The Wasteland: Accounts of the Great War's Survivors (RP) : Fallout Series Discussion

» Sun May 04, 2014 3:02 am

The Wasteland

GM: OldRPG'sAreGood

Co-GM: Gingy

OOC Thread: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1499728-the-wasteland-interest-checkooc/

Synopsis:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goNO5OyhDXc is gone. It has been replaced with a venomous, desolate, and and unforgiving one. On October 23, 2077, fires from the sky rained down upon the earth, effectively cleaning off mankind's presence.

Burlington, Vermont has been put to the torch, as have the rest of the United States' major cities. The frontier outside of America's urban developments was mostly spared from the immediate blasts of atomic fire, but the unfortunate consequence of nuclear weapons is what follows afterward; nuclear fallout has seeped into the countryside and old world suburbia, killing a vast majority of the population, or giving them a more unfortunate fate than death -- ghoulification.

The city of Burlington is a shadow. Its tallest buildings are only skeletons; fitting gravestones for the thousands who have perished here. The presence of radiation has somewhat lessened since the war, but its lethal byproduct remains; feral ghouls. Thousands of them. The high levels of radiation have seen fit to "bless" these unfortunate souls with the rotting of their minds and bodies; they now seek only to kill and devour living creatures.

Burlington holds very few survivors. Most of those who did not suffer the unfortunate fate of the rest of mankind were able to survive because of a bomb shelter, located deep within the city. Its proprietor is an always-drunk, repulsive, and almost insane man. The underground shelter is dirty, dark, and uncomfortable, but it's home. The shelter admitted more people in the seconds before Burlington went up in flames than it had intended to hold; food and water has had to be rationed. A few bunk beds line the back of the shelter -- intended for the invited guests -- while the walls are lined with cots and sleeping bags for the desperate ones who rushed inside during the last few minutes before the war.

A month has passed since the Great War, and it has been composed of a traumatizing silence. Not a soul has spoken to one another. The proprietor sits in a dark corner on the edge of the bunker, drinking away his liquor stores. The others spend most of their days rolled up in their sleeping bags and bunk-blankets; the cold from the outside has breached the shelter.

A fortunate few outside of the bunker are alive, but they might not be for long. For all the shelter's inhabitants know, not a single resident of Burlington is alive besides them. Those who are alone, in the dark of the outside world, won't survive without a group. It is imperative that they find the group before it is too late. Supplies in the shelter are dwindling. It is likely that the proprietor will soon force a few residents (if not all of them) out in the coming days; they will be forced to stroll into the fire and brave the toxic ruins of the old world.

Survivors:

OldRPG'sAreGood:

Spoiler

Name: Finn Huxley

Age: 37

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Adequate driver, however useless that is in the wasteland and a rather good fist fighter, in a bar brawl style combat at least. Also good at navigating in streets and can also do minor repairs rather well, in a Do-it-yourself mechanic fashion.

Appearance: Finn has dark brown hair with a hair line this is already escaping away from his forehead, which he likes to stylize by combing his hair towards the right temple. He isn’t a diligent shaver, so he has coarse brown stubble covering his cheeks and chin. Huxley’s body build is the regular bland mass of a middle aged man past his prime.

Eye color: Mossy green

Height: 5 feet and 9 inches (1, 75m)

Weight: 182 lb

Personality: Finn is a grown pessimist and otherwise quite melancholy, not being pleasurable company for the most time. He is also prone to dwell in the “golden” past, which he always sees as much better than the present.

Weapons: A pair of brass knuckles.

Clothing(/armor): A blue fleece shirt with black stripes that form squares, with the sleeves often rolled to the elbows. Huxley also wears faded jeans and common black leather shoes. On his head he has a dark blue flat hat.
Misc. Items: A brown leather wallet, a map of the U.S.A., keys to his apartment.

Previous Occupation: Taxi driver

Backstory: Born and raised in Burlington, Finn has never lived anywhere else, although he has traveled around northern America. As a boy, he was never good at school, although he was smart, if not intelligent. Years rolled and Finn ended up doing odd jobs instead of landing a permanent one. As the tensions around the globe began to escalate, Huxley thought of joining the military, but his mother spoke him out of those ideas.

Around these times Finn found himself a wife, even though he had been in that relationship for long before that. This was the push that made him seek any job that he might do full time, though he found nothing but the taxi drivers job. A few years passed, and Finn and his wife got a baby girl. This was the happiest time in Finns life, although he didn’t quite realize that then.

After having a child, Finns wife began to demand a better standard of life, and Finn wanted to oblige but couldn’t get a better job with global chaos mixing the employment markets up amongst other, more sinister things, like world war 3 that was seemingly brewing.

It was in the year 2077 when Finn and his wife got a divorce, which devastated Huxley mentally. His wife took their daughter with her and moved away, leaving Finn alone in Burlington. In the town an apocalypse nut had been constantly ranting about the end of the world which, in the end, turned out to be Finns salvation. For when the bombs hit the ground, Finn Huxley had made his way to this lunatic who had offered safety for all who would follow him. The man did not have a vault, but he had a shelter. A new beginning, in a new world.

Gingy:

Spoiler

Name: Skylar Violet Woodley

Age: 24

six: Female

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Sky possesses little to no skill with weapons, but this is mostly made up-for in her wit. She is very anolytical and can often perceive something that simply doesn’t look right before most of her comrades. She is very cunning and persuasive; weapons are often not needed in her endeavors. She somewhat knows how to fire her father’s pistol, but is intimidated by the weapon’s recoil and only uses it when she really needs to.

Appearance: Skylar has a unique complexion but it is a beautiful one, nonetheless. She is tall yet slender, and her long, wavy dirty-blonde hair very much complements her hazel eyes. Her skin is white but not exactly pale; it is somewhat apparent that she has spent some of her younger days in the sun because she holds a slight tan. Altogether, she is an attractive individual, although her tendency to be tacit around those she is unfamiliar with gives off a negative aura of sorts.

Eye color: Hazel

Height: 5’8”

Weight: 125 lb.

Personality: Despite her cunning and ability to manipulate, she is a kind and selfless person. Skylar is very warm, understanding, and forgiving. She finds it very easy to relate to others, which makes her a rather likable individual. With that being said, she can occasionally find the sudden desire to be alone for a little while. One thing that really stands out about Skylar is the fact that she doesn’t let the horrors of the new world affect her demeanor; she has mostly kept her old self intact. Whether she changes who she is to adapt to the wasteland is yet to be seen. Although she is tolerant of the new world, she misses the old one and is often nostalgic, finding comfort in old world books.

Weapons: Desert Eagle Pistol (75 rounds) and a pocketknife.

Clothing/armor: A red flannel shirt which is a little too big for her, but still fits nonetheless, a pair of jeans which have torn in places after extensive use, and a pair of black pre-war Chuck Taylor shoes.

Misc items: Her belongings are mostly unremarkable. However, Skylar will normally have a few books in her possession; she makes an effort to collect pre-war novels. She also has a leather-bound journal which she may occasionally be seen scribbling in.

Previous Occupation: College Student

Backstory: Skylar graduated high school in Burlington with high hopes of becoming an author. She moved far away from home, attended the University of Washington in Seattle, and graduated four years later with an English major. However, by mid-2077, she had been unsuccessful after months of job-searching and moved to Burlington to live with her father as his health declined. In mid-August, he passed away, leaving Sky with hardly anyone. Her mother was an alcoholic, and she had not spoken to her since her teenage years, and her brother James was stuck with her, determined in an ill-fated cause to help change her ways. Skylar stayed in Burlington for a while longer, just until she could sniff out a job opportunity in another city, but wound up liking the city. Skylar was in downtown Burlington when word reached the ears of the east that the west had been wiped off the map. She skittered from place to place, trying to find a willing shelter and stumbled across one in the final moments before Burlington was put to the torch. To say that she is lucky to be alive is an understatement.

Colonel Martyr:

Spoiler

Name: Robert Westford

Age: 30

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: (Some) small arms, speech, barter and a little survival.

Appearance: Brown combed back hair with a beard. (Imagine the Smooth Wave hairstyle and Rough Beard styles in Fallout 3/NV),

Eye color: Olive green

Height: 5'8

Weight: 147-150

Personality: Somewhat smart (SPECIAL intelligence of 6-7), knows how to survive but a bit reluctant to get into unfamiliar territory or situations. Has good intentions, gets lonely fairly easy. Nostalgic for the world now gone.

Weapons: M1911 and a 12 Gauge Shotgun and a Kitchen Knife for a last resort.

Clothing(/armor): Wears a trenchcoat over a plate roughly the length of his torso from an old appliance. His top and bottom are grey combat fatigues with a winter pattern he'd purchased from a army surplus store and a pair of combat boots. On his head he wears a combat armour helmet with a gas mask attachment (crudely made by Robert) In his bunker he wears a dress shirt and khakis with a pair of slippers.

Misc. Items: Carries a pack of cigs from his bunker reserves and a lighter (smokes in stressful situations.) Also wears a woman's locket around his family. They were in D.C. touring the White House when the bombs fell. Inside is a picture he had of his family taken for his wife. It's his last physical memory of life before the War.

Previous Occupation: Accountant at RobCo, knows basic hacking skills for low and medium encryption terminals.

Backstory: His life before the bombs wasn't very interesting. He worked at RobCo as an accountant for the East Coast division of RobCo's money books. His marriage was an average one but he was content in it. His wife always poked fun at his paranoia of Reds causing War. When he heard over GNN what had happened, he dived into his bunker and hid. Over an hour later, the bombs fell. He could hear them and he wept, the only life he knew, his average life. Now he lives a recluse, muttering musings and jokes to himself to keep himself company.

TheLoneRanger:

Spoiler

Name: Wyatt Jones

Age: 28

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: While not a brawny man, rather slightly above average in terms of musculature, Wyatt is tenacious in a fistfight and can throw-down with the best of them if only due to his heart. He's fully aware the role the environment and improvised melee weapons will play after the bombs. Therefore, he is capable, but by no means is he an overly skilled fighter. When it comes to firearms, he's a fair shot, though far from spectacular, rather he has more skill with a bow. Other than combat, Wyatt can scavenge and cook from scraps, which is invaluable in the world in which he now lives. Another skill he's attained the ability to sneak around potential obstacles and avoid detection. Many of these come from his love of the outdoors, before the war came.

Appearance: A rather tall man, Wyatt's muscle tone and size is that of a man used to running and climbing, certainly not of a man used to lifting heavy weight. Dirty, messy brown hair covers his head and a thick beard grows upon his lean face, shaving being far from important. His hands are rough, callused, used to handling rope and rock alike, while scars span from these hands to his wrists, thanks to reckless climbs.

Eye color: Blue

Height: 6 foot.

Weight: 201 pounds.

Personality: Once a happy, outgoing man with a great exuberance for life and friendship, Wyatt has become rather cold, an outsider even among those he knows. Now, he treats everyone with caution and will not trust them unless given a reason, but those that earn his trust can expect a sure, though rather stoic friend. He will speak and offer an opinion, otherwise he will certainly not be the most talkative or the center of attention, as he would before the bombs. His chief concern is survival, perhaps the safety of those he comes to care for. If threatened, Wyatt will not hesitate to end the threat himself. Though he's become cold in the aftermath of the war, he still holds a deep sense of honor and goodness, of doing the right thing. Thus, he will do what he considers just, whether it be saving a life, or anything of the sort.

Weapons: Managing to pick through houses as the world collapsed in the days preceding the bombs, Wyatt gathered a small set of weapons to prepare for the coming apocalypse, to hopefully aid in survival after the war. Among these:

1. An all-black Beretta 92, chambered for the 9mm round, taken from his former neighbor who was a known gun-nut, however he passed shortly before the panic. Jones happened upon his house while fleeing from his hometown in Maine. All ammo counted, about 40 rounds.

2. A wooden bow taken from home, one he'd used to feed himself once in the wild. It is an older bow, paired with wooden arrows, but Wyatt hopes to replace it with a compound bow and any metal bolts he should find. 7 arrows in all, they conserve ammo in spades by being retrievable.

3. A kukri, a machete-like blade of Nepalese origin. Jones' grandfather had served in a conflict like the Sino-American war and brought the blade home as a souvenir, after he passed, it was given to Wyatt who trained himself in its use as the chaos swept the States. Ever-present, moreso than even his pistol. Also used to skin what he kills.

Clothing/Armor: Wyatt wears old hiking boots, faded, patched blue jeans with a pad over the left knee, and a bulletproof vest over a dirty white t-shirt that has almost turned completely gray. A bandolier is strapped around his torso along with a small leather chest rig suitable for holding his kukri, a holster for his pistol hangs around his waist. He wears a duster over it all while traveling or when the temperature drops.

Misc. Items: An old gas mask, in alright condition, picked up on his travels. Around his neck is his grandfather's dog tags, which he holds dear and in his pants pocket a folded-up picture of his parents. And, perhaps most importantly, a backpack to carry whatever supplies he should find.

Previous Occupation: Wyatt had once been a simple garbageman, he rode on the truck and tossed the cans in, a less-than-glamorous job but it paid the few bills he had.

Backstory: Born to a hardworking father and a mouse of a mother, Wyatt grew up as most did in the years before the war. He worried about the normal things and the destabilizing world around him offered plenty to worry about aside from them. His father was a military man, that worked in administration in a small base near the town they called home, and he was far from comforting. The young boy was a rough-and-tumble sort and would always be full of scraqes and bruises. His grades were average, though he had a bright mind, and he managed to amass a trusty circle of friends which he spent all his time with in his adolescence and into high school itself. Getting into trouble became a hobby and so did fights with his strict father. Their personalities clashed, the boy fun-loving and his father stern, gruff. Their relationship was a turbulent one, filled with harsh words and bitterness. Once Wyatt graduated, he stagnated, as his father predicted. He'd developed a fondness for the outdoors as a boy and it stuck with him, leading him to retreat into the wilderness. He moved out, got a job as a garbageman, to his father's dismay, and lived off of nothing, in a small apartment. In reality, it was only a place to sleep at night, as he spent near all his free time in the woods, or else with his friends. He climbed the rocks, the trees, and ran through the forest. It provided him a playground, where he could simply enjoy the beauty of it all. But, he still had that good circle of friends with which he spent a fair amount of time. The world around him continued to strain, tensions between world powers swelling.

Wyatt managed a girlfriend in this time and soon, she replaced his friends, which he never meant for. She tried to reign him in, get him to focus on work and a career, but he simply wasn't that type of man. The girl, named Kate, stayed with him for years, as he played a desire to start a career. Though through these years, they fought and after a time, they separated, leading to depression for the man as his friends had grown away from him. He'd only ever loved Kate and her leaving took a heavy toll. These factors led to him moving out into the wilderness he loved so much, and staying there, feeding himself by his bow, until the rumors of the impending nuclear war came. He found his mother and father, said his goodbyes and, in the weeks before October 23rd, Wyatt traveled away from Maine, hoping to find a place to survive the coming catastrophe. He brought with him everything he held dear, among them a slight few mementos. Along the way he took from abandoned homes as the panic consumed the crumbling States and managed to find tools to survive, his previous outdoorsmanship proved invaluable. In time, he came upon the large city, called Burlington, in Vermont. Here, he heard of a man, mad, but promising safety from the war. Wyatt, never one to be a wiseman, quickly threw his lot in with the crazed survivalist. A decision that could've been disastrous, turned out save his life. But, the loss of his family, which he knew to be dead, his friends, and the only woman he'd ever loved caused the man to harden, withdraw. There stood an undeniable, unapproachable sadness and longing in him. Regret filled him as he thought of the times he'd cussed out his own father and ignored his mother, and how he let his friends become strangers. Wyatt, as strong as he was, felt broken. Now, he only hopes to survive the new world and maybe, just maybe, find some sort of redemption.

Vault Ninja:

Spoiler

Name: Hank Timmons

Age: 29

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Little bit of shooting skills, Repair, and Electrician skills

Appearance: Tall and well-built, his job keeps him in fairly good shape. He has shaggy looking brown hair that he doesn't bother to comb anymore and a beard from lack of shaving.

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 6' 1/2"

Weight: 196 pounds

Personality: Very friendly and social, tries his absolute best to appear perfectly fine and normal. Suffered a bought of depression and anxiety during the first few days, it was really fear that what he had done would be discovered.

Weapons: .357 Police Revolver - 31 Rounds

Clothing/Armor: Light blue dress shirt with grey slacks and scuffed black wingtips, blood stains on the front of his shirt and pants. A bullet proof vest - police issue, grabbed off a dead cop.

Misc Items:
-Crumpled pack of Camel cigarettes and a lighter
- His house and car keys along with a set of keys to the police station, no idea what they open

Previous Occupation: Electrician and small business owner

Backstory: Hank served two tours in Anchorage and was honorably discharged when he got hit with shrapnel from an artillery shell. Went to college with help from the G.I Bill and got a degree in electrical, moved back home to start his profession. He made good money and after a few years he took out a small business loan and opened up his own electric and hardware store in town.

The store was doing good and Hank was planning to retire from his electrician job, start running the store full time, maybe open another store somewhere else. Soon after their 5th wedding anniversary Hank found out his wife was cheating on him, he faked a business trip, told her he was going to a conference in Chicago and he'd be back in a week. He drove to the airport and parked his car there, taking a taxi to get back home.

He waited in the bushes outside, when the car pulled up he waited, giving them time to get started with what they were going to be doing. For what he was about to do he had to be sure. Hank stormed into the house and caught the to the act, he tied his wife to a chair and her lover to the bed, he grabbed a knife out of the kitchen and carved him up, making sure she saw every detail. When he was done he threw the knife in the sink and put a bullet in each of their heads, a neighbor must have heard what was going on because the cops were on him minutes after he finished the deed.

The night the bombs fell he was sitting in the back of a squad car being hauled off to the town lockup until the marshalls came to get him in the morning. An EMP from the bombs fried the circuits in the car and it swerved off into the woods, the guy driving was killed on impact. Hank climbed out of the back seat and used the officer's keys to unlock his handcuffs then grabbed his gun and pulled on the vest. He wandered down the road for a bit until he saw a man climbing into a shelter, the guy managed to see him and pulled him inside before the first shockwaves hit.

Magnus the Red:

Spoiler

Name: Dr. Ernest Solomon Hoffman-Frost, or Ernst as he prefers to be known.

Age: 59

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills:

Medicine – As a Family Doctor, Ernst is extremely well versed in Medical Practice, and has had a long career, in which he has doubled as a surgeon and if necessary, can utilise those skills again.

Guns – Ernst has his Grandfathers Walther P38, his grandfather joined the west German Army following its split after world war II and it has passed down the family to Ernst, who can shoot it to a reasonable degree of accuracy and repair it to a suitable standard. But only with that particular gun.

Speech – In order to get his patients to open up to him, Ernst has developed his oratory skills to what he considers a reasonable standard. In that he can start a conversation with someone and gradually get them to open up. As well as make his own deductions in the process.

Science – Ernst keeps himself up to date with scientific news, had subscriptions to various Science Journals and when possible, attended lectures. Mainly however this is in the biological spectrum of things, mainly the cutting edge of experimental medicine and whatnot. So in terms of hacking and robotics, he’s pretty much useless.

Appearance: Dark Brown Greying Hair, Clean Cut Style. Clean Shaven. Weather Beaten Skin. Wrinkles here and there. Wears Silver plated Rimless Glasses – He’s short sighted. Has a relatively good physique for his age, slightly round in some places. Looks like this.

Eye colour: Blue

Height: 5ft 8inches

Weight: 181lbs

Personality: Ernst likes to talk, he keeps up a rapport with his patients as he treats them in an attempt to put them at ease and this has flowed over into his life. He’s very patient, ever smiling and always ready to quote something if he feels the need to. He’s rather trusting, and more open to starting a conversation than most. A very open personality, though he can get angry if pushed and isn't open to second chances for everyone. Only for those he feels are genuinely repentant and/or deserving of it.

Weapons: Walther P38 – Heirloom from his Grandfather. One full magazine. Knows the basic operation of it and can repair it. But hasn’t ever really used it.

Clothing(/armour): Doesn’t have any Amour. Wears a Black three piece suit with a dark blue tie. Also has a Dark Grey Felt Trench Coat and a Dark Grey Fedora.

Misc. Items: Doctors Bag, contains various utensils. However it mainly contains items intended for family doctoring. Violin Case with one violin and violin stuff. Suitcase containing

Previous Occupation: Family Physician.

Back-story: Ernst was born to German parents in Munich, Bavaria but moved with his family to Burlington at the age of Three. Abraham has spent his life travelling back and forth to visit his German relatives and his American relatives, as such he speaks German rather well, albeit with the Resource Wars he hasn’t really spoken it for long conversations due to the fact travel was impossible to Europe. He hasn’t travelled to Germany since 2054 to be exact. He has a thick accent due to his parents speaking German and his upbringing with the language, but he adamantly and passionately considers English his mother tongue.

He became a Family Doctor, following in his Grandfathers footsteps. Got married, had a child, then was divorced in a rather loud divorce case, in which he lost custody of his child, but retained his belongings and all of his money. In order to supplement his income, he converted his spacious attic, moved most of his things into his attic, and rented out the rest of his house, a four bedroom, to a young couple and their newborn. He’d put up a notice in the local estate agents and he’d taken a liking to them and vice versa.

Since then he’s settled into a routine of attending work and then returning home to often change for going out to various local musical groups and other things that he’s involved in. When the sirens began to call out, Ernst had time to grab his Suitcase, Doctor’s bag and his treasured Violin before leaving his house. Ernst had managed to secure a place in a Vault, but as he prepared to shut the boot to his car, decided against going and walking back to his house, gave the ticket to the couple and their child, simply telling them to live.

Ernst walked into his living room, slipped on his fedora and trench coat, his Grandfathers Walther P38 in his pocket, and set out to face the end of ordered civilisation as bravely as he could. A small, sad smile on his face. Driving through the streets, he decided to visit the hospital he worked out and saw a fellow employee of the hospital. Following, Ernst hailed him with a shout and a wave and has since rode out the days in the Hospitals basemant with his fellow doctor.

disturbing:

Spoiler

Name: Lucy Farris

Age: 27

six: Female

Race: Japanese/Caucasian

Skills: Lucy can be very persuasive and has a natural talent for arguing. Her knack for arguing can be useful in talking the group out of potentially dangerous situations and getting better deals while bartering. She has a basic understanding of how firearms work but has never fired one herself but would be willing to learn. She also has a crash course level of knowledge in medicine and can patch up a minor wound if need be.

Appearance: Slight of frame and short of stature, Lucy’s physical prowess is in no way remarkable. She is not out of shape but her small size makes her a liability in any real hand to hand combat. Lucy has mostly Caucasian facial features but her eyes and complexion reveal her Japanese side. She usually keeps her long black hair in a ponytail and doesn’t focus too much on maintaining her looks since the bombs dropped. That being said, she is considered by most to be fairly pretty given the circumstances.
Eye color: Blue

Height: Five feet and one inch

Weight: One hundred and fifteen pounds

Personality: Lucy has an outgoing and bright personality. She tries to stay optimistic and makes it her goal to be well liked by as many people as possible. Lucy can manage to stay calm in most situations and has a talent for convincing people one way or another. She is slow to get frustrated but her peppy personality and unrealistic optimism has been known to irritate others. Her ambition can sometimes override her moral compass and she isn’t afraid to manipulate or lie to people if the need be.

Weapons: Kitchen knife

Clothing(/armor): Jeans with a long sleeve button up shirt and a jacket somewhat too big for her.

Misc. Items: A deck of cards, a small chess set, and a briefcase that she stores her belongings inside of.

Previous Occupation: Lawyer

Backstory: Lucy Farris was born in Keene, New Hampshire. Her father’s occupation required her to constantly be on the move and as such Lucy had a hard time finding friends as a child. Her Asian ancestry also made her the target of discrimination from an early age.

Lucy found that she had a talent for acting when she auditioned in a school play and used this foothold to develop social skills that she would perfect over the course of her life. As she grew up, she discovered that she had a knack for public speaking in general and was a skilled debater.

Her near perfect grades and wealthy family allowed for her to be accepted into Harvard. After she graduated, Lucy found a job in the district attorney’s office in Burlington, Vermont.
Before the bombs hit, all of Lucy’s immediate family had been accepted into a Vault Tech vault besides herself. She heard rumors of a man offering sanctuary for those that needed it. Fearing the imminent nuclear war, Lucy found the man and took refuge just a day before the bombs fell.

Doc Boots:

Spoiler

Name: Dr. Sloan Boots

Age: late 20’s

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Medicine, science, and speech. He is terrible with repairs and is no salesman.
While he is certainly not Rambo, his hand-eye coordination as a surgeon makes him fully capable of lining up the sights of that .22 magnum revolver on a man’s forehead from a reasonable distance. He is also excellent at trap shooting, skeet, and sporting clays. His favorite hobbies are hunting, sporting clays, and back-country backpacking. He spends all of his days off in the great outdoors.

Appearance: this https://www.flickr.c...02/14054984511/

Eye color: brown (bad vision without glasses or contacts): Has a year supply of contacts and 2 pairs of glasses

Height: 6’ 1’’

Weight: 175 lbs

Personality: Boots is an outgoing individual who can easily transition between social circles. His rugged attire and survivalist front allows him to relate with the local poor and wastelanders, while his strong intellect and academic background demand respect from even the highest of social circles. Doc is not heartless, but is also not a generic white knight. He is a big fan of karma and is a svcker for a sob story…. He is not cruel enough to ever turn down a patient in need that can’t pay as long as they are grateful for his help… When patients get snobby and demand free treatment as their basic right, Doc shows them the door. He is quick to remind them that “In a world where you don’t have a RIGHT to free food and shelter, you don’t have a RIGHT to free treatment. I am not your slave and will not tolerate being treated as one.”

Weapons: Colt AR-15 rifle (3 magazines and ~400 rounds);
12 ga. hunting shotgun (9 boxes (225 shells) of various sizes of birdshot, 20 slugs, 3 shells of 00 buck)
Ruger stainless single six .22 magnum revolver (accepts .22 LR as well). (100 rounds of .22 magnum, ~1000 rounds of .22 LR, 100 rounds of .22 rat shot)
Pocket knife & Buck skinning knife

Clothing(/armor): no armor. this: https://www.flickr.c...in/photostream/ or this as a change of clothes
https://www.flickr.c...in/photostream/

Misc. Items: 50 L hiking backpack, 15 L daypack with 2 L camel bak inside, several flashlights (large maglite and several pocket flashlights), several lighters, MSR Pocket Rocket stove, couple changes of clothes, collapsible rain jacket, Life straw water filter, first aid kit, TP roll, few batteries, ultralight hiking tent, tarp, ultralight sleeping bag in compression sack, bedroll, a few freeze-dried meals, small gun cleaning kit, toiletries kit.

Also in trunk: scrubs for work and doctor’s coat, doctors bag

Previous Occupation: podiatric surgical resident: was currently finishing up his residency in podiatric surgery when this all happened.

Backstory: Predicting that something terrible would soon happen, Sloan always kept a fully stocked hiking backpack, his firearms, and plenty of food/water in his trunk at all times. He would not travel with all of his gear for long distances, but it can all certainly be carried for up to 10 miles (uncomfortably: stinking shotgun and shotgun shells are the weight majority but he can't bare to part with them).

When the bomb sirens sounded, Sloan hauled all of his gear from his car into the hospital's pre-war underground bunker and has been surviving off of less than flavorful hospital food for months. When the radiation levels leveled off and hospital food ran low, he set off into the unknown. All he cares about now is finding his fiancé. His goal will be to follow the Appalachian Trail south to minimize radiation exposure (no point in nuking Appalachia with low population towns and mountains blocking blasts from spreading far). He believes he will find his fiancé in North Carolina.

Casey:

Spoiler

Name: Harrison Monroe (Most call him by his last name "Monroe")

Age: 36

six: Male

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Guns, Speech, Melee

Appearance: http://z5.ifrm.com/3...48419/image.jpg

Eye color: Hazel

Height: 5 foot 11 inches

Weight: 178 pounds

Personality: Monroe is a serious, tough, courageous, and head-strong man. Even in the face of danger, Monroe was trained to keep his cool and to eliminate the threat as quickly as possible, a trait not many officers have nowadays. He always feels the need to get things done as quickly as possible

Weapons: Mossberg 590 12 Gauge Shotgun, 2 flash bangs,

Clothing(/armor): Riot Armor, Riot Helmet and Mask (Riot gear in fallout exactly, except no trench coat)

Misc. Items: None

Previous Occupation: "Riot Control" Police Officer

Backstory: Monroe was a police officer before the war, he was in the one in charge of the riot squad. They were sent on this missions involving all riots that broke out, these riots occurred quite frequently in-fact during the war whether it be to protest war or simply because of the bad economy. Many Riots he didn't even care to figure out what they were about, he had one job. Stop them. He had a wife at home. He was at the police station when he heard on the news that china had started launching nuclear missiles. Monroe rushed out of the door with all his equipment on and took one of the police vehicles and tried to drive home. But it was to late and he saw bombs strike to the left of him. Monroe watched in awe as death rained down across the land. He got out of his car and looked to his left, a man was motioning him to come... he had a bomb shelter. Monroe had no choice, his wife was dead, and he couldn't help her.

Bananakiller3:

Spoiler

Name: Tessa Castello

Age: 24

six: Female

Race: Caucasian

Skills: Having undergone basic combat training from the Police Academy, Tessa has developed a solid proficiency with pistols. She also developed a keen sense of instincts and has garnered a considerable amount of strength. She is exceptionally likable and this makes her persuasive.

Appearance: Tessa is not an unfortunately plain woman, with an olive complexion and loose hazel curls. Her well-built figure, while fairly muscular, is slender, only a subtle hint of curves.

Eye color: Grey

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 120 lb.

Personality: Tessa is a bright, likable individual. Perhaps a little too optimistic. Her happy demeanor has been dulled by the current events.

Weapons: 9mm Pistol (150 rounds) and a Police Baton.

Clothing(/armor): A black dress shirt (Button-down, collared) -- obviously it was not originally hers -- and faded jeans.

Misc. Items: A worn, overused hair-tie, and a ballpoint pen.

Previous Occupation: Enrolled in a Police Academy

Backstory: Because Tessa was frightened about the prospect of a nuclear war, she requested admittance into the shelter prior to the great war and as the east coast went up in smoke, she entered the safety of the shelter.

Akala:

Spoiler

Name: Nathan “Hamlet” Hawke

Age: 19

six: Male

Race: American

Skills: Nathan doesn't possess too many skills honestly. He has drifted through his life and although he is reasonably intelligent and even somewhat knowledgeable of a variety of things he has never really been very skilled at anything. What he does now possess however is plenty of incentive to learn new skills and pretty much all the time in the world. From here on out it's pretty much do I die, so do he will.

Appearance: Nathan isn't particularly handsome nor is he particularly ugly. He has a plain looking and somewhat chubby face which also has a couple of months worth of hair growth on. Mainly in the moustache, chin and side-burn areas. He has kind looking brown eyes that almost have that innocent doe look to them at times and somewhat thick yet shaped looking eyebrows. He has average length and messy dark brown hair that comes about half way down his forehead and often comes down over his ears in a scruffy fashion. Build wise Nathan is nothing special either. His weight comes from about 40% muscle and 60% fat. The lean muscle on his arms, legs and back combined with his broad build stop him from looking too overweight but he has enough fat on him that it wouldn't be accurate to call him athletic or average, nor would anyone honestly.

Eye Colour: Brown

Height: 5'6?

Weight: 185lb

Personality: Nathan is a nice guy most of the time. He is kind, thoughtful, empathetic and easy-going. These personality traits make him extremely easy to get along with the majority of the time but on the flip side they can also make him a bit of a push-over. That's not to say Nathan can't be openly angered or frustrated by someone, he can be and when he is he typically acts very impulsively; shocking most with his completely uncharacteristic lack of thought towards the situation. He is smart and believes in helping people when he can and yet he is rather cynical about most situations and can be a bit of a downer. Overall Nathan is a complex individual whose only certainty in life is that other people know him a tiny bit less than he knows himself, which is remarkably little admittedly.

Weapons: M1 Garand (Three Clips – 24 Rounds)

Clothing:
Rectangle Eyeglasses
Black Sweater
Gray T-Shirt
Blue Jeans
White Sneakers

Misc. Items:
Backpack
Variety of Books
Journal
Bedroll
Gas Mask

Previous Occupation: Store Assistant

History: As has already been mentioned Nathan pretty much just drifted through his life and he is relatively young so as you can imagine his life thus far isn't exactly an exciting tale to tell. He grew up in Burlington; being found as a six month old baby in Union Station. The man who found him took him to the police station which later lead to one of the officers there officially adopting the baby boy. Growing up Nathan was loved and cherished by the couple who had thought they would never have a child. Nathan grew up well too, despite his adoptive father dying at the age of 52 due to a heart attack and leaving Nathan a young boy with a single mother. Nathan never did very well in school due to his almost complete lack of discipline. He was intelligent however and did love to read; later being nicknamed Hamlet by his at the time best friend for his often crazy and stupid actions that were usually due to his boredom and impulsiveness. This was despite him being renowned for his calmness and intelligence. A similarity or two was all that was needed for the nickname to stick apparently. Upon leaving school and having not exactly prospered Nathan found himself a local job as a store assistant; hoping to save up as much money as possible to travel and gain some worldly experience. Unfortunately the end of the world came first. Nathan tried his best to get his mother to try to survive with him but the woman's will had come to it's end. All she wanted to do was sit by her love's grave and wait to join him. She did convince Nathan to carry on however and a while later he came across the madman and his group and decided to join them; having little to no other choice

Rules:

-No metagaming. If you have knowledge outside of your character about a topic, your character won't unless they learn it themselves.

-No godmodding. There are some tough folks in this RP, but there becomes a point when endlessly killing without receiving a scratch gets old.

-It is definitely not a good idea to stray from the group. The group might split up into sub-groups for different situations, but not for elongated periods of time. Your character will most likely die if they venture alone for too long.

-Good grammar is key!

-If you are emoting a conversation or situation with another roleplayer, and they go under the radar for a while and don't post, you are allowed to assume that the situation happened and move on; they can address it later.

-Inactive folks can bounce back in at any time, but once someone goes inactive, it's likely that their character's presence will be ignored until they come back.

-OOC does not belong in this thread. It belongs in the http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1499728-the-wasteland-interest-checkooc/

-Not really a rule, but I strongly urge people to click on the "world we knew" link. It is a great theme song for this RP, in my opinion.

» Sun May 04, 2014 6:46 am

Skylar Woodley - The Shelter

Skylar scribbled into her leather-bound journal, half-confined in her tattered sleeping bag. Winter was soon approaching and the nights had grown ever-colder. She looked out across the hallway-shaped, lantern-lit shelter. The others were not behaving much differently than her. For a time, she had truly wondered if the others had grown mute in the days following what she liked to call "End Time". Surprisingly, over the past week, the utter silence that defined life after End Time had somewhat lessened. Skylar had been able to discern a few of the residents mumbling quietly to each other, but that was as far as social life in the shelter had reached.

The journal that Skylar held on her lap was the home of raw, unstructured thoughts, crudely translated by pen. She shielded it from the others. If a person besides her -- someone who did not understand her thoughts -- took hold of the journal, it would be the source of ridicule and perhaps shock. No matter who cared to admit it, each soul in the bunker had been traumatized by End Time, and each person had a different way of dealing it. Sky's was the art of translating her train of thought into plain sight. The denizens of the shelter, however, were an enigma to her, except for one man; the madman who ran the place.

The proprietor of the bomb shelter was repulsive, to say the least. He was predictable, yet foul. He was the only person Skylar had interacted in the past month, and the interactions she had with him were only out of necessity; he organized food and water rations and assigned the shelter's residents to sleeping spots. He wasn't hard to understand. He spent his days in a dark corner in the back of the shelter, sitting on an old world lawn chair and taking swigs of liquor.

Skylar smelled her blue flannel shirt. She smelled awful. Over the first week or two following the Great War, the proprietor had allowed the residents to wash their clothes in a tub of water, but since supplies had begun to dwindle, he had forbidden it. By extension, the entire shelter began to smell repulsive due to being a home to eight whom had not bathed since the great war nor washed their clothes in weeks.

"Hmm..." whispered Skylar as she began to write again. She was at a loss. She had memorized every flaw of the roof of the shelter in the past month; a pathetic passtime, to say the least. She looked out at her bunker-mates, most of which were wrapped in sleeping bags or lying on their bunks lifelessly. Skylar proceeded to casually sketch the man nearest to her in her journal -- the man who had only spoken once, but mentioned casually that he was a policeman of sorts.

» Sun May 04, 2014 12:38 am

Wyatt Jones - The Shelter

Drip...drip...drip...

He swore he could hear the dripping of water, somewhere. Beside him, yes it was beside him, was it beside him? Wyatt Jones shook his head, the silence had been welcome and comforting at first, now, though, now it got to him. After weeks of utter lifelessness, the shelter had seen some talk, whispers amongst the others. But, he'd had no part and had drowned it out with his thoughts. A bad idea it turned out, as now the silence drove him to hear things. Still, Wyatt maintained his quietness. He drew the folded-up picture from his pocket and opened it, running a thumb over the surface of it. His father, stern-faced, his mother's eyes shining. It had been them years ago, when he and his father still spoke. Scratching his beard, the man felt the pings of longing again. He missed them and now they were gone. Dead, burned to crisps. Instinctively, a hand went for the dog-tags around his neck, he grabbed them when he felt the most pain. Wyatt's grandfather had always supported him, no matter how much his own father chided, and the two had spent many good years together. The old man was jovial, wise, caring. What Jones wouldn't do to have him back for just a few minutes.

Glancing about, his icy blue eyes scanning the shelter without compassion, the man saw what he'd been left to live with. Old men, most of them, older than himself anyway and a few women. Grand, the rest of his life would be spent living with them, relying on them. However bitter and cold he'd become, Wyatt knew that he would have to work with these people to survive what had come of the damned War, he was no fool. But hell if he wasn't going to be skeptical of whatever skills they had.

He soon returned to his own little world, covered in an old sleeping bag, duster thrown over it, he reached for his backpack and the jerky he'd stowed away for himself. Before the bombs, more than a month ago, he'd managed to make some and had been rationing it to himself since. The supply ran low now, but he enjoyed having it, it calmed him and well, it wasn't a damned MRE. He'd had better squirrels off the ground than what sat inside those things. After taking a small bite of the jerky, he took careful steps to ensure nobody saw him and made a fuss. Once it was gone, he simply eased back, against the wall, and watched those around him.

» Sun May 04, 2014 5:54 am

Finn Huxley - The Shelter

The damp makeshift bunker wasn't the pleasurable place to live. The thing was, it was the only choice or at least the only one Finn knew of. The month that had gone by after the bombs fell was filled with his sullen silence which had only worsened after the End. Knowing that your love, your child and pretty much everyone you knew were probably dead had its way with the mind and social behavior.

Huxley sighed amid these morbid thoughts and continued nibbling a small, dry biscuit. The owner of this place was getting weirder with each passing day. He seemed to speak with himself, drink more than his fill and glare at the "residents". Finn was used to just glaring back at him, but recently there was something behind those eyes. Anger. Hate. Madness. Danger.

Otherwise, the people in the shelter seemed okay to Finn, though he had not bothered to get to know them, expect for their names. Many of them seemed to be much more important people than him.

Though I figure that after the bombs fell, the only fact that matters is that we all bleed the same... Finn thought, finishing his little snack.

Looking at the others made Finn wonder how badly he himself had prepared for the End. While he had only a pair of brass knuckles and nothing in the way of supplies, save for the things the owner had granted him and the others. Huxley knew he wouldn't survive a week outside, while some here might. Some had the looks of hunters or some such outdoor men, while other might have been policemen once.

Finn coughed a few dry crumbs from his throat and tried to look for a drop of water or any drink. Though he couldn't get any from the shelves, the owner would come screaming down on him for sure. Instead, he turned towards some great survivalist kind of guy who was moving around, a man with a weird sword or more of a machete, and asked with a hoarse voice:

"Hey you... Yeah, you. Could you spare some water? My throat's damn dry."