a tank top and leather jacket. For pants he wears a pair of blue denim pants and he wears the same boots that he wears in combat. For headwear he wears a Boston Red Sox baseball cap and his eyepatch that has a skull on it.
Backstory/Bio: Jesse was born in a small town in Northern California. The NCR was nothing more than an idea at the time and California was as lawless as it used to be in the Wild Western days. He was taught how to hunt from his father who fed his family day to day with his hunting skills. Jesse had two brothers and two sisters and his mom died during child birth. His siblings disliked him and blamed him for the death of his mother.
When he was 21 he packed up all of his stuff and after years of being bullied by his family (except his father who loved him dearly) he finally left. He didn't even leave a note or anything telling him where he was going, maybe because he didn't know where he was going to go. He stole his oldest brother's Rifle, who didn't even use it, and left his small, unnamed, town and began heading South.
He reached the Mojave Wasteland at the age of 23 but he kept moving on. While he was still in the Mojave he was ambushed by a group of Raiders, who called themselves Vipers. He stepped on a land mine and jumped but and avoided a missing leg, but the shrapnel scraqed his left eye. He was fading in and out of reality and thought he was dead, until a group of heroes who were in the right place at the right time began attacking the Raiders. One of them took cover near him and he managed to sputter, "Help... Me..." Jesse passed out and thought he was dead for sure, but he woke up in an infirmary being tended to. His depth perception seemed different and a doctor told him what happened to his eye.
A few days later Jesse left the hospital and swore his life to the Rangers. He made a vow to owe his life to them until the day he dies.
Fisheye:
Spoiler
Name: Hannibal
Rank: Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: Mid-seventies
Race: Mutant, possibly Native American or Middle Eastern.
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, an even then it's difficult.
Specialty: Hunter, tracker, and falconer.
Weapons: Longbow: Hannibal's most prized object and main weapon is his over sized longbow. The bow has a massive draw weight, draw length, and a height of six feet and four inches, effectively making it unusable by anyone else. An assortment of mixed arrows accompanies this bow, everything from broadheads to blunt tips, all slung in a quiver strapped onto Hannibal's back. The extreme power of the bow and the accuracy that Hannibal can achieve with it can bring down a group of enemies without them hearing a thing or a simple snake destined for the dinner plate.
Hera: Hera 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). Hera 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). Hera 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.
Fire Axe: In close combat or when wood Hannibal wields a large fire axe with ease. The axe is painted a olive green that has worn off around the blade to reveal the steel beneath. The mutant's reach and strength allows him to use the axe with deadly efficiency.
Hannibal's Knife: When skinning animals or caught in combat to tight to use his axe effectively in Hannibal wields a heavy steel knife as long as his forearm (which is pretty long). One stab from Hannibal's knife and you probably aren't going to get back up.
http://i.imgur.com/FVKUF.png
Armor: With no armor really being able to fit him, Hannibal's armor is completely custom. Hundreds of feet of lightweight, grey cloth coil around his body concealing any hint of skin besides his hands and head. The cloth allows for unmatched movement and is breathable, giving him the same movement ability that he would have if he were unclothed. Over this he sometimes wears a dark brown sleeveless long coat tailor made for him. His massive feet are wrapped in the same cloth as the rest of his body and bound in homemade leather sandals. His hands are exposed to allow easier use of his bow and a thick leather bracer is put on his forearm to provide a perching and landing spot for Hera. Overall the outfit requires little protection and has to be repaired (sewed, actually) in the field often.
Clothes: While in an area where humans dwell Hannibal dons leather gloves and pulls a deep hood (which is attached to his long coat) over his face. This is to completely conceal his skin because Hannibal found out long ago that sometimes the sight of green skin is enough to draw up an eager lynch mob. Besides this no changes are made to his armor.
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 him 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 farm 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 reorganization 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, though he's not sure how long he'll stay.
Rank: Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: Mid-seventies
Race: Mutant, possibly Native American or Middle Eastern.
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, an even then it's difficult.
Specialty: Hunter, tracker, and falconer.
Weapons: Longbow: Hannibal's most prized object and main weapon is his over sized longbow. The bow has a massive draw weight, draw length, and a height of six feet and four inches, effectively making it unusable by anyone else. An assortment of mixed arrows accompanies this bow, everything from broadheads to blunt tips, all slung in a quiver strapped onto Hannibal's back. The extreme power of the bow and the accuracy that Hannibal can achieve with it can bring down a group of enemies without them hearing a thing or a simple snake destined for the dinner plate.
Hera: Hera 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). Hera 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). Hera 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.
Fire Axe: In close combat or when wood Hannibal wields a large fire axe with ease. The axe is painted a olive green that has worn off around the blade to reveal the steel beneath. The mutant's reach and strength allows him to use the axe with deadly efficiency.
Hannibal's Knife: When skinning animals or caught in combat to tight to use his axe effectively in Hannibal wields a heavy steel knife as long as his forearm (which is pretty long). One stab from Hannibal's knife and you probably aren't going to get back up.
http://i.imgur.com/FVKUF.png
Armor: With no armor really being able to fit him, Hannibal's armor is completely custom. Hundreds of feet of lightweight, grey cloth coil around his body concealing any hint of skin besides his hands and head. The cloth allows for unmatched movement and is breathable, giving him the same movement ability that he would have if he were unclothed. Over this he sometimes wears a dark brown sleeveless long coat tailor made for him. His massive feet are wrapped in the same cloth as the rest of his body and bound in homemade leather sandals. His hands are exposed to allow easier use of his bow and a thick leather bracer is put on his forearm to provide a perching and landing spot for Hera. Overall the outfit requires little protection and has to be repaired (sewed, actually) in the field often.
Clothes: While in an area where humans dwell Hannibal dons leather gloves and pulls a deep hood (which is attached to his long coat) over his face. This is to completely conceal his skin because Hannibal found out long ago that sometimes the sight of green skin is enough to draw up an eager lynch mob. Besides this no changes are made to his armor.
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 him 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 farm 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 reorganization 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, though he's not sure how long he'll stay.
Paladin Lewis:
Spoiler
Name: Jonathan “Johnny” Wilson
Rank: corporal
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Race: Ameraisian (mixed Caucasian and Asian ancestry)
Appearance & Physical Traits: Jonathan is a 6’2 one with mixed Caucasian and Asian ancestry. Despite his height Jonathan has somewhat of a light build but with some muscles. Short black hair, blue eyes and a “ronin” facial hair
Jonathan is also slightly near-sighted and needs to wear glasses however he makes up for this by being fastest, as Johnny likes to say “I’m not see ya but you’re be dead before you see me.”
Personality: a good an honesty man but often likes to have fun with him notoriously known for being somewhat of a prankster despite this Jonathan is serious when needed to, following orders to the letter. Jonathan is however somewhat of a bigot & terrified of ghouls with him like to attack them out of fear on sight.
Skills:
(Guns) Often stated to be fasted quick drawer in the rangers, Jonathan is very skilled, accurate and deadly with Pistols and other small arms. Jonathan also knows how to use rifles and sniper rifles but prefers pistols to them all. Jonathan also likes energy weapons and was briefly taught how to use them but due to the difficulty of finding one he has little experience with them.
(Science & tech repair) Jonathan is a Certified Tech expert able to hack and command almost any computer or robot in the wasteland if given time. Jonathan also has the skill to repair broken tech equipment and knows how to salvage their mechanical corpses more efficiently.
Jonathan also has a natural bold with Jackie, his cyderdog and if one of few who can command her, with most other rangers she will just ignore them, with her once peeing all other ranger commander despite his protest.
Specialty: Tech Expert, also the ranger’s Dog Handler (since he owns their only dog.)
Weapons:
(I wanted 44. But oh well) a pair of Rossi R971 Revolver, Double Action and chambered in 357. Magnum they are both nickel plating and pearl grips. These pistols are family heirloom and along with the Beret being only things he has of his grandfather (USA Marine officer) and is well looked after by Jonathan.
(http://georgiagunstore.com/part_images/BRZR97104_1.jpg)
Jackie- Jonathan cyderdog and best friend since he found her almost 17 year ago, fiercely loyal to Johnny, Jackie has a powerful bite and can tackle people to the ground. Being a cyderdog she has extend life but this is only real benefit from it. (Jackie is usually kept at base as the watchdog but may be taken on special missions perhaps?)
Armour: Jonathan armour consists of brown cowboy boots; tan pants that has knee pad of the right knee and a red bandana tourniquet on the right leg, Johnny also wears a black leather belt with his pistol Holsters and a texan shaped belt buckle. On his up body Jonathan wears the Ranger combat armour (without duster) over a Tan shirt that has the sleeves rolled up and two black gloves. Finishing off the outfit Jonathan wears an old black marine Beret and a pair of reading glasses.
Clothes: outside of combat Johnny wear a duster coat along with some blue jeans, a brown cowboy hat and a random top. He keeps the boots and glasses on.
Backstory/Bio:
The grandchild of a USA Marine Captain and his Japanese wife who were lucky enough to get into Vault 10 an elected council (instead of just overseer) Vault located just a few miles outside of Houston, Jonathan was born in 2093, roughly one year after Vault 10 had opened up….
Going back to 2092, approximately 15 years after the Great War, Vault 10 council decided it was time to open the vault, however still fearful of the radiation and other dangers the majority of the vault dwellers stayed inside, with only a small volunteer force going outside to set up a small outpost, with jonathans parents and grandparents being a part of this group.
Within a year a small outpost had been set up using a GECK, with Jonathan and several other children being born however still fearful of the dangers, these children were only allowed to access the first floor of the Vault, were they were schooled and educated.
15 years passed and the outpost turned into small town able to grow plants, having a nearby water source (and vault water) along with being able to scavenge equipment from the ruins of Houston, with Johnny often fixing up the broken items such as Jackie, who had been found with two broken legs. Despite this however the vault was still paranoid to hell…
That was when disaster stuck; a small group of raiders attacked the vault town. Naturally the ex-vaulters with their well looked after weapons defended themselves but one of the raiders was captured, this man however was going though ghoulfilcation.
Sheer panic rushed though the town with everything thinking the sick raider has an post-war illness which ended lead to the vault closing and several people being killed, it was not for several days when the raider examined ghoulfilcation did things claim down but the damage was done, the vault was sealed and the small town, half destroyed was left to defend itself..
Whilst the town did after several year finally stabilized itself, Jonathan and several other during this time decided to leave and explore the wasteland or in Johnny’s case simply find some cool per-war technology.
Johnny spent the next several years wandering the wastes with Jackie, becoming quite effective with his grandfather’s pistol and hacking wasteland tech as he battled the wild men and other lesser horrors of the wastleland
By 2119 Johnny had become quite the experienced little traveller when he heard of some group called the desert rangers, after hearing they were formed by remnants of the Marines and other army groups he decided to join up, partly to honor his grandfather legacy and partly to help purge the wasteland of its horrors like ghouls…
Despite a causing a few pranks and that one “accident” when Jackie peed on the base commander Johnny had proved to be quite a good ranger and was promoted to corporal after a year with Jackie being the base’s official Guard dog, and occasional recruit “trainer” ….
Rank: corporal
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Race: Ameraisian (mixed Caucasian and Asian ancestry)
Appearance & Physical Traits: Jonathan is a 6’2 one with mixed Caucasian and Asian ancestry. Despite his height Jonathan has somewhat of a light build but with some muscles. Short black hair, blue eyes and a “ronin” facial hair
Jonathan is also slightly near-sighted and needs to wear glasses however he makes up for this by being fastest, as Johnny likes to say “I’m not see ya but you’re be dead before you see me.”
Personality: a good an honesty man but often likes to have fun with him notoriously known for being somewhat of a prankster despite this Jonathan is serious when needed to, following orders to the letter. Jonathan is however somewhat of a bigot & terrified of ghouls with him like to attack them out of fear on sight.
Skills:
(Guns) Often stated to be fasted quick drawer in the rangers, Jonathan is very skilled, accurate and deadly with Pistols and other small arms. Jonathan also knows how to use rifles and sniper rifles but prefers pistols to them all. Jonathan also likes energy weapons and was briefly taught how to use them but due to the difficulty of finding one he has little experience with them.
(Science & tech repair) Jonathan is a Certified Tech expert able to hack and command almost any computer or robot in the wasteland if given time. Jonathan also has the skill to repair broken tech equipment and knows how to salvage their mechanical corpses more efficiently.
Jonathan also has a natural bold with Jackie, his cyderdog and if one of few who can command her, with most other rangers she will just ignore them, with her once peeing all other ranger commander despite his protest.
Specialty: Tech Expert, also the ranger’s Dog Handler (since he owns their only dog.)
Weapons:
(I wanted 44. But oh well) a pair of Rossi R971 Revolver, Double Action and chambered in 357. Magnum they are both nickel plating and pearl grips. These pistols are family heirloom and along with the Beret being only things he has of his grandfather (USA Marine officer) and is well looked after by Jonathan.
(http://georgiagunstore.com/part_images/BRZR97104_1.jpg)
Jackie- Jonathan cyderdog and best friend since he found her almost 17 year ago, fiercely loyal to Johnny, Jackie has a powerful bite and can tackle people to the ground. Being a cyderdog she has extend life but this is only real benefit from it. (Jackie is usually kept at base as the watchdog but may be taken on special missions perhaps?)
Armour: Jonathan armour consists of brown cowboy boots; tan pants that has knee pad of the right knee and a red bandana tourniquet on the right leg, Johnny also wears a black leather belt with his pistol Holsters and a texan shaped belt buckle. On his up body Jonathan wears the Ranger combat armour (without duster) over a Tan shirt that has the sleeves rolled up and two black gloves. Finishing off the outfit Jonathan wears an old black marine Beret and a pair of reading glasses.
Clothes: outside of combat Johnny wear a duster coat along with some blue jeans, a brown cowboy hat and a random top. He keeps the boots and glasses on.
Backstory/Bio:
The grandchild of a USA Marine Captain and his Japanese wife who were lucky enough to get into Vault 10 an elected council (instead of just overseer) Vault located just a few miles outside of Houston, Jonathan was born in 2093, roughly one year after Vault 10 had opened up….
Going back to 2092, approximately 15 years after the Great War, Vault 10 council decided it was time to open the vault, however still fearful of the radiation and other dangers the majority of the vault dwellers stayed inside, with only a small volunteer force going outside to set up a small outpost, with jonathans parents and grandparents being a part of this group.
Within a year a small outpost had been set up using a GECK, with Jonathan and several other children being born however still fearful of the dangers, these children were only allowed to access the first floor of the Vault, were they were schooled and educated.
15 years passed and the outpost turned into small town able to grow plants, having a nearby water source (and vault water) along with being able to scavenge equipment from the ruins of Houston, with Johnny often fixing up the broken items such as Jackie, who had been found with two broken legs. Despite this however the vault was still paranoid to hell…
That was when disaster stuck; a small group of raiders attacked the vault town. Naturally the ex-vaulters with their well looked after weapons defended themselves but one of the raiders was captured, this man however was going though ghoulfilcation.
Sheer panic rushed though the town with everything thinking the sick raider has an post-war illness which ended lead to the vault closing and several people being killed, it was not for several days when the raider examined ghoulfilcation did things claim down but the damage was done, the vault was sealed and the small town, half destroyed was left to defend itself..
Whilst the town did after several year finally stabilized itself, Jonathan and several other during this time decided to leave and explore the wasteland or in Johnny’s case simply find some cool per-war technology.
Johnny spent the next several years wandering the wastes with Jackie, becoming quite effective with his grandfather’s pistol and hacking wasteland tech as he battled the wild men and other lesser horrors of the wastleland
By 2119 Johnny had become quite the experienced little traveller when he heard of some group called the desert rangers, after hearing they were formed by remnants of the Marines and other army groups he decided to join up, partly to honor his grandfather legacy and partly to help purge the wasteland of its horrors like ghouls…
Despite a causing a few pranks and that one “accident” when Jackie peed on the base commander Johnny had proved to be quite a good ranger and was promoted to corporal after a year with Jackie being the base’s official Guard dog, and occasional recruit “trainer” ….
OldRPG'sAreGood:
Spoiler
Name: Charlie Charleston
Rank: Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Human
Appearance & Physical Traits: Slender but muscular bodybuild, a gaunt face with medium lenght brown hair and a beard thick enough to conceal skin going around his mouth and continuing its way alongside his chin to combine into his hair.
Personality: Thoughtful, cautious and helpful
Skills: Charlie can read and write, and sneak around quite well. And hide if need be. He can also shoot like a true wastelander.
Specialty: ( In combat ) Charlie excells in small arms, pistols and SMG's. And can use them especially well when he gets the element of surprise.
Weapons: Two 10mm pistols with silencers attached, slung to the both sides of his hips like revolvers on a cowboy. He only has one clip for each, though more bullets than that, and avoids reloading by shooting them empty in turns.
Armor: A light brown scarf coiled around his head to shield his head from sand storms and to blend it into the enviroment, motorcycle goggles either on his scarf over his forehead or over his eyes, http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Leather_armor_Mk_II_%28Fallout_Tactics%29 and a pair of army issue boots. Also has fingertipless leather gloves.
Clothes: A stained white button shirt and ragged khakis.
Backstory/Bio: Born in years following the Great War, Charlie grew up in a group that consisted of three women and one man. The only male role model was a cowardly scavenger who had insisted Charlie was named after him, and who then taught the boy child he called "Junior" his art of sneaking and taking shots at foes from the shadows. While Charlie was taught to write and read by the women, of whom Charlie never got to know his true mother. Years rolled and Charlie grew, learning to shoot better and better and to sneak and hide like best of thieves.
But his easy life was broken when to babes were born into the commune, both to different women. As the two children grew and reached the age where they had to eat and drink more than just mothersmilk, the scavenger man, who Charlie had begun to suspect as his own father though never being sure, told him to leave so that supplies would remain sufficient. And so Charlie did, taking one 10mm pistol with him.
For some odd years he wandered the wastes, finding a second 10mm pistol for his own use in time and honing his existing skills and learning to live off the land to stay alive. He saw countless horrors in the wasteland, both human made horror and the mutant sort. And Charlie aided those in need to the best of his abilities, to grant them the state of life he had as a young boy, as easy as the wasteland allows, and peaceful. In his travels he often wondered about the suffering in the world, and when he found a faded black notebook alongside with a few pencils, he begun to write down his thoughts and keep record of his days.
As time flowed, Charlies road led him to the Desert Rangers, from who he acquired two fitting silencers for his guns, a group which he deemed to be more efficient to help the world with than just acting on his own. And when the expedition to Texas left, Charlie went with them. And the diary entry he made when the journey to Texas itself ended in Fort Hood was simple and a sort of a slogan to Charlie nowadays, "To live in a good world, we'd need good people. So we kill the bad ones."
Rank: Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Human
Appearance & Physical Traits: Slender but muscular bodybuild, a gaunt face with medium lenght brown hair and a beard thick enough to conceal skin going around his mouth and continuing its way alongside his chin to combine into his hair.
Personality: Thoughtful, cautious and helpful
Skills: Charlie can read and write, and sneak around quite well. And hide if need be. He can also shoot like a true wastelander.
Specialty: ( In combat ) Charlie excells in small arms, pistols and SMG's. And can use them especially well when he gets the element of surprise.
Weapons: Two 10mm pistols with silencers attached, slung to the both sides of his hips like revolvers on a cowboy. He only has one clip for each, though more bullets than that, and avoids reloading by shooting them empty in turns.
Armor: A light brown scarf coiled around his head to shield his head from sand storms and to blend it into the enviroment, motorcycle goggles either on his scarf over his forehead or over his eyes, http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Leather_armor_Mk_II_%28Fallout_Tactics%29 and a pair of army issue boots. Also has fingertipless leather gloves.
Clothes: A stained white button shirt and ragged khakis.
Backstory/Bio: Born in years following the Great War, Charlie grew up in a group that consisted of three women and one man. The only male role model was a cowardly scavenger who had insisted Charlie was named after him, and who then taught the boy child he called "Junior" his art of sneaking and taking shots at foes from the shadows. While Charlie was taught to write and read by the women, of whom Charlie never got to know his true mother. Years rolled and Charlie grew, learning to shoot better and better and to sneak and hide like best of thieves.
But his easy life was broken when to babes were born into the commune, both to different women. As the two children grew and reached the age where they had to eat and drink more than just mothersmilk, the scavenger man, who Charlie had begun to suspect as his own father though never being sure, told him to leave so that supplies would remain sufficient. And so Charlie did, taking one 10mm pistol with him.
For some odd years he wandered the wastes, finding a second 10mm pistol for his own use in time and honing his existing skills and learning to live off the land to stay alive. He saw countless horrors in the wasteland, both human made horror and the mutant sort. And Charlie aided those in need to the best of his abilities, to grant them the state of life he had as a young boy, as easy as the wasteland allows, and peaceful. In his travels he often wondered about the suffering in the world, and when he found a faded black notebook alongside with a few pencils, he begun to write down his thoughts and keep record of his days.
As time flowed, Charlies road led him to the Desert Rangers, from who he acquired two fitting silencers for his guns, a group which he deemed to be more efficient to help the world with than just acting on his own. And when the expedition to Texas left, Charlie went with them. And the diary entry he made when the journey to Texas itself ended in Fort Hood was simple and a sort of a slogan to Charlie nowadays, "To live in a good world, we'd need good people. So we kill the bad ones."
Himynameislonewanderer:
Spoiler
Name: Travis Bear
Rank: Staff Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Growing up in the rural areas of Texas, he inherited a slight southern accent which is heard clearly in some of his words. He stands about 6 feet and is moderately built due to Ranger training. His black hair is straight, short and messy, as he sees no point styling it in the Texas wastes. He has dark eyes, and a sarcastic grin is always plastered on his face. Overall he does not look very menacing, but those around him know what he’s capable of and know he is not to be underestimated.
Personality: Travis is loyal to the Rangers and his superiors, willing to lay his life down for the cause of bringing law and order back to the region. He is personable towards his comrades, but approaches outsiders in a professional manner. Usually, he is overall is charming and quick-witted, never turning down a challenge to talk his way out of things. Although, due to his shady past, Travis has his ups and downs personality wise, and relies heavily on Mentats to keep himself under control. Recently though, with the supply rations decreasing, he fears he’ll fly off the handle.
Skills: He is as good with a gun as any of the other Rangers, but not in any way extraordinary. What he lacks in weapons, he makes up for in unarmed combat, which he teaches to the newly recruited Rangers. Due to his Mentat addiction, he is highly focused and perceptive, fantastic with numbers, reading people and rationing. He has recently been in charge of keeping track of all the remaining supplies at Fort Hood (if the position is open lol). Although scavenging is definitely not his specialty, he scavenges everything and will literally keep anything he finds on missions, regardless if it applies to him or not.
Specialty: Unarmed Combat.
Weapons: He carries a standard issue service rifle. He also welds a .357 magnum revolver scavenged after the battle of fort hood. But he found it empty and has not found any bullets for it recently. He also carries a straight razor, which he uses to shave, but can be doubled up as a weapon.
Armor: Standard issue combat armor, not in the greatest condition. The armor on it is slightly mismatched because it was scavenged off the enemies’ corpses at the taking of Fort Hood, although one could hardly tell what color it was because it is usually very dirty. He carries a military-like backpack for scavenging and for storing his Mentats and cigarettes. He will wear a helmet on high risk occasions, but usually doesn’t.
Clothes: Outside of combat, Travis wears the standard t-shirt and jeans, or whatever is moderately clean.
Backstory/Bio: In 2093, Travis Bear was born in a small settlement near the Texas/Oklahoma border. The settlement was made up of former farmers and ‘dome dwellers’ who, before the war, banned together to build underground domes in case of Nuclear catastrophe. The settlement itself was located in a rural area, with nothing but a few dilapidated buildings shielding the town. Although most of the people were decently educated, they could do little to try and harvest the irradiated land. They did what they could though, only to find themselves under constant attack. Travis never knew how he survived the attacks growing up, but he knew one of them killed his biological parents, whom he has little memory of. His childhood was hazy, as he tends to block out every loss and bad decision in his life.
The settlement struggled, relying heavily on scavenging and luck. Luck was on their side, as the settlement slowly prospered as a local ‘government’ was established and scavenging parties were formed. At 17 and several scavenger hunts later, he became accustomed to roaming the wastes, and preferred it over the living in the settlement.
This went on for a couple more years, as the settlement turned into the town named “Tehoma” (creative I know haha), and structures were being built. Travis was now 20 and lead all the major long distance scavenges. Miraculously on one of the scavenges, Travis and his party ran across a hidden pre-war military bunker. Although, badly damaged and dilapidated, the team found intact weapons and took them for their own personal uses.
With town expansion and notoriety came crime in the town, as well as the continued attacks by outside raidersl. With no sense of order, the mayor sought out a town militia, which Travis eventually became in charge of. Usually outnumbered, they tactically fought off the raiders and gained town respect.
A usual raid on the town took a surprising turn as the Tehoma militia found themselves being assisted by the Texas Rangers passing through the area. The third in command of the Texas Ranger’s was intrigued by Travis’s leadership skills as well as his drive to fight for the town he loved, and recommended him for Ranger training. He whole-heartedly accepted, feeling he could make a difference in other places like he had done in Tehoma. He traveled many years with the Rangers, moving up the ranks and finally ranking up to Staff Sergeant after the Battle of Fort Hood in 2019. Now, 27, he continues to be dedicated towards serving the Rangers.
Rank: Staff Sergeant
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Race: Caucasian
Appearance & Physical Traits: Growing up in the rural areas of Texas, he inherited a slight southern accent which is heard clearly in some of his words. He stands about 6 feet and is moderately built due to Ranger training. His black hair is straight, short and messy, as he sees no point styling it in the Texas wastes. He has dark eyes, and a sarcastic grin is always plastered on his face. Overall he does not look very menacing, but those around him know what he’s capable of and know he is not to be underestimated.
Personality: Travis is loyal to the Rangers and his superiors, willing to lay his life down for the cause of bringing law and order back to the region. He is personable towards his comrades, but approaches outsiders in a professional manner. Usually, he is overall is charming and quick-witted, never turning down a challenge to talk his way out of things. Although, due to his shady past, Travis has his ups and downs personality wise, and relies heavily on Mentats to keep himself under control. Recently though, with the supply rations decreasing, he fears he’ll fly off the handle.
Skills: He is as good with a gun as any of the other Rangers, but not in any way extraordinary. What he lacks in weapons, he makes up for in unarmed combat, which he teaches to the newly recruited Rangers. Due to his Mentat addiction, he is highly focused and perceptive, fantastic with numbers, reading people and rationing. He has recently been in charge of keeping track of all the remaining supplies at Fort Hood (if the position is open lol). Although scavenging is definitely not his specialty, he scavenges everything and will literally keep anything he finds on missions, regardless if it applies to him or not.
Specialty: Unarmed Combat.
Weapons: He carries a standard issue service rifle. He also welds a .357 magnum revolver scavenged after the battle of fort hood. But he found it empty and has not found any bullets for it recently. He also carries a straight razor, which he uses to shave, but can be doubled up as a weapon.
Armor: Standard issue combat armor, not in the greatest condition. The armor on it is slightly mismatched because it was scavenged off the enemies’ corpses at the taking of Fort Hood, although one could hardly tell what color it was because it is usually very dirty. He carries a military-like backpack for scavenging and for storing his Mentats and cigarettes. He will wear a helmet on high risk occasions, but usually doesn’t.
Clothes: Outside of combat, Travis wears the standard t-shirt and jeans, or whatever is moderately clean.
Backstory/Bio: In 2093, Travis Bear was born in a small settlement near the Texas/Oklahoma border. The settlement was made up of former farmers and ‘dome dwellers’ who, before the war, banned together to build underground domes in case of Nuclear catastrophe. The settlement itself was located in a rural area, with nothing but a few dilapidated buildings shielding the town. Although most of the people were decently educated, they could do little to try and harvest the irradiated land. They did what they could though, only to find themselves under constant attack. Travis never knew how he survived the attacks growing up, but he knew one of them killed his biological parents, whom he has little memory of. His childhood was hazy, as he tends to block out every loss and bad decision in his life.
The settlement struggled, relying heavily on scavenging and luck. Luck was on their side, as the settlement slowly prospered as a local ‘government’ was established and scavenging parties were formed. At 17 and several scavenger hunts later, he became accustomed to roaming the wastes, and preferred it over the living in the settlement.
This went on for a couple more years, as the settlement turned into the town named “Tehoma” (creative I know haha), and structures were being built. Travis was now 20 and lead all the major long distance scavenges. Miraculously on one of the scavenges, Travis and his party ran across a hidden pre-war military bunker. Although, badly damaged and dilapidated, the team found intact weapons and took them for their own personal uses.
With town expansion and notoriety came crime in the town, as well as the continued attacks by outside raidersl. With no sense of order, the mayor sought out a town militia, which Travis eventually became in charge of. Usually outnumbered, they tactically fought off the raiders and gained town respect.
A usual raid on the town took a surprising turn as the Tehoma militia found themselves being assisted by the Texas Rangers passing through the area. The third in command of the Texas Ranger’s was intrigued by Travis’s leadership skills as well as his drive to fight for the town he loved, and recommended him for Ranger training. He whole-heartedly accepted, feeling he could make a difference in other places like he had done in Tehoma. He traveled many years with the Rangers, moving up the ranks and finally ranking up to Staff Sergeant after the Battle of Fort Hood in 2019. Now, 27, he continues to be dedicated towards serving the Rangers.
Cineres:
Spoiler
Name: Harry Harned
Nickname: Hatchet
Rank: Private
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian.
Age: 36
http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120914003752/sonsofanarchy/images/e/e4/Opie_2012_Promo.jpg Harry is a rather large man, standing at about six foot four inches in stature. This isn't the only thing that makes him big though, he is also reasonably muscular and has enough body fat that he looks to be a formidable foe for anyone in hand to hand combat. He looks fairly messy and rather hardened to the brutal post apocalyptic world, having long dark brown messy hair and a long survivalists beard. His eyes are of a hazel colour and his skin is pale in comparison to most. He has numerous scars over his chest, stomach and back from fights over the years and a large Anarchy symbol tattooed onto his back, which he tells people symbolizes his freedom from the factions and tribes of the pre-apocalyptic world for the majority of his life.
Clothing/Armour: Harry wears a long black dirt covered duster that reaches to around the top of his boots. He also dons two leather jackets, one plain black long sleeved one he wears underneath the duster and another no sleeved old biker style one with a large patch on the back and numerous patches on the front that he wears over the top of the duster. The patch is an old Anarchy symbol showing that the jacket once belonged to a pre-war biker that belonged to some sort of club; Harry's great grandfathers club if the stories his father told him as a child were true. There are a few more patches on the front, one reading Sergeant-at-Arms and another reading Controller of Chaos. The biker jacket was the only item Harry ever knew his father to treasure, and fell in love with it when he was still a child. It was the one item he took from his fathers corpse. A legacy of sorts. Underneath these jackets Harry wears a black t-shirt and a plain white tank top. Pants wise he wears baggy black jeans which are held up by an old belt which is often layered in dust or dirt. To finish he wears old biker boots which are more often than not caked in the same. Harry also owns a bandoleer that holds spare .12 gauge shotgun shells. The bandoleer is attached to his usual belt, which links to the bandoleer which runs from Harry's waist down to the back of his spine.
Weapons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/11/Winchester_Model_12_Shotgun._1785.jpg kept on a strap over his shoulder and a http://images.wikia.com/walkingdead/images/archive/c/cf/20120121210315%21Hatchet.jpg kept in a modified sheath on his hip.
Skills: Harry is extremely skilled with his shotgun, knowing how to use, wield and clean it effectively. He also can use and maintain smaller firearms rather easily due to his upbringing. This is no where near as important as his skill with his trusty hatchet though, the shotgun is a nuisance to feed ammo, being both expensive and scarce and making his skill of wielding his hatchet in battle of vital importance. Harry can use the hatchet a number of ways, but mostly to maim or kill. The big man can easily put the hatchet deep inside an opponents skull if quick enough. Last but definitely not least Harry is an experienced survivor, years of being more or less a lone wolf have made him highly adaptive to his surroundings, he's always on the lookout for anything of value and can often turn a dangerous situation to his advantage.
Speciality: Close Quarters
Personality: Harry is emotionally cold to most people but can still hold a decent and civil enough conversation when he want to. He respects those who can earn the privilege of having and keeping their life, getting on well with those he deems to be true warriors and survivalists. Harry is ruthless to most people unless they have either truly gained his respect or he considers them too weak to fight the battle their in. Overall Harry is just a survivor with nothing left to lose, he will fight and die to survive but his deepest hidden desire is to fight with a brother in arms again. Someone he trusts as much as he did his father, someone he would kill and die for and somebody he can place above his deepest goal of survival.
History: Harry was raised a survivor from more or less the start, his father being a born loner himself he quickly decided he didn't want his only son to be corrupted by the wars and crimes of the numerous Texas bandit tribes from too early in his life. He wanted his legacy's rise to become both a killer and a warrior to be uninfluenced by all of that corrupted savagery and instead decided from the time little Harry was seven that he would raise the young boy on the road.
It was a hard life for anyone, never mind a child, when you were a traveller like Harry and his father were you had no affiliations and no outside protection. They had to rely on each other constantly, always trying to avoid raider tribes or roaming mutants. Sometimes they grew so hungry and so desperate they had no other choice but to ambush these men and monsters, needing their supplies to save their own lives. His father had always told him those ambushes were extremely dangerous, but no matter what it was better to die in battle than from starvation. In other words it was better to die trying to save your life then to die giving it up because you were too cowardly to fight for it.
In one way or another his fathers plan worked, little Harry grew up with very little other human contact but that of his fathers company and the people he spoke to on the rare occasions they would wander into settlements for supplies and to sell what they had scavenged. This heavily limited contact with the more civilised world made Harry even more dependent on himself and his father. He was a warrior and a true survivalist by the time he was nineteen, before he even truly knew what he had been expertly moulded into himself. Now old and skilled enough to help his father in many more ways, the young man thought little of killing, it was all he had known and would ever know according to his father so he had better just get used to it. Those were near enough his fathers exact words when a nine year old Harry had asked him why they had to kill a man who had been begging for his life all. Now aged twenty one Harry had long since gotten used to it. He had killed many times and many things in many different ways. He had also found his beloved hatchet by this time, and the boy who had now grown taller than his father and was larger than most in most aspects could kill two to three humans in a matter of seconds with the small but deadly tool.
The two men had made quite a bit of money over the years but it never really lasted that long. Life on the road was expensive. Between money for weapon repairs, money for ammo, money for food, money for doctors and medicine and then a little money left over for general supplies the caps they did have left over never lasted all that long, quickly being lost to one of those things. Despite them never being all that wealthy his father did accomplish what he had set out to do with his only son.
Harry did become a great warrior; both an expert killer and a true survivalist. Now at the age of twenty four Harry was a man and his father was getting to be an old man; something Harry had started to notice. He began to bug his extremely stubborn father about the fact. His fathers replies to his pleas that his job was done now and he should now settle into one of the settlements and take it easy were met with pure stubbornness; his father insisted that he had lived, breathed and killed out here in the waste. He would die out here too.
This saddened Harry a lot for a long while. After all his father had given him over the years he would never truly be able to give anything back in return, but there was little he could do but keep on surviving, keep looting, keep killing and keep being the warrior his father had raised and wanted him to be. This was the best he could do to repay the man that had moulded him into the warrior he was.
His father didn't last too much longer, they had kept on surviving out in what his father called the pure world, where people killed people because they had to survive, not because it was something some man they didn't even know had commanded them to. Yeah, his father had gone down the way he had always wanted to and said he would; shedding his enemies blood. They had been ambushed while scavenging an old ruin and cornered by a large group of raiders armed with an assortment of bat and blade like weapons.
Having already used all of their ammo the two men went for a last stand with their hatchet and hammer. Hacking, slashing, bashing and crushing their way thorough their foes. Harry's hatchet made quick work of the ones that fell upon him, heads were hacked into, arms were hacked off and skulls were crushed under ttheir boots. The two warriors were pulverizing their enemies, but just as it looked like they might make it out of the ambush a raider pulled a .38 Revolver, letting off a fatal shot that pierced Harry's fathers torso and left him panting on the ground. This pushed Harry to the edge, his adrenaline already pumping he flew into a blood and anguish fuelled rage, launching his hatchet at the raider holding the .38, sinking the tool deep into the raiders torso. Harry then grabbed his fathers sledgehammer and set upon the others, his strength and adrenaline making him wield the huge weapon as easily as a golf club.
By the time an exhausted Harry dropped the hammer and retrieved his hatchet and the .38 Revolver his father had turned ghostly pale. Harry thought about picking the elder man up and hauling him to a doctor but the nearest settlement was around sixteen miles away and they were deep inside bandit country. His father wouldn't have survived the journey anyway, the .38 had pierced his lung, making his breathing near impossible. Harry took his fathers hand and stared into the cold eyes of the only man he had ever truly known. As his fathers eyes faded the fire in Harry's eyes burned once again, the rage coming back. He set off with the scavenged weapons and killed as many raiders as he could that night. By the morning his rage wasn't sated at all.
Years passed and Harry did what he could to honour his father while surviving but he had now left the hunter/scavenger lifestyle. Now hanging around the settlements and taking on jobs as a mercenary when he could. They didn't come all that often though, and despite his upbringing Harry found himself desperately missing the company of a brother in arms. It was this that made him come up with his new plan to find a group of small but skilled survivors. It was this new plan that made Harry head towards the known location of the Desert Rangers. Fort Hood.
Name: Harry Harned
Nickname: Hatchet
Rank: Private
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian.
Age: 36
http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120914003752/sonsofanarchy/images/e/e4/Opie_2012_Promo.jpg Harry is a rather large man, standing at about six foot four inches in stature. This isn't the only thing that makes him big though, he is also reasonably muscular and has enough body fat that he looks to be a formidable foe for anyone in hand to hand combat. He looks fairly messy and rather hardened to the brutal post apocalyptic world, having long dark brown messy hair and a long survivalists beard. His eyes are of a hazel colour and his skin is pale in comparison to most. He has numerous scars over his chest, stomach and back from fights over the years and a large Anarchy symbol tattooed onto his back, which he tells people symbolizes his freedom from the factions and tribes of the pre-apocalyptic world for the majority of his life.
Clothing/Armour: Harry wears a long black dirt covered duster that reaches to around the top of his boots. He also dons two leather jackets, one plain black long sleeved one he wears underneath the duster and another no sleeved old biker style one with a large patch on the back and numerous patches on the front that he wears over the top of the duster. The patch is an old Anarchy symbol showing that the jacket once belonged to a pre-war biker that belonged to some sort of club; Harry's great grandfathers club if the stories his father told him as a child were true. There are a few more patches on the front, one reading Sergeant-at-Arms and another reading Controller of Chaos. The biker jacket was the only item Harry ever knew his father to treasure, and fell in love with it when he was still a child. It was the one item he took from his fathers corpse. A legacy of sorts. Underneath these jackets Harry wears a black t-shirt and a plain white tank top. Pants wise he wears baggy black jeans which are held up by an old belt which is often layered in dust or dirt. To finish he wears old biker boots which are more often than not caked in the same. Harry also owns a bandoleer that holds spare .12 gauge shotgun shells. The bandoleer is attached to his usual belt, which links to the bandoleer which runs from Harry's waist down to the back of his spine.
Weapons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/11/Winchester_Model_12_Shotgun._1785.jpg kept on a strap over his shoulder and a http://images.wikia.com/walkingdead/images/archive/c/cf/20120121210315%21Hatchet.jpg kept in a modified sheath on his hip.
Skills: Harry is extremely skilled with his shotgun, knowing how to use, wield and clean it effectively. He also can use and maintain smaller firearms rather easily due to his upbringing. This is no where near as important as his skill with his trusty hatchet though, the shotgun is a nuisance to feed ammo, being both expensive and scarce and making his skill of wielding his hatchet in battle of vital importance. Harry can use the hatchet a number of ways, but mostly to maim or kill. The big man can easily put the hatchet deep inside an opponents skull if quick enough. Last but definitely not least Harry is an experienced survivor, years of being more or less a lone wolf have made him highly adaptive to his surroundings, he's always on the lookout for anything of value and can often turn a dangerous situation to his advantage.
Speciality: Close Quarters
Personality: Harry is emotionally cold to most people but can still hold a decent and civil enough conversation when he want to. He respects those who can earn the privilege of having and keeping their life, getting on well with those he deems to be true warriors and survivalists. Harry is ruthless to most people unless they have either truly gained his respect or he considers them too weak to fight the battle their in. Overall Harry is just a survivor with nothing left to lose, he will fight and die to survive but his deepest hidden desire is to fight with a brother in arms again. Someone he trusts as much as he did his father, someone he would kill and die for and somebody he can place above his deepest goal of survival.
History: Harry was raised a survivor from more or less the start, his father being a born loner himself he quickly decided he didn't want his only son to be corrupted by the wars and crimes of the numerous Texas bandit tribes from too early in his life. He wanted his legacy's rise to become both a killer and a warrior to be uninfluenced by all of that corrupted savagery and instead decided from the time little Harry was seven that he would raise the young boy on the road.
It was a hard life for anyone, never mind a child, when you were a traveller like Harry and his father were you had no affiliations and no outside protection. They had to rely on each other constantly, always trying to avoid raider tribes or roaming mutants. Sometimes they grew so hungry and so desperate they had no other choice but to ambush these men and monsters, needing their supplies to save their own lives. His father had always told him those ambushes were extremely dangerous, but no matter what it was better to die in battle than from starvation. In other words it was better to die trying to save your life then to die giving it up because you were too cowardly to fight for it.
In one way or another his fathers plan worked, little Harry grew up with very little other human contact but that of his fathers company and the people he spoke to on the rare occasions they would wander into settlements for supplies and to sell what they had scavenged. This heavily limited contact with the more civilised world made Harry even more dependent on himself and his father. He was a warrior and a true survivalist by the time he was nineteen, before he even truly knew what he had been expertly moulded into himself. Now old and skilled enough to help his father in many more ways, the young man thought little of killing, it was all he had known and would ever know according to his father so he had better just get used to it. Those were near enough his fathers exact words when a nine year old Harry had asked him why they had to kill a man who had been begging for his life all. Now aged twenty one Harry had long since gotten used to it. He had killed many times and many things in many different ways. He had also found his beloved hatchet by this time, and the boy who had now grown taller than his father and was larger than most in most aspects could kill two to three humans in a matter of seconds with the small but deadly tool.
The two men had made quite a bit of money over the years but it never really lasted that long. Life on the road was expensive. Between money for weapon repairs, money for ammo, money for food, money for doctors and medicine and then a little money left over for general supplies the caps they did have left over never lasted all that long, quickly being lost to one of those things. Despite them never being all that wealthy his father did accomplish what he had set out to do with his only son.
Harry did become a great warrior; both an expert killer and a true survivalist. Now at the age of twenty four Harry was a man and his father was getting to be an old man; something Harry had started to notice. He began to bug his extremely stubborn father about the fact. His fathers replies to his pleas that his job was done now and he should now settle into one of the settlements and take it easy were met with pure stubbornness; his father insisted that he had lived, breathed and killed out here in the waste. He would die out here too.
This saddened Harry a lot for a long while. After all his father had given him over the years he would never truly be able to give anything back in return, but there was little he could do but keep on surviving, keep looting, keep killing and keep being the warrior his father had raised and wanted him to be. This was the best he could do to repay the man that had moulded him into the warrior he was.
His father didn't last too much longer, they had kept on surviving out in what his father called the pure world, where people killed people because they had to survive, not because it was something some man they didn't even know had commanded them to. Yeah, his father had gone down the way he had always wanted to and said he would; shedding his enemies blood. They had been ambushed while scavenging an old ruin and cornered by a large group of raiders armed with an assortment of bat and blade like weapons.
Having already used all of their ammo the two men went for a last stand with their hatchet and hammer. Hacking, slashing, bashing and crushing their way thorough their foes. Harry's hatchet made quick work of the ones that fell upon him, heads were hacked into, arms were hacked off and skulls were crushed under ttheir boots. The two warriors were pulverizing their enemies, but just as it looked like they might make it out of the ambush a raider pulled a .38 Revolver, letting off a fatal shot that pierced Harry's fathers torso and left him panting on the ground. This pushed Harry to the edge, his adrenaline already pumping he flew into a blood and anguish fuelled rage, launching his hatchet at the raider holding the .38, sinking the tool deep into the raiders torso. Harry then grabbed his fathers sledgehammer and set upon the others, his strength and adrenaline making him wield the huge weapon as easily as a golf club.
By the time an exhausted Harry dropped the hammer and retrieved his hatchet and the .38 Revolver his father had turned ghostly pale. Harry thought about picking the elder man up and hauling him to a doctor but the nearest settlement was around sixteen miles away and they were deep inside bandit country. His father wouldn't have survived the journey anyway, the .38 had pierced his lung, making his breathing near impossible. Harry took his fathers hand and stared into the cold eyes of the only man he had ever truly known. As his fathers eyes faded the fire in Harry's eyes burned once again, the rage coming back. He set off with the scavenged weapons and killed as many raiders as he could that night. By the morning his rage wasn't sated at all.
Years passed and Harry did what he could to honour his father while surviving but he had now left the hunter/scavenger lifestyle. Now hanging around the settlements and taking on jobs as a mercenary when he could. They didn't come all that often though, and despite his upbringing Harry found himself desperately missing the company of a brother in arms. It was this that made him come up with his new plan to find a group of small but skilled survivors. It was this new plan that made Harry head towards the known location of the Desert Rangers. Fort Hood.
Note that the ones up here are just the ones one Ranger's updated list on the old OOC page, http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1440587-law-to-the-lawless-oocsign-up/page__st__120. Specifically post 125. I believe there were two or three more he's accepting (And by that I mean for sure, this statement by no means mean he's done accepting CSes, so don't panic lol)
I'll update the list myself when Ranger gives me the rest that were accepted.
Oh yes, and if I accidentally posted the wrong version of your CS (to those of you who were accepted) please let me know and I'll get it fixed
I tried to get the most current versions of them all, but then some people kept posting their CS's multiple times, so it's quite a bit to sift through.