Name: Self explanatory, what's their name, nicknames can be included as well
Age: Self explanatory, your characters age, try to keep it 18 and up
Race: Self explanatory, no feral ghouls or other normally hostile races, civilized ghouls and a super mutant every now and then is fine though
Karma: Your character's general karmic standing, are they more of a good guy, bad guy or just amoral?
Personality: Tied to karma, the details of how they conduct themselves and what kind of person they are
Occupation: Not entirely necessary, maybe you're a mercenary, an NCR soldier, or a bum, the choice is yours
Skills: General skills your character possesses, think of this as a combination of the SPECIAL and other systems in Fallout, are they perceptive? Strong? Good with explosives? Are they good at cards and love scamming people? Are they a skilled tracker? Anything and everything you can think of, just keep it reasonable, no over the top abilities and don't have too many either
Appearance: What your character looks like, can have any sort of clothing you can come up with, just don't go giving a Ranger some Legion armor for absolutely no reason, doesn't have to be in game clothing either
Weapons: Keep limited for now, you can have a long arm, side arm, and a back up, characters using melee weapons and the like will have their equivalents, such as a sword, knife and perhaps a set of throwing knives or the like. Just keep it toned down.
Bio: Your character's background, feel free to be as detailed as possible and flex your writing muscle
_
Name: Klaas Van Daal
Age: 30
Race: Human
Karma: Neutral
Personality: Generally somewhat self centered, or at least seemingly so, Klaas is relatively amoral and does things either because they benefit him or he enjoys it. Outside of that he isn't too optimistic, expecting humanity to die out at any moment, and not taking anyone very seriously. Klaas is a firm believer in sticking to one's decisions as the only true sign of strength, rather than shrinking away from them and the consequences they bring about, and that acceptance of the fact that everything one experiences in life is their fault and only happens because they allow or cause it to is the only true way to view life.
Otherwise Klaas is a relatively calm individual, able to communicate in a relatively civil manner with nearly anyone, most likely because he doesn't take anyone seriously enough to be upset by them, though he does look down on those that don't follow his own "moral" code for lack of a better word and will freely share his opinions without fear of others thoughts or actions.
Occupation: Jack of all trades, essentially, though he often works as a mercenary usually for caravan companies but anyone willing to use a hired gun, also known to do bounty hunting work on the side, or even act as pure hired muscle for less reputable characters.
Skills; Klaas is essentially a self taught hunter, tracker and gunman, having honed his skills over time spent out in the wasteland and in his profession of choice, as well as having picked up a knack for repairing things, weapons in particular and a good business sense, spending most of his time trying to get as much out of people as he can, and dealing with caravans, he's picked up a few things about making money. Klaas' skill with anything not involving conventional firearms is limited, all he knows is laser weapons are pointed and shot like normal weapons, while melee and unarmed fighting simply aren't his thing he's managed to master the use of his push dagger. Also possesses rudimentary survival skills.
Appearance: 5'11'', Caucasian with a fair complexion and light brown hair starting to show signs of graying randomly dispersed, though some is gathering on the left side of his head starting at the middle of his side burn and moving back along the side of his head, has a scar on his face running from the outside end of his left eyebrow diagonally down through his cheek toward his chin, as well as several other less noticeable scars, tends to wear an old duster over a black light button up long sleeve shirt which itself is over a dark blue short sleeve shirt, beat up old jeans, combat boots and fingerless gloves, also has a pair of goggles usually kept resting atop his head.
Klaas is somewhat taller than average but is otherwise not amazingly built, possessing average dimensions and build he is however in shape, both as a requirement for surviving in a harsh post-apocalyptic world and as a way of staying fighting fit should he need to do any heavy lifting during one of his jobs. All in all Klaas is has above average strength and endurance due to his fitness.
Weapons: Carefully taken care of and customized hunting rifle with a new stock, barrel and other high quality, relatively unused, extra durable parts, a high capacity non-removable magazine, and even a bayonet lug though Klaas lacks a bayonet for it, a less customized but equally taken care of 9mm pistol that has all of its parts replaced or repaired to maintain a high degree of reliability, its only real upgrade being the extended magazines Klaas uses, and a simple push dagger with an inscription on either side of the blade reading "Iustia" and "Poena" respectively.
Bio: Klaas was born into the post-apocalyptic ruins of Cleveland, Ohio, and lived a large portion of his life there and in the Midwest in general and quickly learned to fight t survive. It was in this semi-chaotic, horrible existence that Klaas learned to distrust and hate everyone else, becoming a morally grey, self-sufficient wastelander. It was also there that Klaas learned the skills he used to survive were also in demand with the more civilized people around the area and quickly started to work for whoever was willing to pay, killing on their behalf without hesitation if that was what it came to, but eventually a series of unfortunate events prompted Klaas to take to the open road and over a number of years made his way west, ending up in the Mojave where he made a name for himself as well, and now as before works for whoever pays the most.
It was in Ohio that Klaas first learned how to survive, at first doing so like so many others before and after him, learning what he could from wherever he could however he could and putting it to the test every day in a fight for survival, at first only really having his family and a loose group of wastelanders who had settled in a small area of the city together. It wasn't long before that semi-stable life was destroyed however and Klaas was forced to fend for himself entirely, having already learned the horrors of the post-apocalyptic world at a young age this only served to temper the iron in the forge, just as the great factories and mills of Cleveland once had for generations. This would also serve as the beginning of Klaas' current mental state and out look, deeming everyone's fate a direct result of their own action or inaction, and accepting it as inevitable in its own way he simply moved on where most would have likely died inside and crumbled. Instead Klaas emerged stronger than ever and made a name for himself when he started working as a hired gun at a local mill turned fortress being run by one of the more powerful factions in the region, working for them regularly over time as he started to work for others as well. It wasn't until an unfortunate night some time later that Klaas would be forced to leave his home, a mysterious and chaotic night to this day most couldn't make heads or tails of, though many had their own opinions and some even believed rather strongly in them; Klaas never revealed much about himself to others after hitting the road, but avoided that subject in particular, only willing to say that the Cuyahoga river had once again raged in the night with the fiery fury it once had in pre-war times according to wasteland legend.
3/15/2012 . Edited 4/11/2012 #1 ReportHello there. ^^ I hope this is good. Let me know if anything needs to be altered, and I'll be happy to do so.
Name: Jackson Vann (goes by Jax)
Age: 25
Race: Human
Karma: Neutral (leans towards good most of the time)
Personality: Jax likes to pretend that he's a loner, but the reality of the matter is that he actually enjoys being around other people and fairs a lot better when he isn't alone. He does take quite a bit of stock in appearing strong in public so that he can avoid getting ambushed in the Wastes. He's usually somewhat laid back, but he does get agitated if he has a run of bad luck or gets backed into a corner and is often rather theatic both with sarcasm and humor. While he doesn't really enjoy violence and usually talks his way out of a fight as often as he can, he isn't opposed in the least to killing for caps. Along with being fairly claustrophobic (he panicks in caves), he's secretly quite paranoid and doesn't like the idea of dying in the least little bit. He won't drink enough to get drunk and often has trouble sleeping unless he has a locked room or a person he trusts nearby.
Occupation: He likes to call himself a bounty hunter, but he hardly ever differentiates between clients. He'd be just as likely to work for slavers as he is to work with "nicer" organizations. He does have a soft spot for the Followers of the Apocalypse, though, and refuses to take work that would directly impact them negatively.
Skills: He's decent with two-handed guns like rifles and the like and lockpicking, but his real skill lies with words. Having an inborn knack with words, he picked up a bit on reading body language from the Followers and their books, which he often uses to try and intimidate or read people. He can work a handgun, but he's about average with those, and his melee and hand-to-hand skills are more akin to a kid randomly swinging around a baseball bat without any real aim.
Appearance: He's about average height (5'9") and has a fairly athletic build that's good for running. He's Caucasian and somewhat tan from travelling out in the sun. His hair is somewhat long and dark blonde, and he usually wears it in a ponytail at the back of his neck that stops around his mid-back, and his eyes are green. His eyes are light blue and somewhat sensitive to light. He usually wears dark sunglasses, a black hat, taller black boots that are somewhat thin to make running easier, a tan long coat, a white button shirt, dark brown vest that's a bit worn, and black trousers. He occasionally wears a fairly warm red scarf during the nighttime if the weather allows. If not, he keeps it with him in case of a windy day so he can avoid breathing in lung-fulls of dust.
Weapons: He absolutely adores his modified Hunting rifle (has a scope) and will use it in long-range combat and carries on his back outside of combat. He carries a 10mm pistol for closer combat as well. In case he runs out of bullets, he has a machete also strapped to his side even though he isn't' very good with it (it's more for show and emergencies because his idea of melee fighting is randomly swinging and praying).
Bio: Growing up as a tribal in one of the more violent tribes on the Mojave, Jax was exposed early on to violence and death where he gained his general apathy for committing violent acts in the name of survival (later on, he would equate having caps with survival). The children of the tribe were often pitted against one another in brutal contests to "better prepare them for the reality of the Mojave." He learned at a young age how to work a variety of guns and developed a knack for talking his way out of rough situations.
When he turned seventeen, his tribe was attacked by the Legion, and chaos erupted. During the fighting, he abandoned his tribe and fled into the wastes (and adamantly denies that he feels guilty over it). Unfortunately, he hadn't had enough time to bring anything with him besides a pistol, and he nearly fell prey to dehydration. For the first time, his luck pulled through, and a band of Followers making their way to an outpost happened across him. He convinced them that he would ward off any would-be attackers when he recovered as long as they helped him out. The Followers agreed, and he began working as a bodyguard for Followers doctors, taking up the nickname Jax in place of his given name.
Around the time he turned twenty-one, the Followers had gathered a few other hired guns, and Jax went on his way to make a living. He found a knack for bounty hunting and the odd mercenary job. He currently works around the Mojave while taking the occasional trip to visit the Followers in Freeside.
3/27/2012 #2 ReportSorry to double-post, but I came up with another character, if that's okay.
Name: Cathleen Jones
Age: 28
Race: Human
Karma: Good
Personality: Cathleen is fairly somewhat reserved at first glance, though she does tend to be much more expressive when the shooting starts. She often walks a fine line between being a scientist and a doctor, occasionally having to remind herself that patients are by no means as cooperative as machinery. Having spent a good portion of her life researching and doing surgical procedures—mostly with unconscious patients—she isn't exactly good with emotions or other people. While she's difficult to embarrass, she does tend to get somewhat flustered when it comes to trying to understand or get along with people she doesn't naturally click with.
Other than that, she really does care about her patients, and she does have a bit of a soft heart. However, she isn't a very skilled fighter, and she'd much rather run from danger than head right into the middle of it.
Occupation: She used to work as a doctor and researcher at an outpost near New Vegas before Fiends raided the place, stole medical supplies, and burned the building to the ground. She's currently looking for work.
Skills: She's a skilled hacker and a good doctor and quite the intelligent and well-read (at least for the wasteland) woman. Her skills with medicine range from patching up wounds to treating infections. If she has the right tools and some assistance, she can perform moderately complex surgeries. However, she has no skill with tribal remedies and relies almost exclusively on pre-war medical supplies. Other than that, she's moderate with explosives.
Appearance: Cathleen is a fairly tall woman with a decent amount of curve to her. She's fairly pale and often wears long sleeves to prevent herself from burning when she goes out for an extended trip. Her hair is a fiery red and is quite curly. She usually wears it back in a ponytail when she's working, and only really lets it down when she goes to sleep. She also keeps a pair of glasses in her pocket that she wears when reading or working on a research project. Her eyes are hazel, and she has afaint dusting of freckles. She usually wears a pair of dark dress pants, a red button shirt, a white lab coat, and dark boots, but she always secretly longs to wear a nice set of pre-war clothes for some occasion or another.
Weapons: She carries around several frag grenades and a couple of plasma mines as well as a knife that she saves for a last resort.
Bio: Cathleen was born to a pair of researchers who specialized in studying and salvaging pre-war robotics and technology. For the most part, they did their best to not side with any particular faction, but that idea was destroyed when the NCR began to take more and more land until they had either had to abandon their current research and traverse the dangerous Wastes with their infant daughter or agree to join. With little choice, they fell under the flag of the bear and adjusted to the new chain of command.
When Cathleen was six, her mother took ill from and passed soon after, leaving the young girl and her father on their own. Cathleen began her studies in medicine years later while learning about robotics and computers from her father in his free time. She became rather skilled in both practices, but she often dumbed down her skills in public as to not draw the attention of the NCR.
When she turned twenty-six, her father died, and she took up a job offer near New Vegas. She hired a mercenary and made her way to her new station. She rather enjoyed the two years she spent there and was rather upset when the place was destroyed. She's now looking for work, and has heard of a team heading towards Nellis… She's decided to try and market her skills as a medic and hacker in order to hire on.
4/2/2012 #3 ReportThose both look pretty good, though you could've just edited your first post to add the second character. Sorry for the wait, but feel free to post when you're ready.
4/6/2012 #4 ReportName:James "Deadpool" Vega
Age: 23
Race: Human
Karma: Bad Karma
Personality : Hes had enough of being pushed around his whole life by Raiders and Slavers. Now hes pushing back.
Occupation : Hes a Courier Skills: Hes faily skilled in medicine having had to patch himself up, has an almost fanatical love of sniper rifles but is skilled with a combat knife he has strapped to his thigh,hes also rather sneaky and has learned to survive in the wastes. Also has a knack for cards and roulette.hes faily stong and perceptive average intelligence and cahrisma but high luck fair endurance.
Apperance: He wears Desert Ranger armor with a knife harness on his chest.
Weapons:Dragunov Sniper Rifle,Combat Knife and Set of 10 throwing knives contained in harness on his chest.
Bio: The son of Poor settlers in goodsprings he was barely an adult when the Courier assembled a militia. His parents where killed in the battle and he had to scrape out a living by himself. He met up with the courier and demanded blood moey for his parents' death the Courier gave him two thousand caps. It wouldnt bring back his parents but it would get him a Dragunov a Combat Knife he nicknamed Mr. Stabby and some throwing knives. After that he wandered not having a true home to return to yet having no goal in mind.Eventually he resolved to kill every Powder ganger, slaver and raider including women and children.So he ventured forth killing as he went. Eventually he drifted to the Vegas strip attracted by the tales of overnight fortune. There he found out he had a knack for cards and ended up almost having a casino in debt to him. It didnt last minutes after exiting the casinoa cupple of "random thugs" attacked him. He killed them then he tracked down ther bosses and killed them and their families.
6/11/2012 . Edited by Seifer Almasy 911, 6/12/2012 #5 ReportLooks alright, edit it so the first half isn't all one big block and you're good to go. So far not much has happened. Crimson Caravan sent a caravan out to Nellis and we haven't quite reached it yet, you could be one of the hired guns protecting it if you want. Feel free to post whenever you're ready, however you decide to enter.
6/12/2012 #6 ReportAlright, got it for ya. Also, forgot to mention this but could you add what he actually looks like in addition to what he's wearing?
6/12/2012 #8 Reportit said that a moderator edited my post i can no longer edit but he has medium length blond hair slightly tanned skin and a scar that goes through his right eye but hie his head is usually hidden by the desert ranger helmet.
6/12/2012 #9 ReportWeird, don't remember that stopping people from editing it on their own. Anyway, thanks.
6/12/2012 #10 ReportName: Pierce (never learnt his second name)
Age: 29
Race: Human
Karma: Neutral (leaning heavily towards Evil)
Personality: Pierce's time in the Legion has desensitized him to violence, and has made him borderline psychotic. He is very pessimistic and sarcastic, although being fun and games most of the time. He is capable of taking things seriously, but he tries to turn these things into a challenge for himself. He is quite selfish, and if he helps you it is usually for his own gain. He hates the Legion with a passion, but is also very cynical of the NCR. He can sometimes be charitable, especially if he sees someone in the same situation he has been in. He rarely ever looses his cool, and could be called arrogant. He theorises that most people are evil, greedy and are the scum of the earth, due to what he has seen in the Legion and the Sierra Madre, but that there is some good in the world. He seems to disdain himself as much as he does to other people, due to his proffesion as a mercenary and killer.
Occupation: Mercenary/Treasure Hunter
Skills: Being trained by the Legion, Pierce is talented with an array of weapons, being best using guns and melee weapons. Prolonged periods of isloation have taught how to take care of his equipment and himself, and is a talented survivalist and knows the ins and outs of guns well. He is very good at keeping quiet, and is a good tracker.
Appearance: Has lightly tanned skin, and stands at 5"7'. He has black hair, green eyes and a slight beard. He wears an old hooded jacket with white button up shirt underneath. He has a light weight bullet proof vest over the top of his shirt. He wears tattered old trousers and boots. He has leather pads on his shoulders, wrists and shins. He wears a rucksack, and has a sheath for his machete on his back. He has fingerless gloves. He also has a black bandana. Sometimes, he wears a gas mask salavaged from a dead Ghost Person when in irradiated or unbreathable territory. When he is "hunting", he wears no shoes.
Weapons: Machete, .45 Pistols, Bow (am I allowed to give him a Chiense Assualt RIfle as well, or would that be going overboard?)
Bio: Pierce was born into Caesar's Legion, meaning he was trained to fight from birth. However, unlike most of the other children, he knew his mother closely, one of the slave women who managed to make contact with her son while he was training one day. Every night after, he would go to meet his mother, who tried to convince him to run away from the Legion. However, he was torn between his mothers words and the teachings that were drilled into his skull by his father, his own trainer, everyday. When he was sixteen, he was made to fight against other trainees and slaves, partially for the other officers enjoyment. However, when his own mother was pulled out of the cages for him, putting him in a fight he would invitably win, he threw down his weapons and refused to fight. His father, enraged, walked into the arena, knocked him down and killed her himself. In a fit of anger, Pierce attacked his father and killed him, taking his machete and stabbing him through the heart. As punishment, the Legion decided to execute him. However, he didn't go quietly. He tried to escape, but in the end he was shot in the stomach and he fell into Lake Mead. He would of died if he hadn't been dragged out by a group of traders. After being patched up, he travelled with the traders for a while as a guard, his experience in the Legion making him a valuable asset when dealing with raiders. The traders supplied him with weapons from there travels; a pair of .45 Pistols from New Caanan, a broad machete, and Chiense Assualt Rifle from the Wastleland. Soon, he left the traders to travel for his own pursuits, becoming a bounty hunter and assassin.
However, at some point during his pursuits he went treasure hunting for weapons and other technology. After travelling through a collapsed underground tunnel, he found himself at everyones favorite hell on earth, the Sierra Madre Casino. For a long time, he survived there, evading the Ghost People and learning to survive with what little he had. As he ran out of bullets, he crafted a make shift bow with home made arrows, all coat with poisons for taking out the Ghost People. Soon, he was as much as a ghost as them, even tearing off one of there gas masks so he could breathe easier. Eventually, he managed to find his way back to the wasteland, a changed man. The prolonged islolation had taught him that he only had to look after himself, and he developed a rather pessimistic view of people in general; he had seen more than a few survivors in the Madre kill each other for the "treasure". He then began to wander the land, doing what he pleased and looking for some purpose in life.
6/18/2012 #12 ReportLooks good, but no assault rifle if you keep the bow, you can pick it up later one way or another if you want. All the same, we're with the Crimson Caravan on our way to Nellis to do some trading, haven't reached it yet. Best bet is probably to have Pierce already be a part of the group of hired guns, just introduce him some how, maybe read over the few other posts there've been.
6/18/2012 #13 ReportName: Charlie "Blossom" Marshall
Age: 21
Race: Human
Karma: Good, but more just a nice guy compared to a savior.
Personality: Charlie is as much as kid as he is a man. He enjoys to joke around, with a nice sense of sarcasm and insults, but kept rather lighthearted. He is usually nice, being kind to almost everyone he meets, a rather foolish way to conducts oneself in the wasteland. But, on the more adult side, he has a good sense of duty and dedication, as he worked in the West Side militia even after several wounds. He has given mercy to people several times, as killing isn't really enjoyable though a good boxing match can be fun. In one of his more interesting traits, he has a problems with women, ranging from him not fighting them to him not talking to them.
Occupation: Former Farmer and Militia member.
Skills: He is good at fighting with firearms, and better than average with his fists. A brawl is every bit as complex as a gunfight. He is a good cook, as in West Side you only have a few resources you can depend on and you got to make those work. He is good at convincing, not to due to a charming look or an intimating appearance, but in the way he wears clothing, has a trace of southern accent and is simpleminded. He is more like your neighbor than a charming rogue. One rather odd skill is that he has practiced his quick draw on both his firearms.
Appearance: He is of average height, 5'7". with a slim figure. He was not built for the kind of work he does. His hair is amber, like the belly of a radroach. His eyes are deep and beady, exhibiting a misty grey. His eyes are large, usually encompassing his feelings with expressions. He has a distinct scar on his back. He wears a cotton white shirt, complete with a few blood stains, He wears a leather vest, hardened for armor purposes, on his chest and a strap across that so he can carry his shotgun.
Weapons: A caravan shotgun and a .357 revolver.
Bio: Charlie was born into West Side to his farmer father and his mother, who was supposedly a desperado, but she died during the birth of him. His father taught him all he knew, about farming and jack squat else. He learned a lot of basic knowledge and the Followers of the Apocalypse, and many of the kids of West side would flee to Freeside from time to time, seeing the ultimate leaders of cool, the Kings. Life was easy and simple. Get in a little brawl, play a few jokes, then go home and help Dad with his crops.
Things started to pick up when he joined the West Side militia. Maybe it was thanks to his mother genes, but part of him was not contempt with crops. He wanted to fight. He was trained to fight by a few veterans and began to fight to protect his home. In his time, he was shot a few times, nothing fatal, stabbed in the arm, fixed in a few weeks, burned, the mark still exists, and cut, a scar still resides on his back. The most notable thing he can say was once in a tough fight he got desperate. As a witness described it "He charged into gunfire and bludgeoned three fiends to death with a lead pipe.
Things got great for Charlie after that. People thought he was a hero. He was taken to the Old Mormon Fort to get his wounds fixed up. There the Kings were so impressed he was granted an honorary membership. People began talking about him, his daily nuka cola was given free of charge, and his once embarrassing childhood nick name of "Blossom", which was named because his dad grew plants, was soon forgotten. Hell, at one point even Radio New Vegas mentioned his story. From time to time, they accidentally repeat the story, and if you can find Charlie, you'll see the biggest grin in your life.
When the N.C.R took over, things got peaceful. The use for the militia was fading. Charlie soon found himself working with the N.C.R. and their farms. He did good, using the experience his father taught him. Things looked good. Like Charlie would've found a good life. But one night he made some comments about the N.C.R, and how they weren't as great as everyone thought they were. West Side wanted to be independent, and for good reason. They were fine, they didn't want all these taxes bankrupting them. The N.C.R replaced his him, giving his field to a more loving farmer, and now Charlie is looking for a job.
7/17/2012 . Edited 7/18/2012 #15 ReportLooks pretty good, feel free to join. You'll want to come in as a hired gun for the caravan heading from Crimson Caravan to Nellis, we're just approaching Fields' Shack, around that area right now. The caravan is being ambushed by raiders right now, too, so take that into account.
7/18/2012 . Edited 7/18/2012 #16 ReportSo should he be an existing member of the group? Just want to make sure before I write a post.
7/18/2012 #17 ReportYup, that'd be best really. You can start just before the raiders attack if you wanna add a bit of exposition before hand, or just jump right in and we'll get started and you can flesh your character out after. Whatever works.
7/18/2012 #18 ReportName: Samantha Drake, more commonly called by her last name.
Age: 27
Race: Human
Karma: Simply Good.
Personality: If the road you walk defines you, what is to be said about one who walked a self-paved road to hell? Eve is quiet, reserved and soft-spoken. While she walks with purpose, that assured step of someone with an unwritten goal, one can tell something is off about it. She is prone to nightmares, which make her edgy and nervous from time to time. But she doesn't let that change her. One could call her selfless. She'll always give more than she takes. Unless it comes to her past, then she never gives a hint of it. Something of a cynical optimist, if that was even possible. The hopes she has are always plagued by those nagging doubts that tell her not all light is good, and not all darkness bad.
But that said, she has dedication. You can trust in her. She'll always give a second chance, a redemption. Pick you up, dust you off and stand by your side to The Divide and back. Because at the end of the day, character isn't just what you are in the dark. It's how you treat those around you, no matter the road they travelled.
Occupation: Ex-NCR Army Regular. Currently a wandering mechanic, although she'll do any odd-job she finds. As long as they are legal of course.
Skills: She's something of an oddball in many respects. Give her duct tape, chewing gum and a little elbow grease and she can fix damn near anything. Jokes aside, she is talented at repairing, whether it be machinery or firearms, knives or circuitry. That said, she knows somewhere between 'jack' and 'shit' about computers, only using them to keep a journal when possible. Despite being soft-spoken, or maybe because of it, she has a way with words. She could never sound authentically intimidating, but if motivation, kindness is needed, she can do it. From basic training back in her NCR days, she can handle a rifle well enough to hit what she aims at. Rudimentary skills in hand-to-hand and bladed combat. Oddly enough, she has a knack for unconventional survival. She refuses to say how or where she learned it.
Appearance: Oddly tall, standing at six feet even, she could be readily described as borderline skin and bones; she always seems to give her food away to those who want or need it. Her skin is lightly tanned from constant travel and her days as a soldier in the NCR. Also from the constant time in the Mojave sun, her hair has faded from its once rich brown to the colour of desert sand. Much like herself, her hair is also ragged, unsettingly and perpetually messy. Perhaps the only really noteworthy thing about her appearence is her eyes and the scar, her eyes the palest of blue and the scar running through her right brow and down her cheek, a wound that could have blinded her if she was unlucky.
For clothes she wears a pair of well-worn hiking boots, incredibly faded jeans that have almost more holes than material and a simple black tee-shirt. And because it is worth mentioning, she has a reliable shoulder harness to carry her sidearm as well as latch her rifle to.
Weapons: An old M1 Garand that has seen betters years let alone days, currently just a pet repair project, but she hopes to make it servicable one day. On a more practical note, she is never without her Bowie knife, tucked away in a sheathe on hip, and last but not least a .45 Calibre Colt M1911. The knife is kept to a shining sharpness and the handgun has been cleaned, sights properly alligned and more importantly, always loaded and ready.
Bio: Drake was born in the same place the NCR was, the town once known as Shady Sands. It was an unremarkable childhood that prompted her to join the NCR Army when she turned the mandatory eighteen years of age. It was even a more unremarkable first few years running through basic and going from post to post in friendly territory.
Then came the unexpected: Hoover Dam, the ruins of New Vegas and the unforgiving Mojave Wasteland.
She was there when the Legion rushed the dam, she was there when crimson flags adorned with a bull blew in the wind. She was there. She was a corporal then. Somehow, she became the only surving member of her squad.
She was promoted.
Apparently outliving several outstanding men and women, who she had called friends and one... one she called more, was grounds to be put in command of her own squad. "The ability to survive in a moment of chaos" they said. "An honour," she said, "I don't deserve this," she thought. But she was a good little grunt, doing what those with a higher paygrade told her. Truth be told, she came to enjoy leading. They trusted her, and she trusted her men. They trusted her.
A few weeks later, when things were at their best, she got a call. Straight from the one in charge of the entire Mojave campaign. Simple job, get in, assess the situation, call in the cavalry for evac if survivours should be found. If. That last order should've been the tip.
'The situation was FUBAR from the moment their boots hit that old dust. Eight men died within the first six hours they were there. Two were captured by hostile forces. Her and the remaining two went from a reconnaissance mission to a rescue mission. Within nine hours of being there, the two with her died. Withen ten, she found the two that had been captured were dead. Two weeks after entering the location, she was finally able to make her way out. Thirteen sets of dogtags were around her neck, including her own.'
That was all that was recorded in the report. The entire thing was swept under the rug, just another skeleton in the closet for the NCR. Including her.
She was discharged, honourably, after that. At that time, she didn't have the heart to argue against it. Still couldn't. After all, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. So, pushing on through, she became a wanderer, selling her services and taking oddjobs werever she could find them. She needed to keep busy, she needed to forget.
7/22/2012 #19 ReportAnother good one. We're working as hired guns for the Crimson Caravan company and the caravan we're escorting to Nellis was just attacked by raiders right around Fields' Shack. They've all been killed and we took minor casualties, one or two wounded, including Charlie (Timid Thief), who was shot in the leg and patched up. We're just getting ready to finish our little trip to Nellis, go ahead and jump in as another guard, it'd be the best entrance.
7/22/2012 #20 Report Reply 
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