Name: Jarvis "Deadeye" Whittaker
Nickname: Old Man
Age: 62
Height: 5'10
Race: Human, Caucasian
Gender: Male

Hair color: Grey
Eye Color: Hazel
Skin Tone: Normal, although grey-ish age

Appearance: Elderly, weathered skin with wrinkles, crows feet. The usual geriatric stuff. Wiry grey hair. Not particularly strong looking, but with that elderly wiriness. One eye is constantly squinting. Imagine your traditional prospector (in case you hadn't quite worked that out yet). An unkempt grey beard stretching down to his chest.

Skills: Not a particularly good shot, usually ends up hitting anything other than what he's aiming at. as an uncanny knack for surviving in otherwise hostile situations, whether through the experience of the aged (probably not) or sheer luck (more likely) it's not certain. Has an iron constitution and can drink anything with a sharp taste and still believe it's whiskey. Enjoys rambling on about nonsensical inaccurate telling of past adventures. Can talk people into a stupor. Wherever he goes bad luck seems to follow. (For those that played Fallout 1, Jarvis has the jinxed trait.)

Clothing: Dirty Field Hand Shirt with red handkerchief, Denim trousers, Generic leather boots with various cloths wrapped around the top, Rattan Cowboy hat, and a Poncho made from golden geckos.

Personal Effects: A hip flask filled with three x whiskey from Gourd at Brewer's Beer Bootlegging, Fifty-Six bottle caps, a fire gecko tooth worn around his neck, tweezers(to pluck those pesky nose hairs), spork(why carry a fork and spoon when a spork does both), shot glass(likes to drink his liquor like a civilized person), a bandoleer of 12 gauge rounds, a small bag filled with .357 rounds, and a deck of cards.

Weapons: Old, worn Hunting Shotgun (Doubles as a walking stick), .357 Revolver, Cowboy Repeater

Personality: Naturally cautious of people he doesn't know, forgetful of those he does. He has no drinking problem, it's a drinking solution. Holds an ambient naivety about the true danger of the wasteland. Thinks "Radiation" is a crackpot idea made up to stop good folk like himself from living in the nicer places (where the grass is always greener, at night). His reasoning concerning danger is if he can't see it then it's probably either too far away to worry about or too close to start worrying about. Hates ghouls as he views them as lazy, conniving tricksters. Add that to the fact they didn't smell nice, they complained about everything and they were an eyesore to anyone who actually had the decency to still have skin. Likes super mutants as they usually a good story to tell and the fact that Jarvis is younger then they are.

Bio: A man who has survived sixty-two years in the wasteland by some miracle. You couldn't find a more accident prone beacon of misfortune if you tried. Lived in Primm most of his life and somehow made a decent living as a prospector. Jarvis left however when them damned Powder Gangsters showed up. People believe Johnson Nash came up with the term 'Powder Gangster' but it was stolen by that two bit oil salesman.

After leaving Primm behind Jarvis wandered the wastes barely getting by when he decided why should I have to eat scraps everyday if I go to Vegas I can live like a king. Once he reached the utopia however he learned from them fancy robotic unicycle television screens that Jarvis had to have two thousand caps to enter by order of President Johnson. Who died and made him the High Tom-[censored] Jarvis wondered as he returned to Freeside contemplating his next move.

Not giving up Jarvis tried everything to make the required entrance fee but he always ultimately came up short. Currently he is employed at the Atomic Wrangler as a heckler to the ghoul comedian Hadrian. On the evening of July 1st, 2310 Jarvis stumbled into a meeting that he thought was for the AGA(Anti-Ghoul-Association). Instead he found a way to get the cushy lifestyle he had been craving.