Id tell you to look up the official definition to power gaming and metagaming, but you most likely will not.
i stand adamant about my backstory, Like i said, we learned english before the war. But it was a broken english, many of our phrases were still used, but our full language had been forgotten over the centuries. With time (i had literally nearly 40 years to teach myself flawless english) i could be able to teach myself with books and a decent intelligence (thus why i have a high intelligence). Though i have swapped out my wolf with my twin brother. i was mainly trying to see if it could work with the wolf, however it might not with your stricter rules.
hopefully this now meets the standards of your Rp.
OOC
IGN:Joeker396
Age (Optional): Too old for you (19)
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats):You really wanna know, PM me man
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: none. im too nice <3
Define Role-play: oh god... this might take a while
Role
play is my life. It is the act of playing as something you truthfully
are not irl. it is more than you are. It is a Genre of gaming adored by
millions. It is the reason I'm trying to be a game designer
Define
Powergaming: Its when someone is driven towards a single goal, not
paying any cohesion to other aspects of the game at all
(i should also note, many people confuse this with godmoding. it is in fact, NOT
godmoding. It might break the game in some occasions, but most people
usually do this without ever even realizing it)
Define
Metagaming: AKA "God-Moding" its can be a cheap tactic to insta kill an
opponent, or keep yourself immune to all types of damage, or literally
give yourself god-like powers, or simply give yourself knowledge your
character would not have otherwise, etc
(Again, often mistaken for something unrelated to it.)
Meta (or Fourth wall breaks) is almost always broken, considering
people [like myself] make assumptions as to where they should go... They
are usually right... but why the hell would their character know that?
Metagaming,
depending on the setting and over all level of skill of the RPers, is
usually a serious offense, but is almost always forgotten about.
Previous
roleplay experience: Bruh, Ive been doing this **** for 9 years. You
want this to be a century long? Everything you could possibly imagine,
and then some cuz im more creative than you are.
Previous Fallout experience: ALL OF THEM. seriously its my favorite game.
Have
you read the rules?: do you want me to recite them? or just sing a nice
little rendition of Breaking the rules? i can do either. (yes i have)
Write any further questions here: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsiepop?
THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW
IC:
Character Name: Romulus Braveheart
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Race: Human (i hope >->)
Appearance
(Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Rugged Tribal:
Medium tan skin, Rich vibrant blue eyes, Scruffy grey hair and beard.
all
his clothing was hand crafted by maidens of his tribe. Made from the
Wolves the tribe hunted in the Forest covered north, his leather based
clothing couldnt stop a shiv if it wanted to. Also dons the the first wolf's hide
he skinned. Do. Not. Touch. The. Hide.
Strengths:
Quite intelligent for a tribal. Can track any animal, including ghouls and deathclaws (if the need arises)
Though not nearly as strong as the average man, Romulus can easily run for a long period of time. He can also climb up trees with ease, but has difficulty with anything else. Finally, being a native of the Canadian forests, he can move nearly undetectable with in a forest.
Weaknesses: Dont expect Romulus to win any Gregarious awards, He's a tribal, through and through.
It always seems Romulus has the WORST of luck at times... hes always losing his
most valued possession: His twin hunting daggers. Also over the years, Romulus has been hunted by many raider parties, putting him in horrible standing with almost all gangs and raider bands in the niagara falls area.
He doesnt have a very tactical mind, and often times will be caught by raiders. Romulus has NEVER seen a city, as this was extremely taboo for his tribe. He also doesnt believe in using "caps" as a currency, saying they jangle like crazy.
Finally, As a result of extreme traumatic events through out his life, Romulus has gone quite insane, seeing apparitions of his brother almost daily.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
(Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at
least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength:4
Perception:5
Endurance:6
Charisma:3
Intelligence:9
Agility:9
Luck:4
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Gather round as i tell you my tales.
I grew, along with my twin brother Remus in a tribe known as the Ojibwe Clandestines.
We are the last of the original Ojibwe tribes that migrated east.
Sadly our blood language has been muddled by time... And now we speak broken english (or at least most of us do) When the Day of Fire that Shattered the Earth came upon my tribe, they moved
away from any large cities, into the forests of Canada.
Our records are only the paintings on our Destiny walls (walls of the main bloodline Hut)
As the time progressed, we became closer to our roots, and
we hunted for all our food. We gather
berries and other forest floor foods, but anything of the past had been
branded taboo by our tribe. We do not touch the old world techs, for we
fear what may come of them (besides guns, we use those to hunt larger
prey)
My mother died in childbirth, as the tribe did not have the proper medical tools to properly deliver twins without losing the mother. My father named me Romulus, and my brother Remus. Though not a month after we were born, our father was killed in a raider attack, along with several other tribesmen. During the fight my father was stabbed many times by many attackers. Though he was a great warrior, he could not defeat so many foes. With his final wish, he left his twin obsidian hunting daggers to me and my brother.
The tribe raised the two of us, but they never understood us and our plight. My brother Remus was my only family left. I would never leave
his side.
Most boys in my tribe started to hunt at age 4, starting with
small prey, and moving to larger prey as they perfected their method of
hunting. Those of us who were good with archery would fashion bows from the best deer intestines and oak branches. However me and my brother were different. We chose to hunt together, as an inseparable pair.
Remus and I hunted all animals of the forest. Including those damned Cursed Ones (what we call Ghouls). We grew into the tribe's best hunters. We could hunt anything, Me with my tracking skills and one of the two twin hunting knives, and Remus with his immense strength and the other twin hunting knife.
However, after our 19th day of birth, and 15 years of constant hunting, we had grown full of ourselves.
We believed we could hunt one of the most Ferocious beasts that ever lived.
The Ojibwe called it Makwa Gichi-manidoo, or, in english, God Bear.
There were many legends about it, however it was its origin that
surprised us.
God Bear was "born" as a normal cub. He grew along with one
other sibling cub. The bears were twins, both holding close to each other.
But then the Fire that Shattered the Earth came and
burned the world. God bear clung to his twin, but his twin was burnt to ash in his grasp. But the God Bear had survived.
He survived through the will of the Great spirits, who blessed him,
giving God Bear long life, and the strength of all bears. And, supposedly, the
ability to burn brighter than the sun.
some say it was unkillable, and many tried, including my father before us. But i was determined to destroy Makwa Gichi-manidoo, as was my twin brother Remus.
I knew exactly how to track a bear, as we had many times before. But This one was different.
God Bear left no trace, only carnage and ash where ever he went.
The longer we looked, the more hopeless it seemed to continue.
Until suddenly the world fell silent, as if time itself stood still.
With a thunderous roar and white hot flame streaking from the sky, God Bear appeared in front of us,
hulking in size, larger than any bear we had ever seen.
God Bear had been stalking us from the moment we entered its hunting grounds.
He rose up on his hind legs and leaped at us
Like a flash, Remus was there in front of me to defend me, taking my dagger, knowing he was the stronger of the two of us.
My brother plunged the daggers into the bears torso, only to be locked in a heated wrestle of strength.
Though my twin was strong, God Bear was stronger. He slew Remus, breaking his iron grip on the God Bears fur.
Clawing his chest open, my brother slumped to the ground, dying before my very eyes. God bear cared little for me, seeing me as a non threat i had guessed. He only turned to me and, with a bright white light, vanished before my eyes.
After this, i decided to leave the tribe behind, having no truthful connection to them.
For now, I only sought revenge for my twin brother Remus
The best i could muster was someway for me to gain a powerful weapon to Destroy God Bear
It has been 20 years since i last saw the God Bear.
But i have sworn i will avenge my fallen twin.
Through my travels, i have taught myself how to speak english Near flawlessly, even
dropping my accent. I was also fascinated with the medical field, and
tried to learn as much as i could about it. My tribe was foolish for
never allowing old world medicines and medical tools in the camp. After now roaming most of the
forests surrounding the Great Lakes for half of my life, I am now
heading towards Niagara Falls, to see if i can find any hidden knowledge
of a great and powerful weapon able to defeat my life long foe.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As
you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large
black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large
thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin
to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the
radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming
from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before
approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a
list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a
Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant
lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers
his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two
guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her
caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is
struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels,
his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a
bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentats*
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
My
eyes survey the area, looking to see if any of the attackers yet live. I
breathe out a sigh of relief as i assure myself none are around.
I
immediately snap my attention to that of the one legged man. As he
hobbles next to the cart, i call out to him "That leg looks bad, I might
be able to stabilize it."
the guard nearly cries at my sudden generosity, probably expecting me to be some crazed tribal out to kill him.
"T-thank
you sir, that would be greatly appreciated" as he is saying this, i
pull out the stimpak in my bag and immediately inject it into his chest.
The
effects are immediate, the guard nearly falling over from the sudden
sedative injected into his already weak body. I lay him down under the
cart, to cover him from the inevitable rain. I see the sore state of his
leg, and start to reach for my hunting knife, but notices i have miss
placed it again.
swearing under my breath, i take out my dirty water
and tear a sleeve off his shirt to use as a strainer between the dirty
water and his leg. I also give him the stick from my squirrel to bite
on, as i clean the wound. Even with the sedative, his screams can
probably be heard in Niagara Falls. Soon after, he falls unconscious
from the intense pain and blood lose. I start to tear another piece of
his shirt off in order to cut off blood flow to his stub of a leg. After
Ive tied off the cloth, i use the bandages i have to cover the stub,
along with the rubbing alcohol to sterilize the utensils i have.
Two hours later, he wakes back up in the middle of the storm.
I
have the radio playing some johnny guitar, and eating my Salisbury
steak. I also offer the squirrel to him. "Trust me, ive cooked squirrel
thousands of times. Its good stuff"
I can tell he isnt the biggest fan of Squirrel meat.
"You saved my life... and here i thought you a savage. I owe you everything." his eyes well up with tears
"Nonsense.
You were my first true patient! In all honesty, Ive never really had
any people to operate on since they never trust a tribal. I taught
myself how to do all this with animals and dozens of books I've read on
the matter."
He nods with a seriously worried look on his face "Wait... so youve never done this before?!"
I laugh heartily and pat his shoulder to reassure him "I knew exactly what i was doing."
The man does not look reassured at all. We continue to talk and share stories all night while listening to the music.
In the morning he gives me all the caps he had on him for saving him, which i tell him to keep for his sake. I
send him on his way with a crutch fashioned from a long wooden
plank.
as he hobbles off, i say to myself "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World."
I continue on my journey.
Being that I'm neither a whitelister nor a staff member, I should state that I got specific permission from the server owner to respond to your re-application. Happy day.
Despite your sass, I actually did go out of my way to look up the definition of powergaming and metagaming. Despite the fact that I've been roleplaying for over eight years, I'm not pretentious enough to assume that just because I have experience means that everything I know is fact. So it does not pain me to say that, no; your definition of powergaming was incorrect by a good lot. While technically you had metagaming down on your first sentence, "or simply give yourself knowledge your character would not have otherwise -" Everything before that was describing powergaming, not metagaming.
- Powergaming is the act of a player performing an action with the audacity to presume or declare that their action succeeded without ability or freedom for the victim to retaliate or otherwise react to the action in question.
Otherwise, nearly the entire reason you were denied was due to sass, associated with the fact that your sass was misplaced; being that your definition(s) is/are incorrect. Besides this, a lot of your newly added weaknesses are barely weaknesses. Such as "never having seen a city" and "being an enemy of raiders" The second being the fairly obvious fact that almost everyone is an enemy of raiders. I would suggest balancing your strengths out more with properly thought through weaknesses rather than half-hearted ones.
So, of course. Until you reapply and make amends to the issues stated above you have been,
So... sorry for the long wait anyways let's get down to business. Now I honestly think the application wasn't all that bad, everything I read was fine besides the RP example which I think was somewhat lacking and them "shows mild sociopathic behavior" bit. Now I'll let you off and tell you to cast off that bit, because that's a rule "Don't make evil characters for the sake of them being evil". Now as of now you are...
A vault dweller by any other name, he is the epitome of normal. His hair, his suit, and his way of speaking. his muscle tone is fair, and his skin tone is just as well. There really is nothing much that is different about Geoff, compared to your average man.
Weaknesses: Diplomacy, brawling, and planning something, prior to actually doing it.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
(Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at
least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 8
Perception: 5
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 8
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 4
Luck: 5
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Looking back, maybe being a vault cook was a poor choice. The bigger issue was that it did absolutely nothing to help him in his current situation.
Allow me to back up. Take a seat, I suppose, and read on.
‘Geoff! Geoff, wake up!’. Came a voice, sending a spear through the comforting veil of his dreams. Geoff sporadically opened his eyes, staring right into the face of his sweating friend, Frank. Geoff flinched back into his bed, startled. He angrily shrugged his covers off, raising a finger to Frank. “What the heck, Frank? Can’t you see that I’m slee-” “No time to explain.” Interrupted Frank, “Something's very wrong in the vault. Evacuations are happening, but…” Frank swallowed, and attempted to adjust his pompous hair.. “Things are bad. Maria, and the kids are waiting back at the canteen. You need to get out, now!” Frank swiftly turns, sprinting back down the hallway, already running to another dormitory. Geoff struggled out of bed, rolling to the floor. His head came down with a thump, bashing into the floor, letting out an explosion of pain. Geoff groaned, standing up. Rather than face whatever is going on unclothed, Geoff quickly pulled on his vault 50 jumpsuit. He leaned into the doorway, peering down to where Frank had ran. The hall was lined with doors, leading into rooms. A few of the pressure doors had been opened. Some of the ceiling lights flickered on and off, casting an unearthly dim glow all over the wing. Some sort of powder littered the floor, punctuated with heavy, odd-looking squiggles on the floor. No vault jumpsuit boot could have made those. ‘Foot prints? What the heck made those?’ He thought, already feeling unsettled. Frank was nowhere to be seen. Geoff thought back to his days in the education wing, learning of what to do in case of emergency. ‘Turn on your pip-boy, tune into the PA broadcast, lock your doors, and wait for security.’ His pretty blonde teacher had admonished.
Geoff turned, scurrying over to his desk. He rummaged around under it, finally pulling out a metal composite baseball bat. He gripped it in both hands, already feeling a tad safer. ‘Forget that!’ He thought. ‘I’m saving my skin. Something is terribly wrong!’. He raced to the doorway, and took a moment to tune into the PA system, listening. ‘Citizens!”Came the usually, but no longer, calm voice of the aging Overseer. ¨This is your Overseer! Disregard Protocol, just run for the exit! You can still make it! These people are slaughtering us! Augh, shoot it-!”
Bellowed the gruff voice of the overseer. His speech was cut off by the rattling fire of an automatic rifle, and garbled screaming. The PA system then turned to static. He heard the echos of that same gunfire careen down his dormitories wing. Geoff went pale in his face. He gripped his bat even tighter, taking another look down the hallway. The few pressure doors that had not been open, all opened. Frightened families looked out. Groggy people gazed out, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Dozens of people, all confused and scared. ‘Forget Frank!’ He decided. Within ten minutes they were all running down the hall with just the clothing on their backs. ‘Get to the exit.’ Geoff puffed to them. ‘Overseer's orders!’ As their boots rained down in a rhythmic thump, a security door twenty yards forward hissed open. Two officers in full riot gear stepped out, brandishing automatic rifles.
They looked intimidating, and for a moment, Geoff forgot that his life was in danger. They took up positions on either side of the hall, waving for the group to slow down. Geoff was afraid that they would be forced to turn back. It turned out that the officers, named Mack and Arnold, were completely terrified as well. Once their terrifying visors had been flipped up, they were revealed to be no more than barely past twenty. Contact had been lost with most other security stations. They eagerly joined the small battalion of people. The two officers opened up the weapons locker, distributing firearms and Armour to the people. In ten minutes, they were on the move again. While the lights gradually turned back to normal as they moved farther up the vault levels, they revealed scenes of extreme gore. Bodies of what had once been people laid slumped against the wall, fresh blood pooling around them on the ground. Gore, and flayed organs seeped through massive slash's in abdomens. Small children averted their eyes, as well as some of the adults.
They passed into the main parlor. Nearly one hundred and ten people were here, securing pressure doors shut, barricading exits, and frantically trying to find a way to open the main door. Barely any more than half of the vault. An older man in a white lab coat stepped forward, approaching the Geoff’s group. His uniform was a mess. His collar was popped up, his cuffs were splattered in blood, and his belt was gone. His balding black hair looked to be a mess. “Some automaton things!” He cried, waving his hands all around.”They came through the auxiliary door! The beasts tore poor Richard apart!” The officers linked up with the seven others present in the room, making a total of eight. Only one half of the vaults normal security force. They took up positions at each door, offering a slightly more uniformed, and organized presence to the room. A few of the more crazed residents were able to calm down at the sight of uniformed officers calmly following protocol, as if nothing was wrong. Though, of course, that was not true. The far off rattle of gunfire echoed out from the bowels of the vault.
A young technician, no older than eighteen, ran into the room, past two stunned security officers. He held up a holodisk, waving it around. “I made it! The overseer gave this to me, and told me to run here! I have the override disk- I can open the door!” The crowd of people began to cheer. The people made a path for the technician, silently pleading for success. The Technician knelt down, and inserted the disk into a portable drive. He connected the drive to the door panel, and began to work. After a few painfully silent minutes, the door slid open with an amazingly loud screeching. It rolled end over end, as its metal teeth walked across the floor, through the divots. The crowd scrambled over each other to get past the door. They were all stopped short by a blindingly bright light. Most fell to their knees, as if god himself was casting fire into their souls. They writhed and convulsed, crying out, but still more came behind them clamoring to leave.
Geoff was pushed forward by the surge of people. He ended up in between an old woman, and a crying seven year old child, squirming in the dirt.
It was pure chaos.
It took a few days for the Vice chief of security, now the temporary Overseer, to establish a plan. He recalled a few per-war maps, that spoke of areas that might still support fledgling settlements. he decided to take his people there, instead of having them risk entering the vault. Geoff decided against such a plan of action, instead option for a much riskier idea. He marched off on his own, determined to carve out his own place in the world, ending up in the Niagara area.
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): Sibs has it.
Time Zone: GMT+10/AEST
Prior Bans and reasons: No prior bans, I’m clean mates.
Define Role-play: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming can refer to two things; forcing actions onto other roleplayer's characters, and performing feats and actions your character wouldn't usually be able to perform. An example of the first being Player A swings his axe, and cuts Player B straight in half, and an example of the second being Despite Player X having no legs, he managed to scale the 20ft wall.
Define Metagaming: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve been roleplaying on Minecraft for around two years; beginning with Silver Gaming’s TAC, then Tyrenale, Gildorym, Solstice and Lord of the Craft, and currently From the Ashes.
Previous Fallout experience: Fallout 3 & NV.
Have you read the rules?: Yuhuh.
Write any further questions here: Yeah, nah.
IC:
Character Name: Roswell “Gambit” Dalton
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian Oriental Halfbreed
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Roswell is a olive-skinned male, with thick, black hair. His face is slim and narrow, and shows obvious signs of the harsh wasteland environment. His eyes, also, are black, slightly almond-shaped from his racial heritage. More often than not, he is seen wearing an overcoat, and armored vest; similar to those seen in the New California Republic. On his left arm, strapped on tightly, is his Pip-Boy 3000 that he scavenged of one of his contract targets.
Strengths: Roswell is a sly, and tricky man. He is clever with words, and seems to posses the ability to get people to side with him; but which also means he can twirl them around his fingers if he so pleases. He's also extremely quick-thinker, coming up with solutions quickly, especially in times when one is needed desperately. The man is also adept with guns, but most specifically rifles. Having had an interest in them since he was a kid, and having found them the most effective during his adult life he's grown quite the eye for sharpshooting.
Weaknesses: Roswell is hardheaded, disloyal, and is driven, over anything, by money. He hates being proven wrong, and often goes to great lengths to prove that he's right, and pairing with him being extremely ignorant, is his greed. That's what drove him to do this job in the first place, his love for caps, and things of value, and adding to that, Roswell will always put himself in front of anyone. Roswell is also not the brightest, especially as a vault resident. He also found that there was no point in learning, since he was never going to use the information anyway. Albeit, because of this, he's fallen behind intellectually, and so isn't as capable as most at higher level thinking.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 5
Perception: 7
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 3
Agility: 5
Luck: 8
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
From a young age, it was clear the Roswell wasn’t exactly the one who seemed like he would stay in the comforts of his Vault. He never did particularly well at school, for one; other than in Physical Education classes which he excelled to at in some degree. He much preferred to talk, and day-dream, and perhaps occasionally skip classes when he soon grew a love for weapons, taking his BB Guns to the lower areas of the vault, and shooting at radroaches. And, to be honest, everyone liked him because of it. His fellow students found him as somewhat as a rebel, and Roswell would much prefer himself to be known as that then some nerd. However, of course this was all to his parents disapproval; especially seeming was a doctor, and the other a teacher. Into his teenage life, Roswell was getting even brash. He even started gambling amongst a small group of friends he had, betting their rations against one another. While the boy did start growing an unhealthy addiction to card games, it was really ended up in his benefit; and that’s where he got his nickname, Gambit. Roswell was great at playing these games, and almost always ended the game in his favour – obviously not always through legitimate means, as he had a quick hand, and a mouth that made people look at his face, rather than his cards. Eventually though, Roswell grew bored of the environment he was constantly exposed to, and having have heard of the world outside the vault from stories and books, he decided what his next course of action would be.
Honestly, it was really a relief to his parents that, at the age of 19, that Roswell decided that he would leave the vault on his own adventures. They had been receiving considerable amounts of complaints of the young man sleeping around, and causing way too much trouble than what was good for him. And so, leaving the vault was really a positive for everyone; the Vault had one less rebel to deal with, and Roswell could finally leave the place the he now considered to be much like a prison, especially when he started getting a real taste of the outside world. He was told that he should make his way towards that city before anything else, or he’d likely end up dead by viruses, or simply by the wastelands cruel environment. And so, Roswell did, and soon made it to the city.
Now, of course, Roswell was particularly taken back by the extreme change of environment, and he wanted to get a full dose of the contrasting city life was compared to one in a vault. One thing that Roswell found himself dragged into heavily, was of course, gambling. But, like the times in Vault 66, he soon found that his main source of income was gaming; and he began addressing himself as the nickname he was given; and soon enough, people who knew him, knew him as Gambit. Nevertheless, after a few years of getting use to the city, and making a bit of money, he decided that he wanted to pursue something else. He wanted to explore the wasteland a bit further; and his sense of adventure soon took the better of him. And so, he looks for a job that would allow him to do this, and through a friend, he found something that he really wouldn’t mind doing; bounty hunting. Now, to begin with, Roswell was a little sceptical. The whole idea of being a bounty hunter sounded like one of those edgy children’s books he disliked as a teen, but when he saw the prices on people’s heads, the offer was soon taken up. He blew the money he had been earning on a decent semi-automatic rifle that he liked the look of, and took up a missions from his contractor. At first, the whole idea of killing people for money, usually because his employer had a grudge on them, sort of went against Roswell’s natural morals, and, to be truthful, to begin with he often wasn’t able to bring himself to do it. But as he went through with the killings more often, and as the caps increased, he soon found it easier, and easier to pull the trigger.
Roswell knew the business he was working in was bad; occasionally he would see himself working with slavers, raiders, and gangs from time to time, but, he liked it. The people that he worked with understood why he was in the job, and those were for two things; the caps, and the exploration. One thing that Roswell soon learnt during his ‘career’, was hold no relationships. Make friends and allies, yes, and make sure you have people you trust; but never, ever give them an opportunity where they hold your life in their hands, make sure that, if it was between you two, it would be you who would get out alive. And that was the code that Roswell lived by from then on, that was until one particular mission, that had lead him to someone that he felt that he could truly consider as an equal. This contract was actually directed towards a small group of slavers that had caught the wife of a sheriff in a small town. None of his men actually wanted to deal with it, scared that they might be captured and sold themselves, and so the bounty that Roswell would receive was set pretty high. Once he found the men, there was only so many of them, and from a distance, it didn’t take him long for him to pick them off, he released the sheriff’s wife, but also released another women, who had similar interests to his own. At their first talk, they knew one another. Not like how two best friends would know one another, but like how two bounty hunter would know why one another were in this position. And so, from then on, despite Roswell’s previous thoughts, he worked with Eve; raiding and collecting bounties as they did.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Gambit clicked his tongue at the view, his eyes flicking rapidly between the oncoming storm and the scene. He decided that he had some time to spare before his situation grew any more critical. He made his way to the guard that still had life in him, and quickly relieved him of that; withdrawing his pistol from his bag, making a quick reload, and firing a shot through his head, the man's blood slumping next to him without as much as a heavy thump as he collided with the ground. Gambit took another look at the sky, the storm was approaching at him at a steady pace, but he could begin to feel the air around him grow damp; he acted fast. Searching the corpse, he only found a measly 3 caps, and so he moved onto the second guard, thinking that both the caravan and the merchant would have been looted clean anyways. He's a bit luckier with the other, salvaging a round of ammo, as well as 8 caps; but as he turned to the sky, he realized it probably wasn't so worth it. The storm was now deathly close to him, his jacket now flapping hard with the increasing winds, and so, quickly cleaning his bloodied hands with the dirty water-bottle in his bag, he set of at a quick pace, tripping slightly over the Brahman, on course back to the city of Niagra.
There is no escaping the shadows of the old world.
IGN: dedoralive
Age (Optional): I have been on *This* desolate planet for 18 years :C
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): fvck v ((please do not take this the wrong way, the actual account name is " odsta22 " but that is the user))
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: N/a
Define Role-play: Taking on a role of a character or entity that you wouldn't normally be irl or the like. For fun most of the time.
Define Powergaming: Forcing an action on another character. Or condition. Like *Breaks leg* With no room for response
Define Metagaming: Using information you have obtained oocly IC to benefit yourself, or just in general.
Previous roleplay experience: I've been rping on mc since 2012... *shudders*
Previous Fallout experience: Played fallout 3 and new Vegas
Have you read the rules?: of course not :^) jk I have <3
Write any further questions here: what does "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World." mean ;-;
IC:
Character Name: Eve Manasseh
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian human
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Scarf toting red head. A rather thin looking girl. But tough enough where she needs to be. Piercingly sharp hazel eyes.
Strengths: Keen eyes, strong will, and a knack for being right. Eve likes to let her problems sort themselves out from afar. With out getting herself in danger if she can.
Weaknesses: Should she be in danger, she isn't one to be able to escape very quickly. Not very fast, and not too strong either. Her greatest weakness is that she thinks herself too safe at times.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Along with the few other 'lucky' vault dwellers, Eve grew up in the gambling vault 21; where in, the only real tests were that of regular human interaction... within a vault. She excelled in her classes, however, for her demanding father, and lap-dog of a mother, this was not enough. Her father, Joseph Manasseh, forced her into learning many things, which in turn made it difficult for her to connect with the other children in the vault. She never forgave him for it, but she did learn many things she needed once she broke from the vault. Eve learned how to handle guns, soon she found she enjoyed using them, and didn't mind the lessons so much. Her aim would improve by the week as she put her effort into learning the ins and outs of 'her' weapons. Besides weapons, she was taught basic first aid, how to care for her own wounds, and the wounds of others. She didn't like the idea of having to take care of others; besides, she seemed to be the only one on her own side in this.
Next on her fathers must know list, was economics, one of Eve's favorite subjects, aside from guns of course. She liked learning ways to make money, and even dared to ask about the ways people did so before life in the vaults. While intelligent, her father wanted her to at least be able to run for decent amounts of time, not necessarily fast. Joseph had her jog around the vault for hours till the other dwellers were tired of seeing her face. Joseph spared no expense in making sure his daughter was ready, teaching Eve the basics of surviving in nature as he knew best. While she didn't have much of a childhood, Eve would come to appreciate the work her father put into her, or rather the 'tough love' she received wasn't for no reason. After much of her life spent learning, training, and just being miserable, Eve left her vault at the age of 22.
Her first week consisted of a lot of hiding from the wastes inhabitants, as well as scavenging whatever she found far away from anything moving. Though soon that all changed when she found that some people weren't as hostile as the creatures that shared the land with them. Perhaps not the most socially adept person, Eve had trouble at first, but after keeping her head down and nose out of too much trouble, she learned of a very lucrative opportunity; bounty hunting. Simple enough to her, people wanted someone dealt with, and were willing to pay Eve a large sum to do so. But of course, as anyone starting something new, there are bound to be hiccups, this one Eve remembers well.
Eve trotted atop the dry cracked dirt path leading to the shoddily put together hut in which she had been informed, she may find a job. She tapped her knuckles on the old door, and from within came a whimper and beckon for entry. "C-come in!.." Cried the voice. Eve pushed the door open with ease, within the hut was a woman laying in a pile of dirtied laundry atop a even dirtier sleeping bag, with not much else besides a rusted green toolbox beside her. "I assume y-you're here about the job.." Asked the woman. Eve would only nod, not being very good at expressing much otherwise. The woman sniffled then motioned for her to sit, which Eve did. "Thank you for doing this.. really it means so much!" proclaimed woman in a lighter tone. Eve hesitated, but nodded once more. "The leader of the raiders wears a hockey mask.. big fellow, likes to announce his presence before you see him.. hes the one I want dead.." The woman would state coldly. "He's the one that took my poor Richard away.." The woman would open the box, revealing many caps, and a worn picture of her former lover. Eve would nod once more. "Bring me his head.." Eve's eyes widened but she managed to inform the woman weakly. "I.. I will.." As quickly as it had opened, the woman closed the box, and patted Eve on the back. "Thank you so much dearie.. please don't take too long now.." With little need for encouragement, Eve stood and left the hut, off to a cliff above the raiders well known hiding spot.
By the time she made it up the precarious perch it was night time, the sun had just set, and the raiders were having some kind of celebration. Eve took her rifle out and looked through her scope, searching for the man she needed. Her mind raced trying to figure out how she could get his head after wards, but it wasn't long before the tumbling of a few kicked up pebbles from behind her caught her attention. Her eyes flashed with overwhelming panic as she caught a glimpse of a once white ski mask over one of the men's faces, of which there were three. Eve was going to scream, but knew it would only serve to worsen her situation, so she remained silent. The tall masked man laughed. "This one is cute.. I think we can fetch a pretty high price for her.." His two underlings nodded at the statement, and rushed over to grab Eve, setting her in front of their leader. Eve merely stared up at the man, her lower lip quivering.
"Do me a favor kid, don't be a hero. I mean after all that's how you got in this mess." The man went to remove his mask, and she quickly recognized him from the photo shown to her earlier. Noting her reaction the man began to speak again. "Ever wonder why the same old lady has been asking for someone to take out her husbands killer? Because selling them once they're caught pays well!" The man and his cronies laughed. Eve would stay silent, her mind racing, looking for a way out of this. "Ahh, the silent type huh? Well that's good I suppose, slavers don't like talkers.. but me personally.. I like screamers.." Richard revealed a whip from behind himself, and gave it a few experimental snaps against the ground. "Now lets see how quiet you stay.." His two henchmen exposed Eve's back to the man, and he began to strike her pale skin, breaking it and sending blood flying after the first hit. "Still nothing!?" He raised the whip high above his head, and as Eve braced for impact she heard the crack of a bullet being fire, nay, three bullets, followed by three thuds. She looked up, tears welling in her eyes, her back stinging, only to find she had been saved by a man she would come to know as Roswell. After getting Eve to safety, and leaving the town, they both set out together, searching for opportunity in the form of bounties wherever they went.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Eve's eyes scan the horizon, staying far back as she watches the man. It'd be dumb to try and help him, especially in his current state. She huffs quietly, waiting, though not for long, the storm is coming. Eve can already make out the sound of thunder, which gives her an idea. If she can't help him in life, she can at least give him a proper death. The man is crying out now, attracting much unneeded attention to himself. But Eve has her mission. As she nears the man and the scene, she slips the 10mm pistol out, and taps it against her waist. The man looks up, fear in his eyes, he tries to raise his hands but he finds he is in too much pain. "What is your name." Eve asks him calmly. He looks confused, tilts his head, the manages to stammer out. "T-thomas.. Thomas Cantin.." Eve raises her gun, aiming at Thomas's head. "Go with peace, Thomas Cantin." Thunder sounds, nearing, and a shell drops to the ground, sending a small bit of dust into the air. Eve holsters her pistol, and the corpse of Thomas slumps back down into its own pool of blood. She wipes her hands at takes out the squirrel on a stick, munching on it while she listens in to the radio, on the lookout for any buildings nearby. The storm was getting closer.
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): 6’3”, wears a brown leather coat with a wool lining, though he has no undershirt, he has light tan cargoes, he has white hair that still has black streaks in it, the hair reaches his shoulders, his beard is a close shave. He has brown eyes, looks very strong, and has massive amount of chest hair that can been seen between the sides of his coat
Strengths: He is very strong, knows how to fight in hand to hand combat very well, is good with conventional guns, knows many survival techniques, including basic medical procedures, though he can stretch his ability and occasionally do something a bit more complex, though he rarely cares to try
Weaknesses: He tires faster than those younger than him, and so depends on quick take downs. Doesn’t use plasma or laser weapons since he doesn’t trust them because of their ‘strange nature’
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Artyom was born into a Russian family that lived in Alaska, where the snow and ice would kill anything weak without mercy. Artyom’s ancestors had successfully crossed the Bering Strait and settled in the northern Alaskan wilderness, more than used to the conditions. When the bombs went off, the family only found out when the sky lit up and the rumble of the distant explosions reached them since they were far from any populated areas, and so, far from where the nukes had hit. Artyom, from an early age, was trained in multiple survival techniques that the family had developed in their generations of living in the cold, unforgiving wilderness. By the age of ten, he had learned the proper way to skin an animal, which parts of the beast contained the highest protein, and generally how not to die. By the age of seventeen, Artyom moved out of his parent house and began to make his own way, building his own house from the ground up. One day while hunting, Artyom met a girl from one of the neighboring families, who really were just distant relatives, and promptly fell in love.
The couple held a ceremony when Artyom was twenty years old, to which all the families in the area attended, bringing a feast of food and wealth of gifts for the newlyweds. Artyom and his wife lived in relative peace, starting a family of their own when Artyom was twenty-one. One particularly hard winter, while Artyom was out hunting, his only son suddenly died of the harsh conditions, causing his mother to fall into a fit of despair and sorrow, the which Artyom found her in when he returned. After a few months, Artyom awoke to find his wife outside with a rope around her neck, ready to jump of a tree branch and end her life. Artyom ran out of the house, calling for her to stop, but to his horror, she jumped, dying instantly when the rope snapped taught. At this point Artyom could bear no longer to be in this place, and so grabbed what he needed from his house and charged out into the wilderness, never wanting to return to the place were all he had loved died.
For several years Artyom wondered the wilderness alone, until one day he happened upon a camp where a lone stranger sat roasting something over the fire. I quickly became evident that here would be a problem as Artyom only spoke Russian at the time while the other man only knew English, but even with this, the two men got along rather well as they traveled together. As they journeyed, the other man taught Artyom English while Artyom taught him Russian, though in the end the other man was found to be horrid at Russian, so Artyom had to learn English out of necessity. Within the first few months he could speak in broken sentences, and after a year of lessons, he could speak near perfect English. Ethan, the other man, revealed that he had been travelling the Canadian wastes for all his life, which to that point spanned nineteen years.
One day, while travelling towards what Ethan insured would be a well settled town, an irradiated bear, or Yao guai, attacked the duo. Ethan was tackled to the ground by the beast, but instead of running, Artyom shoved the bear off before taking out his knife and attacking the monster. Artyom and the Yao guia wrestled for a good bit until Ethan was able to shoot the monster’s head and have it jump off of Artyom and towards him, pinning him to a nearby tree. Artyom quickly got to him feet and jammed his knife into the base of the creature’s neck before dragging it around the front. After a few more cuts and a finishing blow from Artyom’s revolver, the beast finally died. Artyom then turned to Ethan, only to find his friend dead on the ground, his face having been mauled off when the bear had pinned him to the tree. Arytom buried his friend in the fire that he had set on the dead Yao guia’s body before setting off once more towards the south.
Twenty years later, Artyom reached Toronto, where he stayed for a good amount of time, but as the days and months drug on, he decided to head south once more, now with only a single goal in mind as years of sorrow and tragedy piled up on him. Either find a good way to die, or find an adequate reason to keep living.
(As a side note, yes, Artyom was able to wrestle with a Yao guia, but that was when he was in his early twenties. He would definitely not do as well if he tried it now since he has lower stamina than when he was younger. Just thought I might want to clear that up so that people don’t think I’ll try wrestling Yao guias on the server. Not that there are any, but you catch my drift.)
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Artyom* walks along the road, passing by the caravan
Guard: “H-hey, can I get some help?”
Artyom* looks over to the man, looking him over
Artyom: “Nyet.”
Guard: “Eh… what now?”
Artyom: “No.”
Artyom* begins to walk off
Guard: “H-hey, you can’t just leave me here to die!”
Artyom: “I can, and I will. One more death in the wastes isn’t much in the greater scheme of things.”
Guard: “But isn’t each life a sacred thing? Come on old man, give a guy some help, will yah?”
Artyom* continues walking away
Artyom: “Maybe at one time, but that was long ago…”
Guard: “And you’re willing to let that time die?”
Artyom* stops
Artyom* turns, taking out his gun
Artyom: “Don’t talk to me about death, I’ve seen more death and misery than you could ever imagine.”
Guard: “Would you witness one more?”
Artyom: “Nyet.”
Artyom* puts away his gun and walks away
Guard: “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Artyom: “No, I’ll leave now and no run the risk of watching you die. As you said, I rather not witness another death.”
Artyom* continues walking away
(third time is the charm so this better work out.. or maybe not)
Now I honestly liked the read and all, everything seems to line up but the thing is that Vault 66 opened in 2200, and or it also is more of a museum than anything else, plus the fact your character's nickname is "Gambit" but that's pretty much it, everything lines up so just fix where your character came from and the nickname and that's it but as of now you are...
Your application was pretty solid besides the fact that your character comes from Vault 76 which was supposed to open 20 years after the great war of 207, which would be in 2097 which is two centuries from what the beta/full server will be based in and those years are 2277 and 2278. Now everything else is fine because of that but as of now your application is...
Okay... so first of all the closest thing to an actual Russian within the U.S. as of now would be descendants of Russians who lived within the U.S. Now that's not the major problem, the major problem is how your character managed to walk 4129.9 miles across the North American wasteland all the way to Niagara across lands filled with god knows what in it. Somehow your character managed to wrestle and survive a Yao Guai wrestling with him in his mid twenties? Also your character's name is pretty much the same as that of Artyom from Metro 2033. I'm sorry but I'd recommend scrapping the whole character and going with something that makes a bit more sense within the area.
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): Sibs has it.
Time Zone: GMT+10/AEST
Prior Bans and reasons: No prior bans, I’m clean mates.
Define Role-play: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming can refer to two things; forcing actions onto other roleplayer's characters, and performing feats and actions your character wouldn't usually be able to perform. An example of the first being Player A swings his axe, and cuts Player B straight in half, and an example of the second being Despite Player X having no legs, he managed to scale the 20ft wall.
Define Metagaming: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve been roleplaying on Minecraft for around two years; beginning with Silver Gaming’s TAC, then Tyrenale, Gildorym, Solstice and Lord of the Craft, and currently From the Ashes.
Previous Fallout experience: Fallout 3 & NV.
Have you read the rules?: Yuhuh.
Write any further questions here: Yeah, nah.
IC:
Character Name: Roswell Dalton
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian Oriental Halfbreed
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Roswell is a olive-skinned male, with thick, black hair. His face is slim and narrow, and shows obvious signs of the harsh wasteland environment. His eyes, also, are black, slightly almond-shaped from his racial heritage. More often than not, he is seen wearing an overcoat, and armored vest; similar to those seen in the New California Republic. On his left arm, strapped on tightly, is his Pip-Boy 3000 that he scavenged of one of his contract targets.
Strengths: Roswell is a sly, and tricky man. He is clever with words, and seems to posses the ability to get people to side with him; but which also means he can twirl them around his fingers if he so pleases. He's also extremely quick-thinker, coming up with solutions quickly, especially in times when one is needed desperately. The man is also adept with guns, but most specifically rifles. Having had an interest in them since he was a kid, and having found them the most effective during his adult life he's grown quite the eye for sharpshooting.
Weaknesses: Roswell is hardheaded, disloyal, and is driven, over anything, by money. He hates being proven wrong, and often goes to great lengths to prove that he's right, and pairing with him being extremely ignorant, is his greed. That's what drove him to do this job in the first place, his love for caps, and things of value, and adding to that, Roswell will always put himself in front of anyone. Roswell is also not the brightest, especially as a vault resident. He also found that there was no point in learning, since he was never going to use the information anyway. Albeit, because of this, he's fallen behind intellectually, and so isn't as capable as most at higher level thinking.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 5
Perception: 7
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 3
Agility: 5
Luck: 8
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
From a young age, it was clear the Roswell wasn’t exactly the one who seemed like he would stay in the comforts of his Vault. He never did particularly well at school, for one; other than in Physical Education classes which he excelled to at in some degree. He much preferred to talk, and day-dream, and perhaps occasionally skip classes when he soon grew a love for weapons, taking his BB Guns to the lower areas of the vault, and shooting at radroaches. And, to be honest, everyone liked him because of it. His fellow students found him as somewhat as a rebel, and Roswell would much prefer himself to be known as that then some nerd. However, of course this was all to his parents disapproval; especially seeming was a doctor, and the other a teacher. Into his teenage life, Roswell was getting even brash. He even started gambling amongst a small group of friends he had, betting their rations against one another. While the boy did start growing an unhealthy addiction to card games, it was really ended up in his benefit; and that’s where he got his nickname, Gambit. Roswell was great at playing these games, and almost always ended the game in his favour – obviously not always through legitimate means, as he had a quick hand, and a mouth that made people look at his face, rather than his cards. Eventually though, Roswell grew bored of the environment he was constantly exposed to, and having have heard of the world outside the vault from stories and books, he decided what his next course of action would be.
Honestly, it was really a relief to his parents that, at the age of 19, that Roswell decided that he would leave the vault on his own adventures. They had been receiving considerable amounts of complaints of the young man sleeping around, and causing way too much trouble than what was good for him. And so, leaving the vault was really a positive for everyone; the Vault had one less rebel to deal with, and Roswell could finally leave the place the he now considered to be much like a prison, especially when he started getting a real taste of the outside world. He was told that one of the best cities to travel to was Niagara, and so, with the help of other travelers, he made his way to that city.
Now, of course, Roswell was particularly taken back by the extreme change of environment, and he wanted to get a full dose of the contrasting city life was compared to one in a vault. One thing that Roswell found himself dragged into heavily, was of course, gambling. But, like the times in Vault 21, he soon found that his main source of income was gaming; and he began addressing himself as the nickname he was given; and soon enough, people who knew him, knew him as Gambit. Nevertheless, after a few years of getting use to the city, and making a bit of money, he decided that he wanted to pursue something else. He wanted to explore the wasteland a bit further; and his sense of adventure soon took the better of him. And so, he looks for a job that would allow him to do this, and through a friend, he found something that he really wouldn’t mind doing; bounty hunting. Now, to begin with, Roswell was a little sceptical. The whole idea of being a bounty hunter sounded like one of those edgy children’s books he disliked as a teen, but when he saw the prices on people’s heads, the offer was soon taken up. He blew the money he had been earning on a decent semi-automatic rifle that he liked the look of, and took up a missions from his contractor. At first, the whole idea of killing people for money, usually because his employer had a grudge on them, sort of went against Roswell’s natural morals, and, to be truthful, to begin with he often wasn’t able to bring himself to do it. But as he went through with the killings more often, and as the caps increased, he soon found it easier, and easier to pull the trigger.
Roswell knew the business he was working in was bad; occasionally he would see himself working with slavers, raiders, and gangs from time to time, but, he liked it. The people that he worked with understood why he was in the job, and those were for two things; the caps, and the exploration. One thing that Roswell soon learnt during his ‘career’, was hold no relationships. Make friends and allies, yes, and make sure you have people you trust; but never, ever give them an opportunity where they hold your life in their hands, make sure that, if it was between you two, it would be you who would get out alive. And that was the code that Roswell lived by from then on, that was until one particular mission, that had lead him to someone that he felt that he could truly consider as an equal. This contract was actually directed towards a small group of slavers that had caught the wife of a sheriff in a small town. None of his men actually wanted to deal with it, scared that they might be captured and sold themselves, and so the bounty that Roswell would receive was set pretty high. Once he found the men, there was only so many of them, and from a distance, it didn’t take him long for him to pick them off, he released the sheriff’s wife, but also released another women, who had similar interests to his own. At their first talk, they knew one another. Not like how two best friends would know one another, but like how two bounty hunter would know why one another were in this position. And so, from then on, despite Roswell’s previous thoughts, he worked with Eve; raiding and collecting bounties as they did.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Roswell clicked his tongue at the view, his eyes flicking rapidly between the oncoming storm and the scene. He decided that he had some time to spare before his situation grew any more critical. He made his way to the guard that still had life in him, and quickly relieved him of that; withdrawing his pistol from his bag, making a quick reload, and firing a shot through his head, the man's blood slumping next to him without as much as a heavy thump as he collided with the ground. Roswell took another look at the sky, the storm was approaching at him at a steady pace, but he could begin to feel the air around him grow damp; he acted fast. Searching the corpse, he only found a measly 3 caps, and so he moved onto the second guard, thinking that both the caravan and the merchant would have been looted clean anyways. He's a bit luckier with the other, salvaging a round of ammo, as well as 8 caps; but as he turned to the sky, he realized it probably wasn't so worth it. The storm was now deathly close to him, his jacket now flapping hard with the increasing winds, and so, quickly cleaning his bloodied hands with the dirty water-bottle in his bag, he set of at a quick pace, tripping slightly over the Brahman, on course back to the city of Niagra.
There is no escaping the shadows of the old world.
IGN: dedoralive
Age (Optional): I have been on *This* desolate planet for 18 years :C
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): fvck v ((please do not take this the wrong way, the actual account name is " odsta22 " but that is the user))
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: N/a
Define Role-play: Taking on a role of a character or entity that you wouldn't normally be irl or the like. For fun most of the time.
Define Powergaming: Forcing an action on another character. Or condition. Like *Breaks leg* With no room for response
Define Metagaming: Using information you have obtained oocly IC to benefit yourself, or just in general.
Previous roleplay experience: I've been rping on mc since 2012... *shudders*
Previous Fallout experience: Played fallout 3 and new Vegas
Have you read the rules?: of course not :^) jk I have <3
Write any further questions here: what does "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World." mean ;-;
IC:
Character Name: Eve Manasseh
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian human
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Scarf toting red head. A rather thin looking girl. But tough enough where she needs to be. Piercingly sharp hazel eyes.
Strengths: Keen eyes, strong will, and a knack for being right. Eve likes to let her problems sort themselves out from afar. With out getting herself in danger if she can.
Weaknesses: Should she be in danger, she isn't one to be able to escape very quickly. Not very fast, and not too strong either. Her greatest weakness is that she thinks herself too safe at times.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Along with the few other 'lucky' vault dwellers, Eve grew up in the gambling vault 21; where in, the only real tests were that of regular human interaction... within a vault. She excelled in her classes, however, for her demanding father, and lap-dog of a mother, this was not enough. Her father, Joseph Manasseh, forced her into learning many things, which in turn made it difficult for her to connect with the other children in the vault. She never forgave him for it, but she did learn many things she needed once she broke from the vault. Eve learned how to handle guns, soon she found she enjoyed using them, and didn't mind the lessons so much. Her aim would improve by the week as she put her effort into learning the ins and outs of 'her' weapons. Besides weapons, she was taught basic first aid, how to care for her own wounds, and the wounds of others. She didn't like the idea of having to take care of others; besides, she seemed to be the only one on her own side in this.
Next on her fathers must know list, was economics, one of Eve's favorite subjects, aside from guns of course. She liked learning ways to make money, and even dared to ask about the ways people did so before life in the vaults. While intelligent, her father wanted her to at least be able to run for decent amounts of time, not necessarily fast. Joseph had her jog around the vault for hours till the other dwellers were tired of seeing her face. Joseph spared no expense in making sure his daughter was ready, teaching Eve the basics of surviving in nature as he knew best. While she didn't have much of a childhood, Eve would come to appreciate the work her father put into her, or rather the 'tough love' she received wasn't for no reason. After much of her life spent learning, training, and just being miserable, Eve left her vault at the age of 22.
Her first week consisted of a lot of hiding from the wastes inhabitants, as well as scavenging whatever she found far away from anything moving. Though soon that all changed when she found that some people weren't as hostile as the creatures that shared the land with them. Perhaps not the most socially adept person, Eve had trouble at first, but after keeping her head down and nose out of too much trouble, she learned of a very lucrative opportunity; bounty hunting. Simple enough to her, people wanted someone dealt with, and were willing to pay Eve a large sum to do so. But of course, as anyone starting something new, there are bound to be hiccups, this one Eve remembers well.
Eve trotted atop the dry cracked dirt path leading to the shoddily put together hut in which she had been informed, she may find a job. She tapped her knuckles on the old door, and from within came a whimper and beckon for entry. "C-come in!.." Cried the voice. Eve pushed the door open with ease, within the hut was a woman laying in a pile of dirtied laundry atop a even dirtier sleeping bag, with not much else besides a rusted green toolbox beside her. "I assume y-you're here about the job.." Asked the woman. Eve would only nod, not being very good at expressing much otherwise. The woman sniffled then motioned for her to sit, which Eve did. "Thank you for doing this.. really it means so much!" proclaimed woman in a lighter tone. Eve hesitated, but nodded once more. "The leader of the raiders wears a hockey mask.. big fellow, likes to announce his presence before you see him.. hes the one I want dead.." The woman would state coldly. "He's the one that took my poor Richard away.." The woman would open the box, revealing many caps, and a worn picture of her former lover. Eve would nod once more. "Bring me his head.." Eve's eyes widened but she managed to inform the woman weakly. "I.. I will.." As quickly as it had opened, the woman closed the box, and patted Eve on the back. "Thank you so much dearie.. please don't take too long now.." With little need for encouragement, Eve stood and left the hut, off to a cliff above the raiders well known hiding spot.
By the time she made it up the precarious perch it was night time, the sun had just set, and the raiders were having some kind of celebration. Eve took her rifle out and looked through her scope, searching for the man she needed. Her mind raced trying to figure out how she could get his head after wards, but it wasn't long before the tumbling of a few kicked up pebbles from behind her caught her attention. Her eyes flashed with overwhelming panic as she caught a glimpse of a once white ski mask over one of the men's faces, of which there were three. Eve was going to scream, but knew it would only serve to worsen her situation, so she remained silent. The tall masked man laughed. "This one is cute.. I think we can fetch a pretty high price for her.." His two underlings nodded at the statement, and rushed over to grab Eve, setting her in front of their leader. Eve merely stared up at the man, her lower lip quivering.
"Do me a favor kid, don't be a hero. I mean after all that's how you got in this mess." The man went to remove his mask, and she quickly recognized him from the photo shown to her earlier. Noting her reaction the man began to speak again. "Ever wonder why the same old lady has been asking for someone to take out her husbands killer? Because selling them once they're caught pays well!" The man and his cronies laughed. Eve would stay silent, her mind racing, looking for a way out of this. "Ahh, the silent type huh? Well that's good I suppose, slavers don't like talkers.. but me personally.. I like screamers.." Richard revealed a whip from behind himself, and gave it a few experimental snaps against the ground. "Now lets see how quiet you stay.." His two henchmen exposed Eve's back to the man, and he began to strike her pale skin, breaking it and sending blood flying after the first hit. "Still nothing!?" He raised the whip high above his head, and as Eve braced for impact she heard the crack of a bullet being fire, nay, three bullets, followed by three thuds. She looked up, tears welling in her eyes, her back stinging, only to find she had been saved by a man she would come to know as Roswell. After getting Eve to safety, and leaving the town, they both set out together, searching for opportunity in the form of bounties wherever they went.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Eve's eyes scan the horizon, staying far back as she watches the man. It'd be dumb to try and help him, especially in his current state. She huffs quietly, waiting, though not for long, the storm is coming. Eve can already make out the sound of thunder, which gives her an idea. If she can't help him in life, she can at least give him a proper death. The man is crying out now, attracting much unneeded attention to himself. But Eve has her mission. As she nears the man and the scene, she slips the 10mm pistol out, and taps it against her waist. The man looks up, fear in his eyes, he tries to raise his hands but he finds he is in too much pain. "What is your name." Eve asks him calmly. He looks confused, tilts his head, the manages to stammer out. "T-thomas.. Thomas Cantin.." Eve raises her gun, aiming at Thomas's head. "Go with peace, Thomas Cantin." Thunder sounds, nearing, and a shell drops to the ground, sending a small bit of dust into the air. Eve holsters her pistol, and the corpse of Thomas slumps back down into its own pool of blood. She wipes her hands at takes out the squirrel on a stick, munching on it while she listens in to the radio, on the lookout for any buildings nearby. The storm was getting closer.
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): 6’3”, wears a brown leather coat with a wool lining, though he has no undershirt, he has light tan cargoes, he has white hair that still has black streaks in it, the hair reaches his shoulders, his beard is a close shave. He has brown eyes, looks very strong, and has massive amount of chest hair that can been seen between the sides of his coat
Strengths: He is very strong, knows how to fight in hand to hand combat very well, is good with conventional guns, knows many survival techniques, including basic medical procedures, though he can stretch his ability and occasionally do something a bit more complex, though he rarely cares to try
Weaknesses: He tires faster than those younger than him, and so depends on quick take downs. Doesn’t use plasma or laser weapons since he doesn’t trust them because of their ‘strange nature’
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
• Strength:10
• Perception:4
• Endurance:4
• Charisma:5
• Intelligence:8
• Agility:4
• Luck:5
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Isaac was born into a Russian family that lived north of Ontario. Isaac’s ancestors had successfully crossed the Bering Strait and settled in the northern Alaskan wilderness before moving farther south. Isaac, from an early age, was trained in multiple survival techniques that the family had developed in their generations of living in the cold, unforgiving wilderness. By the age of ten, he had learned the proper way to skin an animal, which parts of the beast contained the highest protein, and generally how not to die. By the age of seventeen, Isaac moved out of his parent house and began to make his own way, building his own house from the ground up. One day while hunting, Isaac met a girl from one of the neighboring families, who really were just distant relatives, and promptly fell in love.
The couple held a ceremony when Isaac was twenty years old, to which all the families in the area attended, bringing a feast of food and wealth of gifts for the newlyweds. Isaac and his wife lived in relative peace, starting a family of their own when Isaac was twenty-one. One particularly hard winter, while Isaac was out hunting, his only son suddenly died of the harsh conditions, causing his mother to fall into a fit of despair and sorrow, the which Isaac found her in when he returned. After a few months, Isaac awoke to find his wife outside with a rope around her neck, ready to jump of a tree branch and end her life. Isaac ran out of the house, calling for her to stop, but to his horror, she jumped, dying instantly when the rope snapped taught. At this point Isaac could bear no longer to be in this place, and so grabbed what he needed from his house and charged out into the wilderness, never wanting to return to the place were all he had loved died. Eventually he wondered towards London, Canada, where he lived for almost thirty years.
After a while, Isaac moved away from London, not caring for the surroundinga anymore, eventually finding Niagara.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Isaac* walks along the road, passing by the caravan
Guard: “H-hey, can I get some help?”
Isaac* looks over to the man, looking him over
Isaac: “Nyet.”
Guard: “Eh… what now?”
Isaac: “No.”
Isaac* begins to walk off
Guard: “H-hey, you can’t just leave me here to die!”
Isaac: “I can, and I will. One more death in the wastes isn’t much in the greater scheme of things.”
Guard: “But isn’t each life a sacred thing? Come on old man, give a guy some help, will yah?”
Isaac* continues walking away
Isaac: “Maybe at one time, but that was long ago…”
Guard: “And you’re willing to let that time die?”
Isaac* stops
Isaac* turns, taking out his gun
Isaac: “Don’t talk to me about death, I’ve seen more death and misery than you could ever imagine.”
Guard: “Would you witness one more?”
Isaac: “Nyet.”
Isaac* puts away his gun and walks away
Guard: “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Isaac: “No, I’ll leave now and no run the risk of watching you die. As you said, I rather not witness another death.”
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
Join Date:
7/7/2011
Posts:
371
Minecraft:
Tiffosaur
Member Details
OOC:
IGN: Tiffosaur
Age (Optional): 15
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): tiffosaur19
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: I'm all clean. c:
Define Role-play: Roleplay is when one takes control of a character, and deciding their actions, feelings and thoughts.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming is, in short, doing the impossible. Doing the impossible would include controlling another’s character or forcing an action on a character, being OP in general, etc.
Define Metagaming: Metagaming is when one has their character have knowledge they would not normally have, meaning they use sources from Out-of-Character to their advantage In-Character.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve roleplayed on many Minecraft servers - including Silver Gaming’s previous servers - as well as on Skype. At the moment, I am on another rp server. I’ve previously roleplayed on Tumblr. In addition to these, I’ve also done forum RP, such as the RWBY RPG forum RP, and RP'd on Skype.
Previous Fallout experience: I haven't played any Fallout games, but I know of the story.
Have you read the rules?: Yes.
Write any further questions here: Is there any escaping the Shadows of the Old World?
IC:
Character Name: Victoria Verdin
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Race: Human; White
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Victoria stands about 5’7” (170.1 cm). She adorns short blonde hair, which frames her oval shaped face well. Victoria’s eyes glimmer a strong green, her strong cheekbones and sharp jawline complimenting said optics. Victoria may appear slender, weak, fragile, but due to hours of physical labor, she’s actually quite strong. Her skin is fair, but she harbors burn scars. They dress the right side of her body, reaching from her neck, down to her lower waist. Though, the scarf she adorns covers the upper scars, and her clothing covers the rest. ( http://imgur.com/ztYBlrZ )
Strengths: Kind and upbeat with those she first meets. She cares deeply for her family and friends, making her loyal. In addition, she is courageous, fierce, and competitive. Years of physical labor have left her with a relatively strong upper body and high endurance. She knows how to handle a gun well.
Weaknesses: Victoria can have violent episodes sometimes. Although she is kind, she has a short temper and is easy to be put off; she tends to be rather impulsive. She’s very self-conscious about herself in general. Although, she is most sensitive when talking about her scars. Sometimes, she tends to be a bit over emotional, and she has a deathly fear of flames. She’s triggered often if she comes close to them.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 7
Perception: 5
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 5
Agility: 5
Luck: 5
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Victoria, the twin of Gabriela, was born to Rose and Warren Verdin in the wastelands of Maine. She traveled with a small group. They often would stay in abandoned homes at night, before moving in the day. There was no particular place they hoped to find; they just wanted to stay safe. Many of the children didn’t make it, but the Verdin twins were one of the few that survived. Life was fairly simple for her as she grew. Everyday, she’d tell herself, “just wait for the next.” She didn’t know what she was waiting for, it was just something to get her through. Her first 13 years, she was taught the traits needed for survival in the wastelands.
Victoria was 13 when something significant finally happened, though it was nothing good. During a sunny day of Maine’s summer, the group had settled at a small barn. It seemed empty, but something made the group feel unsettled. It wasn’t long before they were being gunned down, and they all scattered. Many were captured, including Victoria. The raiders dragged them to their camp, where they were forced into physical labor. Any persons who didn’t obey was hit, whipped, burned, tortured.
Vic was rebellious. The pain she ignored, often trying to make her point by striking back. It was something her parents had taught her; when hit, fight back. This wasn’t always true though, and she didn’t learn this lesson until she was forced into the fire. She screamed, lashed out, cried as her skin singed and scorched. She didn’t know how long she had been in the heat, but it burned, it hurt so much. She was thrown to the ground and she whimpered, sobbed, cried as she curled into a ball. Apologies ripped out of her mouth as she felt the charred skin. From then on, she followed all orders she was given. The scars that formed from the burns were a reminder to listen, to obey. Though, vengeance was something she wanted terribly.
Victoria got what she wanted when she was 16.
Alongside Gabriele and the other slaves, she saw a chance. One of the raiders was falling asleep on shift. His gun sat at his side. A pistol was in his holster. Sweat ran down her face as she watched her brother stand from his makeshift bed and make his way over to the guard. She began to stand as well as he lifted the gun and fired it into the raider’s head. No doubt, this attracted the other’s attention. Gabriele threw Victoria the big gun and took the pistol; Vic was the buffer of the two. Hearing the footsteps coming, they quickly turned the raider’s body, so it didn’t appear as though he was dead.
When the next guard came in, they were all in their bed, guns hidden behind their backs. She stepped forward, eyeing them suspiciously and calling out her friend’s name. With no reply, she moved in front of the raider and- BAM! Victoria fired, and she fell to the ground. The other slaves grabbed what she had, and they all ran out. Everyone seemed to be alerted now, but the camp was not well lit. It was hard to see them as they snuck around.
They were nearly out, when the lights suddenly flashed on. “RUN!” Someone screamed, and she scattered. She was scared, so scared, as she ran unknowingly. She ran into the wild, and she could hear yelling behind her. Tears were threatening to fall as she heard others trying to escape now with all the hectic but were failing. She just kept running.
Victoria didn’t know how long she had been alone for. It was already day. The sun had just risen, and she was tired, desperately tired. She hid behind a tree, feeling herself drift off.
When she came to, she found herself in a bed, and for a moment, she panicked as she thought the whole escape had all been a dream. But a man settled her. He was well suited in armor. A military man, she guessed. She asked for them to teach her, teach her how to survive better and wield guns and just stay alive. In return, she did small things like carry bags, make food, wash dirty rags. She learned by his side.
Victoria was 24 when she decided to go off on her own. She found she could survive fine now, and no longer wanted to bother the man. He recommended she go towards Niagara in Canada. She would do so. No doubt the travel would be long, with all the mutants and raiders along the way, but she believed she could do it. And she would.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Victoria was quiet as she came up to the scene. She peered down at the dying guard, but turned away. She went towards the merchant, kneeling down to take the box. The blonde turned towards the other guard, and saw the shells. The gun was gone though. To be expected. A faint scowl formed on her face, but she began to scavenge for any shotgun ammo left on the body; Vic doubted any would be left though. To her dismay, she was correct. Nothing was left. At last, she turned to the final guard. He looked to be in pain - so much pain. Victoria flinched as she saw the burned flesh, reminding herself very much of her own. She pulled out her pistol. “May we meet again,” she murmured. A saying she adorned when she killed out of mercy. The shell of her bullet clattered onto the ground as his body slumped over. Bile grew in the back of her throat as she slid her pistol away and moved to leave the scene. A storm was coming.
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): matthew.dejong1
Time Zone: Pacific
Prior Bans and reasons: lol
Define Role-play: RP is to take the life of someone you would never be able to, and see life from their perception, and actions, in their life
Define Powergaming: Doing unrealistic things, or taking control of other people's actions
Define Metagaming: Using OOC info IC
Previous roleplay experience: SoOF, AoOF, The Vault, Wild Wasteland, etc. Most Fallout servers I've been on, and usually a builder.
Previous Fallout experience: 200+ hours in both console Fallouts, beaten all but PS2 Fallout
Have you read the rules?: Mhmm
Write any further questions here:
IC:
Character Name: John Cain
Age: 234
Gender: Male
Race: Ghoul
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin):https://gyazo.com/cffe823facbc15ad8d0a59bf406d9b81
An old war ghoul, his battle worn face scarred by years in the wasteland. He wears a simple set of clothes, covered with marks of his old lives. His face is covered by a mask to keep our the elements. He towers over most, at 6'5". He is a mix between muscular and skinny, due to the fact that he is a ghoul. His eyes are cold, with a scar on his face from the beginning of the war.
Strengths: Stubborn. He's headstrong, tackling problems head on without much thinking. He very much likes to get things done efficiently however.
Weaknesses: Unsympathetic for the most part. Weakness for children, or harm to children or women. He is tired. So tired. Weakness to drinking. Impatient.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 7
Perception: 4
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 6
Agility: 6
Luck: 7
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs): Boom. (WARNING, LONG)
He watched the bombs drop. He wasn't home then. His wife was, as were his children. He watched their atomic rain fall down, shadowing the earth with the screams of the innocent. It wasn't meant to be like this. The war changed mankind. It changed him.
33. That was his age. October. It's all he remembers from it. His first name was John. His birth name. After the bombs dropped, he as a man changed. His name changed, aswell. Cain was born in rural New York City, into an immigrant family from Spain, the . They weren't poor, but they weren't well off. They did alright. His mother worked at a press factor, while his father recently left the military. He had two brothers, Jefe. the oldest. and Mark. John was the youngest, his mother and father deciding to give him a more Americanized name. They decided on John, from the bible. He was a wonderful child. He did well in sports, enjoyed baseball, and did whatever American kid did back then. Enjoy life. Sometimes bits and pieces come back to him, the good and bad, like how his first kiss was little Susie in 6th grade, or how his brother Jefe tried to drown him as a kid in the bath tub because he wanted to be the youngest still.
Jefe was... a special child. He had a lot of special needs. In his teens, before John was born, his parents took him to a psychiatrist, due to a traumatic experience when he was younger involving two dogs and a chew toy. Jefe suffered brain damage, and, as a result, ended up into a psychopathic murderer in his later years.
Mark, however, was the wonder child. Good grades, good looking, kind. John looked up to him, and Mark treated John like gold. Perhaps that was part of the reason Jefe tried to drown him. Mark ended up joining the Navy on a contract, but later died at sea during the Great War.
So here lies John, the youngest. His mother and father didn't have much time to care for their children, so that duty fell on Mark. John had his troubles in school, the usual American teen struggle. Heart breaks, proms, bullying, falling in love, working hard. He was a good kid. After highschool he attended Alabama State University, earning his Engineering degree. During college, he met the love of his life, Maria. They dated through college, and married soon after graduation. Around this time, John knew about the war going on, and being the all American boy he was, enlisted as an officer in the Corps of Engineers in the Army in 2067. He was later deployed to Alaska to fight the communists, doing demolitions and building bridges, while commanding troops. He achieved the rank of Captain before being discharged from the Army for leg injuries in 2072. By this time, he and Maria had a child. A girl, named Lela. She was 4 when John was discharged.
After being discharged from the Army with honorable mentions, he got a well paying job at RobCo as a factory Supervisor, and Maria had already been working at a local Super-Duper Mart. Luckily, the factory was not far from their house, due to RobCo building housing for the workers so they could easily commute together. Every day during his break, he would stare at his house, longing to spend moe time with his wife and child. To this day he still wishes he spent more time.
It's 2077 now. It's October, John's working late, and Maria is pregnant at home with another child, this time a boy. He smiles. Today is a good day. He had picked up a bouquet and some fancy wine, and a nice bicycle for Lela. The clock strikes 9. One more hour and he can go home and see his beautiful wife and child. He is happy today. Very happy. He yawns, and goes on his evening break. It's 9:35 now, he dozed just a little bit. He was awoken to air raid sirens. RobCo had a contingency plan for this, due to even more rising tensions with China, with their nuclear threats. Each factory has a bomb shelter underneath, room for all their families. John runs to the window looking over the houses, and sees people panicking, scrambling below. He rushes out, and runs home, forgetting about his car. It's 9:40. He gathers his wife and child, both scared and half dazed. They have no time to pack. But Maria stops. She can't run, she can't go on. The baby is kicking, she says. John has tears in his eyes. He doesn't want to leave them. Maria tells him to go, take Lela with him. John tries to stay. It's 9:43, the clock is ticking. He lets go of Maria's hand, yelling his last I love you that he would ever say. John take's Lela's hand, taking her with him to the factor, to the bomb shelter. To what was supposed to be safety. They are the last ones in. The door closes. It's dark. Someone's watch reads 9:47. Everyone is scared, the babies crying, children wetting themselves, husbands and wives holding each other. Crash. Boom. They're so close. the bombs. John holds onto Lela, tears running down from losing Maria and his unborn child. It was going to be a son, their son.
Suddenly a bomb comes close. Too close. The shelter rocks, and cracks and breaks, killing several families. John and Lela huddle to the corner, whimpering, scared. John just wants it over, he can't live without Maria. A white light flashes, blinding everyone left momentarily. The shelter crumbles, and rocks. John is knocked out.
John woke up, his skin burning, his throat dry and raspy. He looked around, dizzy and disoriented. It was two days later. The bodies in the shelter had started slowly rotting. In his arms he held the last love of his life, Lela. She didn't make it, she didn't survive. Almost no one did. He was left alive and another man, his skin too burning like a thousand suns. John pukes beside him, seeing all the bodies, and looks back at Lela. He can't believe she's gone, he tries to cry but he can't. He's too dehydrated and weak to cry. He couldn't comprehend that God had allowed him to live while so many others died. He looks around, the only things in his mind survival and his family. He gets up shakily and dizzily, looking down to see a couple of skin flakes from his arms. He shrugs it off, and finds emergency rations, quickly eating them, but realizing it was a bad idea and pukes. The man left alive, unconscious, his legs crushed by rubble. He knew he had to get out. For days he pried away at the rubble blocking the only exit, living off only emergency rations and irradiated bottled water. He felt he was going insane, in a room full of corpses slowly rotting, including his own daughter's. Days later, he finally was able to make an opening through the rubble using a fire axe and crowbar. He packed as much food and water he could in a small bug out bag someone had brang, and took his first steps out into the world.
It was bright. He had to shield his eyes from it. He could barely see. Fires were still going. In some places he felt he would puke, probably from the mass amounts of radiation. He saw demolished houses, trees flat, and dead bodies. So many dead bodies, rushing to get to the factories where the bomb shelters were. It was sickening. Upon leaving his own shelter, he realized he wasn't the same man anymore. There was no way he could be. Remembering his days in catholic school, he decided on a more fitting name for himself. Cain, for he is who who restlessly wanders the earth.
Skip to a year later. It's anarchy. His hair began falling out a couple months after the bombs dropped. His skin burned and peeled like a 3rd degree sunburn. He met another like him, Adam. They traveled together. Cain never knew much about Adam, only that he was more advanced in the process of what is now known as ghoulification, as well as the fact that Adam was a researcher before the bombs dropped. Now he was a wanderer like Cain. They both heard of a place where the could get help, in DC. It was a good state away, but together they could make it. Eventually, they reached the Underworld, full of people like them, in varying stages. Cain quickly felt at home. After a while, Cain's skin rotted away, and his hair fell out, and his voice got raspy and he got sick. He was scared. He looked in the dirty broken mirror and he was scared at what he was now. If Maria and Lela were still alive, would they still love him as their father? Adam helped make sure Cain never went crazy. They shared stories together. They went outside together. They became peace keepers in the Underworld, removing those who couldn't comprehend what was happening. But everyone succumbs to craziness somehow. They all had to, to survive in this wasteland. Adam went first. One night he woke up screaming, saying he was a zombie, begging for Cain to kill him. One shot to the head. Cain knew mercy, and helped Adam find sanctity in the hands of God. Cain left after that.
For years, Cain traveled, gathering stories from all over, ghouls like him, regular people with better shelters and better luck. They were scared of him. He was shunned and shot at and looked at as a monster. He never could find a place to settle down. So he wandered. For a long, long time he wandered. He wandered from his old warzone of Alaska, down to the bottom tip of Mexico. He was shunned in most places, but accepted in only a few. He was still scared of what he was becoming. But he adapted, as did the wasteland. For he was Cain, he who walks the Earth restless and weary. He kept the memory of his family always in his mind, always pestering him. Some nights he would wake up ready to blow his own brains out because he missed them, because he hated this world, he hated himself. But a little voice, always swearing that it was Lela's, told him to go on. That there was something more for him. And there was. He found another group like him, Ghouls they called themselves. They accepted him, baptizing him again in the name of the Atom. They were a cult, Cain knew, but he didn't care. He fit in with a bunch of bible thumping crazy zombies. They called themselves Knights of the Blue Cross. He still wears the symbol. He traveled with them for a long while, being shunned away for their looks and beliefs. He resented what mankind had become, a group of scared, driveling, neanderthals. He always wished it could go back to the old way, back to when it was simple. Working regular hours, coming home to a nice warm bed, loving family, and good meal. He always misses it. He always will.
Fast forward 150 so years. The Knights of the Blue Cross were disbanded, after being raided by a settlement they camped near one night. They were slaughtered. Cain has escaped barely with his life, but not before being branded with a Y across his face. To this day he doesn't know what it means. Now he is again wandering, always lost, always searching. He has grown weary. Tired, always hungry for his previous life. His travels have lead him back up to Canada, a place he enjoyed a lot. It felt clean. It felt almost peaceful, if you didn't mind the constant warring factions, nuclear winters, and hostile locals. It reminded him of his previous life. He saddles up to Niagara falls, always enjoying the water falls. It helps him get peace. Clear his head. Like likes to come here every 50 years or so. It's changed, being a whole lot less irradiated. but There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World. He hears shuffling behind him. He whips around just in time to see a baseball bat come slamming down on his head, and hear a bag rustling and being put over his head. The next thing he remembers is waking up with nothing but the clothes on his back outside the town of Niagara, robbed. He sighs, and heads in. Time to start again.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Cain would immediately break out his single stimpack and half used first aid kit. He would first check the surroundings, having his 10mm at the ready, and then check the first guard, who he finds has no pulse. He would sigh, looking up at the sky and cursing at himself for being too "caring". He'd move his hand away from his 10mm, and grab his medical supplies, going to the obviously alive guard, popping a pack of mentants for that extra "Oomph".
"Are you alright?" JCain would ask in his raspy voice, to which the guard laughs, and replies "No! I'm not alright! Get help".
Cain shake his head, tearing away the fabric around the guard's blown off leg. He'd take what medical supplies and tried to wrap gauze around the open wound, stabbing the guard with the stimpack first.
"Man, get out of here. Just put a bullet in my brain, and take the rest of the stuff the raiders didn't take. You look like the grim reaper anyways".
Cain shakes his head again, mouthing "No", and helps the guard hobble to the caravan, seeing the clouds getting darker, he knows he needs to find cover, but there is none. He instead sees the remnants of the caravan, the cloth covering and wooden cart. He scavenges what he can from the left over things the raiders didn't want, and start pulling the wooden cart over the guard. The guard is near passed out now. Cain slaps him hard, and hands him his bottle of water and a squirrel on a stick. The guard looks at it, and starts quickly drinking the water. Cain shakes his head, a third time, and starts using his radio to try and get a frequency to get help. There isn't much hope in this weather. He hears the rain start hitting the cart, and hopes for the best, that someone comes by and notices, and the rain lets up. He checks to see that the guard is breathing heavily. It's all he could do, Cain thinks, it's in god's hands now.
EDIT: Sorry, I posted it uncompleted by accident. Took me 2 hours to do this
[Reposted]
Id tell you to look up the official definition to power gaming and metagaming, but you most likely will not.
i stand adamant about my backstory, Like i said, we learned english before the war. But it was a broken english, many of our phrases were still used, but our full language had been forgotten over the centuries. With time (i had literally nearly 40 years to teach myself flawless english) i could be able to teach myself with books and a decent intelligence (thus why i have a high intelligence). Though i have swapped out my wolf with my twin brother. i was mainly trying to see if it could work with the wolf, however it might not with your stricter rules.
hopefully this now meets the standards of your Rp.
OOC
IGN:Joeker396
Age (Optional): Too old for you (19)
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats):You really wanna know, PM me man
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: none. im too nice <3
Define Role-play: oh god... this might take a while
Role
play is my life. It is the act of playing as something you truthfully
are not irl. it is more than you are. It is a Genre of gaming adored by
millions. It is the reason I'm trying to be a game designer
Define
Powergaming: Its when someone is driven towards a single goal, not
paying any cohesion to other aspects of the game at all
(i should also note, many people confuse this with godmoding. it is in fact, NOT
godmoding. It might break the game in some occasions, but most people
usually do this without ever even realizing it)
Define
Metagaming: AKA "God-Moding" its can be a cheap tactic to insta kill an
opponent, or keep yourself immune to all types of damage, or literally
give yourself god-like powers, or simply give yourself knowledge your
character would not have otherwise, etc
(Again, often mistaken for something unrelated to it.)
Meta (or Fourth wall breaks) is almost always broken, considering
people [like myself] make assumptions as to where they should go... They
are usually right... but why the hell would their character know that?
Metagaming,
depending on the setting and over all level of skill of the RPers, is
usually a serious offense, but is almost always forgotten about.
Previous
roleplay experience: Bruh, Ive been doing this **** for 9 years. You
want this to be a century long? Everything you could possibly imagine,
and then some cuz im more creative than you are.
Previous Fallout experience: ALL OF THEM. seriously its my favorite game.
Have
you read the rules?: do you want me to recite them? or just sing a nice
little rendition of Breaking the rules? i can do either. (yes i have)
Write any further questions here: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsiepop?
THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW
IC:
Character Name: Romulus Braveheart
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Race: Human (i hope >->)
Appearance
(Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Rugged Tribal:
Medium tan skin, Rich vibrant blue eyes, Scruffy grey hair and beard.
all
his clothing was hand crafted by maidens of his tribe. Made from the
Wolves the tribe hunted in the Forest covered north, his leather based
clothing couldnt stop a shiv if it wanted to. Also dons the the first wolf's hide
he skinned. Do. Not. Touch. The. Hide.
Strengths:
Quite intelligent for a tribal. Can track any animal, including ghouls and deathclaws (if the need arises)
Though not nearly as strong as the average man, Romulus can easily run for a long period of time. He can also climb up trees with ease, but has difficulty with anything else. Finally, being a native of the Canadian forests, he can move nearly undetectable with in a forest.
Weaknesses: Dont expect Romulus to win any Gregarious awards, He's a tribal, through and through.
It always seems Romulus has the WORST of luck at times... hes always losing his
most valued possession: His twin hunting daggers. Also over the years, Romulus has been hunted by many raider parties, putting him in horrible standing with almost all gangs and raider bands in the niagara falls area.
He doesnt have a very tactical mind, and often times will be caught by raiders. Romulus has NEVER seen a city, as this was extremely taboo for his tribe. He also doesnt believe in using "caps" as a currency, saying they jangle like crazy.
Finally, As a result of extreme traumatic events through out his life, Romulus has gone quite insane, seeing apparitions of his brother almost daily.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
(Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at
least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Gather round as i tell you my tales.
I grew, along with my twin brother Remus in a tribe known as the Ojibwe Clandestines.
We are the last of the original Ojibwe tribes that migrated east.
Sadly our blood language has been muddled by time... And now we speak broken english (or at least most of us do)
When the Day of Fire that Shattered the Earth came upon my tribe, they moved
away from any large cities, into the forests of Canada.
Our records are only the paintings on our Destiny walls (walls of the main bloodline Hut)
As the time progressed, we became closer to our roots, and
we hunted for all our food. We gather
berries and other forest floor foods, but anything of the past had been
branded taboo by our tribe. We do not touch the old world techs, for we
fear what may come of them (besides guns, we use those to hunt larger
prey)
My mother died in childbirth, as the tribe did not have the proper medical tools to properly deliver twins without losing the mother. My father named me Romulus, and my brother Remus. Though not a month after we were born, our father was killed in a raider attack, along with several other tribesmen. During the fight my father was stabbed many times by many attackers. Though he was a great warrior, he could not defeat so many foes. With his final wish, he left his twin obsidian hunting daggers to me and my brother.
The tribe raised the two of us, but they never understood us and our plight. My brother Remus was my only family left. I would never leave
his side.
Most boys in my tribe started to hunt at age 4, starting with
small prey, and moving to larger prey as they perfected their method of
hunting. Those of us who were good with archery would fashion bows from the best deer intestines and oak branches. However me and my brother were different. We chose to hunt together, as an inseparable pair.
Remus and I hunted all animals of the forest. Including those damned Cursed Ones (what we call Ghouls).
We grew into the tribe's best hunters. We could hunt anything, Me with my tracking skills and one of the two twin hunting knives, and Remus with his immense strength and the other twin hunting knife.
However, after our 19th day of birth, and 15 years of constant hunting, we had grown full of ourselves.
We believed we could hunt one of the most Ferocious beasts that ever lived.
The Ojibwe called it Makwa Gichi-manidoo, or, in english, God Bear.
There were many legends about it, however it was its origin that
surprised us.
God Bear was "born" as a normal cub. He grew along with one
other sibling cub. The bears were twins, both holding close to each other.
But then the Fire that Shattered the Earth came and
burned the world. God bear clung to his twin, but his twin was burnt to ash in his grasp. But the God Bear had survived.
He survived through the will of the Great spirits, who blessed him,
giving God Bear long life, and the strength of all bears. And, supposedly, the
ability to burn brighter than the sun.
some say it was unkillable, and many tried, including my father before us. But i was determined to destroy Makwa Gichi-manidoo, as was my twin brother Remus.
I knew exactly how to track a bear, as we had many times before. But This one was different.
God Bear left no trace, only carnage and ash where ever he went.
The longer we looked, the more hopeless it seemed to continue.
Until suddenly the world fell silent, as if time itself stood still.
With a thunderous roar and white hot flame streaking from the sky, God Bear appeared in front of us,
hulking in size, larger than any bear we had ever seen.
God Bear had been stalking us from the moment we entered its hunting grounds.
He rose up on his hind legs and leaped at us
Like a flash, Remus was there in front of me to defend me, taking my dagger, knowing he was the stronger of the two of us.
My brother plunged the daggers into the bears torso, only to be locked in a heated wrestle of strength.
Though my twin was strong, God Bear was stronger. He slew Remus, breaking his iron grip on the God Bears fur.
Clawing his chest open, my brother slumped to the ground, dying before my very eyes. God bear cared little for me, seeing me as a non threat i had guessed. He only turned to me and, with a bright white light, vanished before my eyes.
After this, i decided to leave the tribe behind, having no truthful connection to them.
For now, I only sought revenge for my twin brother Remus
The best i could muster was someway for me to gain a powerful weapon to Destroy God Bear
It has been 20 years since i last saw the God Bear.
But i have sworn i will avenge my fallen twin.
Through my travels, i have taught myself how to speak english Near flawlessly, even
dropping my accent. I was also fascinated with the medical field, and
tried to learn as much as i could about it. My tribe was foolish for
never allowing old world medicines and medical tools in the camp. After now roaming most of the
forests surrounding the Great Lakes for half of my life, I am now
heading towards Niagara Falls, to see if i can find any hidden knowledge
of a great and powerful weapon able to defeat my life long foe.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As
you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large
black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large
thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin
to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the
radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming
from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before
approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a
list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a
Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant
lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers
his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two
guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her
caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is
struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels,
his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a
bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentats*
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
My
eyes survey the area, looking to see if any of the attackers yet live. I
breathe out a sigh of relief as i assure myself none are around.
I
immediately snap my attention to that of the one legged man. As he
hobbles next to the cart, i call out to him "That leg looks bad, I might
be able to stabilize it."
the guard nearly cries at my sudden generosity, probably expecting me to be some crazed tribal out to kill him.
"T-thank
you sir, that would be greatly appreciated" as he is saying this, i
pull out the stimpak in my bag and immediately inject it into his chest.
The
effects are immediate, the guard nearly falling over from the sudden
sedative injected into his already weak body. I lay him down under the
cart, to cover him from the inevitable rain. I see the sore state of his
leg, and start to reach for my hunting knife, but notices i have miss
placed it again.
swearing under my breath, i take out my dirty water
and tear a sleeve off his shirt to use as a strainer between the dirty
water and his leg. I also give him the stick from my squirrel to bite
on, as i clean the wound. Even with the sedative, his screams can
probably be heard in Niagara Falls. Soon after, he falls unconscious
from the intense pain and blood lose. I start to tear another piece of
his shirt off in order to cut off blood flow to his stub of a leg. After
Ive tied off the cloth, i use the bandages i have to cover the stub,
along with the rubbing alcohol to sterilize the utensils i have.
Two hours later, he wakes back up in the middle of the storm.
I
have the radio playing some johnny guitar, and eating my Salisbury
steak. I also offer the squirrel to him. "Trust me, ive cooked squirrel
thousands of times. Its good stuff"
I can tell he isnt the biggest fan of Squirrel meat.
"You saved my life... and here i thought you a savage. I owe you everything." his eyes well up with tears
"Nonsense.
You were my first true patient! In all honesty, Ive never really had
any people to operate on since they never trust a tribal. I taught
myself how to do all this with animals and dozens of books I've read on
the matter."
He nods with a seriously worried look on his face "Wait... so youve never done this before?!"
I laugh heartily and pat his shoulder to reassure him "I knew exactly what i was doing."
The man does not look reassured at all. We continue to talk and share stories all night while listening to the music.
In the morning he gives me all the caps he had on him for saving him, which i tell him to keep for his sake. I
send him on his way with a crutch fashioned from a long wooden
plank.
as he hobbles off, i say to myself "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World."
I continue on my journey.
Being that I'm neither a whitelister nor a staff member, I should state that I got specific permission from the server owner to respond to your re-application. Happy day.
Despite your sass, I actually did go out of my way to look up the definition of powergaming and metagaming. Despite the fact that I've been roleplaying for over eight years, I'm not pretentious enough to assume that just because I have experience means that everything I know is fact. So it does not pain me to say that, no; your definition of powergaming was incorrect by a good lot. While technically you had metagaming down on your first sentence, "or simply give yourself knowledge your character would not have otherwise -" Everything before that was describing powergaming, not metagaming.
- Powergaming is the act of a player performing an action with the audacity to presume or declare that their action succeeded without ability or freedom for the victim to retaliate or otherwise react to the action in question.
Otherwise, nearly the entire reason you were denied was due to sass, associated with the fact that your sass was misplaced; being that your definition(s) is/are incorrect. Besides this, a lot of your newly added weaknesses are barely weaknesses. Such as "never having seen a city" and "being an enemy of raiders" The second being the fairly obvious fact that almost everyone is an enemy of raiders. I would suggest balancing your strengths out more with properly thought through weaknesses rather than half-hearted ones.
So, of course. Until you reapply and make amends to the issues stated above you have been,
So... sorry for the long wait anyways let's get down to business. Now I honestly think the application wasn't all that bad, everything I read was fine besides the RP example which I think was somewhat lacking and them "shows mild sociopathic behavior" bit. Now I'll let you off and tell you to cast off that bit, because that's a rule "Don't make evil characters for the sake of them being evil". Now as of now you are...
IC:
Character Name: Geoff Luitherson
Age: 27
Gender: Male.
Race: Human
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): http://imgur.com/Lgq8mjE
A vault dweller by any other name, he is the epitome of normal. His hair, his suit, and his way of speaking. his muscle tone is fair, and his skin tone is just as well. There really is nothing much that is different about Geoff, compared to your average man.
Strengths: Manual labor, mathematics, electrical systems.
Weaknesses: Diplomacy, brawling, and planning something, prior to actually doing it.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
(Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at
least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Looking back, maybe being a vault cook was a poor choice. The bigger issue was that it did absolutely nothing to help him in his current situation.
Allow me to back up. Take a seat, I suppose, and read on.
‘Geoff! Geoff, wake up!’. Came a voice, sending a spear through the comforting veil of his dreams. Geoff sporadically opened his eyes, staring right into the face of his sweating friend, Frank. Geoff flinched back into his bed, startled. He angrily shrugged his covers off, raising a finger to Frank. “What the heck, Frank? Can’t you see that I’m slee-” “No time to explain.” Interrupted Frank, “Something's very wrong in the vault. Evacuations are happening, but…” Frank swallowed, and attempted to adjust his pompous hair.. “Things are bad. Maria, and the kids are waiting back at the canteen. You need to get out, now!” Frank swiftly turns, sprinting back down the hallway, already running to another dormitory. Geoff struggled out of bed, rolling to the floor. His head came down with a thump, bashing into the floor, letting out an explosion of pain. Geoff groaned, standing up. Rather than face whatever is going on unclothed, Geoff quickly pulled on his vault 50 jumpsuit. He leaned into the doorway, peering down to where Frank had ran. The hall was lined with doors, leading into rooms. A few of the pressure doors had been opened. Some of the ceiling lights flickered on and off, casting an unearthly dim glow all over the wing. Some sort of powder littered the floor, punctuated with heavy, odd-looking squiggles on the floor. No vault jumpsuit boot could have made those. ‘Foot prints? What the heck made those?’ He thought, already feeling unsettled. Frank was nowhere to be seen. Geoff thought back to his days in the education wing, learning of what to do in case of emergency. ‘Turn on your pip-boy, tune into the PA broadcast, lock your doors, and wait for security.’ His pretty blonde teacher had admonished.
Geoff turned, scurrying over to his desk. He rummaged around under it, finally pulling out a metal composite baseball bat. He gripped it in both hands, already feeling a tad safer. ‘Forget that!’ He thought. ‘I’m saving my skin. Something is terribly wrong!’. He raced to the doorway, and took a moment to tune into the PA system, listening. ‘Citizens!”Came the usually, but no longer, calm voice of the aging Overseer. ¨This is your Overseer! Disregard Protocol, just run for the exit! You can still make it! These people are slaughtering us! Augh, shoot it-!”
Bellowed the gruff voice of the overseer. His speech was cut off by the rattling fire of an automatic rifle, and garbled screaming. The PA system then turned to static. He heard the echos of that same gunfire careen down his dormitories wing. Geoff went pale in his face. He gripped his bat even tighter, taking another look down the hallway. The few pressure doors that had not been open, all opened. Frightened families looked out. Groggy people gazed out, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Dozens of people, all confused and scared. ‘Forget Frank!’ He decided. Within ten minutes they were all running down the hall with just the clothing on their backs. ‘Get to the exit.’ Geoff puffed to them. ‘Overseer's orders!’ As their boots rained down in a rhythmic thump, a security door twenty yards forward hissed open. Two officers in full riot gear stepped out, brandishing automatic rifles.
They looked intimidating, and for a moment, Geoff forgot that his life was in danger. They took up positions on either side of the hall, waving for the group to slow down. Geoff was afraid that they would be forced to turn back. It turned out that the officers, named Mack and Arnold, were completely terrified as well. Once their terrifying visors had been flipped up, they were revealed to be no more than barely past twenty. Contact had been lost with most other security stations. They eagerly joined the small battalion of people. The two officers opened up the weapons locker, distributing firearms and Armour to the people. In ten minutes, they were on the move again. While the lights gradually turned back to normal as they moved farther up the vault levels, they revealed scenes of extreme gore. Bodies of what had once been people laid slumped against the wall, fresh blood pooling around them on the ground. Gore, and flayed organs seeped through massive slash's in abdomens. Small children averted their eyes, as well as some of the adults.
They passed into the main parlor. Nearly one hundred and ten people were here, securing pressure doors shut, barricading exits, and frantically trying to find a way to open the main door. Barely any more than half of the vault. An older man in a white lab coat stepped forward, approaching the Geoff’s group. His uniform was a mess. His collar was popped up, his cuffs were splattered in blood, and his belt was gone. His balding black hair looked to be a mess. “Some automaton things!” He cried, waving his hands all around.”They came through the auxiliary door! The beasts tore poor Richard apart!” The officers linked up with the seven others present in the room, making a total of eight. Only one half of the vaults normal security force. They took up positions at each door, offering a slightly more uniformed, and organized presence to the room. A few of the more crazed residents were able to calm down at the sight of uniformed officers calmly following protocol, as if nothing was wrong. Though, of course, that was not true. The far off rattle of gunfire echoed out from the bowels of the vault.
A young technician, no older than eighteen, ran into the room, past two stunned security officers. He held up a holodisk, waving it around. “I made it! The overseer gave this to me, and told me to run here! I have the override disk- I can open the door!” The crowd of people began to cheer. The people made a path for the technician, silently pleading for success. The Technician knelt down, and inserted the disk into a portable drive. He connected the drive to the door panel, and began to work. After a few painfully silent minutes, the door slid open with an amazingly loud screeching. It rolled end over end, as its metal teeth walked across the floor, through the divots. The crowd scrambled over each other to get past the door. They were all stopped short by a blindingly bright light. Most fell to their knees, as if god himself was casting fire into their souls. They writhed and convulsed, crying out, but still more came behind them clamoring to leave.
Geoff was pushed forward by the surge of people. He ended up in between an old woman, and a crying seven year old child, squirming in the dirt.
It was pure chaos.
It took a few days for the Vice chief of security, now the temporary Overseer, to establish a plan. He recalled a few per-war maps, that spoke of areas that might still support fledgling settlements. he decided to take his people there, instead of having them risk entering the vault. Geoff decided against such a plan of action, instead option for a much riskier idea. He marched off on his own, determined to carve out his own place in the world, ending up in the Niagara area.
Just so the guy above knows, you didn't put your strength and weaknesses in.
Click on the damn dragon! I'll give you tacos!
Whoops! I'll fix that. Thanks for the head's up.
Hello, my application was accepted on the 16th and I am still not white listed. May I please be white listed so I can begin RP on this server?
Musta not seen it, going on to whitelist you now
OOC:
IGN: MarcsURL
Age (Optional): 15
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): Sibs has it.
Time Zone: GMT+10/AEST
Prior Bans and reasons: No prior bans, I’m clean mates.
Define Role-play: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming can refer to two things; forcing actions onto other roleplayer's characters, and performing feats and actions your character wouldn't usually be able to perform. An example of the first being Player A swings his axe, and cuts Player B straight in half, and an example of the second being Despite Player X having no legs, he managed to scale the 20ft wall.
Define Metagaming: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve been roleplaying on Minecraft for around two years; beginning with Silver Gaming’s TAC, then Tyrenale, Gildorym, Solstice and Lord of the Craft, and currently From the Ashes.
Previous Fallout experience: Fallout 3 & NV.
Have you read the rules?: Yuhuh.
Write any further questions here: Yeah, nah.
IC:
Character Name: Roswell “Gambit” Dalton
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian Oriental Halfbreed
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Roswell is a olive-skinned male, with thick, black hair. His face is slim and narrow, and shows obvious signs of the harsh wasteland environment. His eyes, also, are black, slightly almond-shaped from his racial heritage. More often than not, he is seen wearing an overcoat, and armored vest; similar to those seen in the New California Republic. On his left arm, strapped on tightly, is his Pip-Boy 3000 that he scavenged of one of his contract targets.
Strengths: Roswell is a sly, and tricky man. He is clever with words, and seems to posses the ability to get people to side with him; but which also means he can twirl them around his fingers if he so pleases. He's also extremely quick-thinker, coming up with solutions quickly, especially in times when one is needed desperately. The man is also adept with guns, but most specifically rifles. Having had an interest in them since he was a kid, and having found them the most effective during his adult life he's grown quite the eye for sharpshooting.
Weaknesses: Roswell is hardheaded, disloyal, and is driven, over anything, by money. He hates being proven wrong, and often goes to great lengths to prove that he's right, and pairing with him being extremely ignorant, is his greed. That's what drove him to do this job in the first place, his love for caps, and things of value, and adding to that, Roswell will always put himself in front of anyone. Roswell is also not the brightest, especially as a vault resident. He also found that there was no point in learning, since he was never going to use the information anyway. Albeit, because of this, he's fallen behind intellectually, and so isn't as capable as most at higher level thinking.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
From a young age, it was clear the Roswell wasn’t exactly the one who seemed like he would stay in the comforts of his Vault. He never did particularly well at school, for one; other than in Physical Education classes which he excelled to at in some degree. He much preferred to talk, and day-dream, and perhaps occasionally skip classes when he soon grew a love for weapons, taking his BB Guns to the lower areas of the vault, and shooting at radroaches. And, to be honest, everyone liked him because of it. His fellow students found him as somewhat as a rebel, and Roswell would much prefer himself to be known as that then some nerd. However, of course this was all to his parents disapproval; especially seeming was a doctor, and the other a teacher. Into his teenage life, Roswell was getting even brash. He even started gambling amongst a small group of friends he had, betting their rations against one another. While the boy did start growing an unhealthy addiction to card games, it was really ended up in his benefit; and that’s where he got his nickname, Gambit. Roswell was great at playing these games, and almost always ended the game in his favour – obviously not always through legitimate means, as he had a quick hand, and a mouth that made people look at his face, rather than his cards. Eventually though, Roswell grew bored of the environment he was constantly exposed to, and having have heard of the world outside the vault from stories and books, he decided what his next course of action would be.
Honestly, it was really a relief to his parents that, at the age of 19, that Roswell decided that he would leave the vault on his own adventures. They had been receiving considerable amounts of complaints of the young man sleeping around, and causing way too much trouble than what was good for him. And so, leaving the vault was really a positive for everyone; the Vault had one less rebel to deal with, and Roswell could finally leave the place the he now considered to be much like a prison, especially when he started getting a real taste of the outside world. He was told that he should make his way towards that city before anything else, or he’d likely end up dead by viruses, or simply by the wastelands cruel environment. And so, Roswell did, and soon made it to the city.
Now, of course, Roswell was particularly taken back by the extreme change of environment, and he wanted to get a full dose of the contrasting city life was compared to one in a vault. One thing that Roswell found himself dragged into heavily, was of course, gambling. But, like the times in Vault 66, he soon found that his main source of income was gaming; and he began addressing himself as the nickname he was given; and soon enough, people who knew him, knew him as Gambit. Nevertheless, after a few years of getting use to the city, and making a bit of money, he decided that he wanted to pursue something else. He wanted to explore the wasteland a bit further; and his sense of adventure soon took the better of him. And so, he looks for a job that would allow him to do this, and through a friend, he found something that he really wouldn’t mind doing; bounty hunting. Now, to begin with, Roswell was a little sceptical. The whole idea of being a bounty hunter sounded like one of those edgy children’s books he disliked as a teen, but when he saw the prices on people’s heads, the offer was soon taken up. He blew the money he had been earning on a decent semi-automatic rifle that he liked the look of, and took up a missions from his contractor. At first, the whole idea of killing people for money, usually because his employer had a grudge on them, sort of went against Roswell’s natural morals, and, to be truthful, to begin with he often wasn’t able to bring himself to do it. But as he went through with the killings more often, and as the caps increased, he soon found it easier, and easier to pull the trigger.
Roswell knew the business he was working in was bad; occasionally he would see himself working with slavers, raiders, and gangs from time to time, but, he liked it. The people that he worked with understood why he was in the job, and those were for two things; the caps, and the exploration. One thing that Roswell soon learnt during his ‘career’, was hold no relationships. Make friends and allies, yes, and make sure you have people you trust; but never, ever give them an opportunity where they hold your life in their hands, make sure that, if it was between you two, it would be you who would get out alive. And that was the code that Roswell lived by from then on, that was until one particular mission, that had lead him to someone that he felt that he could truly consider as an equal. This contract was actually directed towards a small group of slavers that had caught the wife of a sheriff in a small town. None of his men actually wanted to deal with it, scared that they might be captured and sold themselves, and so the bounty that Roswell would receive was set pretty high. Once he found the men, there was only so many of them, and from a distance, it didn’t take him long for him to pick them off, he released the sheriff’s wife, but also released another women, who had similar interests to his own. At their first talk, they knew one another. Not like how two best friends would know one another, but like how two bounty hunter would know why one another were in this position. And so, from then on, despite Roswell’s previous thoughts, he worked with Eve; raiding and collecting bounties as they did.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
What do you do?:
Gambit clicked his tongue at the view, his eyes flicking rapidly between the oncoming storm and the scene. He decided that he had some time to spare before his situation grew any more critical. He made his way to the guard that still had life in him, and quickly relieved him of that; withdrawing his pistol from his bag, making a quick reload, and firing a shot through his head, the man's blood slumping next to him without as much as a heavy thump as he collided with the ground. Gambit took another look at the sky, the storm was approaching at him at a steady pace, but he could begin to feel the air around him grow damp; he acted fast. Searching the corpse, he only found a measly 3 caps, and so he moved onto the second guard, thinking that both the caravan and the merchant would have been looted clean anyways. He's a bit luckier with the other, salvaging a round of ammo, as well as 8 caps; but as he turned to the sky, he realized it probably wasn't so worth it. The storm was now deathly close to him, his jacket now flapping hard with the increasing winds, and so, quickly cleaning his bloodied hands with the dirty water-bottle in his bag, he set of at a quick pace, tripping slightly over the Brahman, on course back to the city of Niagra.
There is no escaping the shadows of the old world.
OOC:
IGN: dedoralive
Age (Optional): I have been on *This* desolate planet for 18 years :C
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): fvck v ((please do not take this the wrong way, the actual account name is " odsta22 " but that is the user))
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: N/a
Define Role-play: Taking on a role of a character or entity that you wouldn't normally be irl or the like. For fun most of the time.
Define Powergaming: Forcing an action on another character. Or condition. Like *Breaks leg* With no room for response
Define Metagaming: Using information you have obtained oocly IC to benefit yourself, or just in general.
Previous roleplay experience: I've been rping on mc since 2012... *shudders*
Previous Fallout experience: Played fallout 3 and new Vegas
Have you read the rules?: of course not :^) jk I have <3
Write any further questions here: what does "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World." mean ;-;
IC:
Character Name: Eve Manasseh
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian human
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Scarf toting red head. A rather thin looking girl. But tough enough where she needs to be. Piercingly sharp hazel eyes.
Strengths: Keen eyes, strong will, and a knack for being right. Eve likes to let her problems sort themselves out from afar. With out getting herself in danger if she can.
Weaknesses: Should she be in danger, she isn't one to be able to escape very quickly. Not very fast, and not too strong either. Her greatest weakness is that she thinks herself too safe at times.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 3
Perception: 9
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 3
Luck: 8
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Along with the few other 'lucky' vault dwellers, Eve grew up in the gambling vault 21; where in, the only real tests were that of regular human interaction... within a vault. She excelled in her classes, however, for her demanding father, and lap-dog of a mother, this was not enough. Her father, Joseph Manasseh, forced her into learning many things, which in turn made it difficult for her to connect with the other children in the vault. She never forgave him for it, but she did learn many things she needed once she broke from the vault. Eve learned how to handle guns, soon she found she enjoyed using them, and didn't mind the lessons so much. Her aim would improve by the week as she put her effort into learning the ins and outs of 'her' weapons. Besides weapons, she was taught basic first aid, how to care for her own wounds, and the wounds of others. She didn't like the idea of having to take care of others; besides, she seemed to be the only one on her own side in this.
Next on her fathers must know list, was economics, one of Eve's favorite subjects, aside from guns of course. She liked learning ways to make money, and even dared to ask about the ways people did so before life in the vaults. While intelligent, her father wanted her to at least be able to run for decent amounts of time, not necessarily fast. Joseph had her jog around the vault for hours till the other dwellers were tired of seeing her face. Joseph spared no expense in making sure his daughter was ready, teaching Eve the basics of surviving in nature as he knew best. While she didn't have much of a childhood, Eve would come to appreciate the work her father put into her, or rather the 'tough love' she received wasn't for no reason. After much of her life spent learning, training, and just being miserable, Eve left her vault at the age of 22.
Her first week consisted of a lot of hiding from the wastes inhabitants, as well as scavenging whatever she found far away from anything moving. Though soon that all changed when she found that some people weren't as hostile as the creatures that shared the land with them. Perhaps not the most socially adept person, Eve had trouble at first, but after keeping her head down and nose out of too much trouble, she learned of a very lucrative opportunity; bounty hunting. Simple enough to her, people wanted someone dealt with, and were willing to pay Eve a large sum to do so. But of course, as anyone starting something new, there are bound to be hiccups, this one Eve remembers well.
Eve trotted atop the dry cracked dirt path leading to the shoddily put together hut in which she had been informed, she may find a job. She tapped her knuckles on the old door, and from within came a whimper and beckon for entry. "C-come in!.." Cried the voice. Eve pushed the door open with ease, within the hut was a woman laying in a pile of dirtied laundry atop a even dirtier sleeping bag, with not much else besides a rusted green toolbox beside her. "I assume y-you're here about the job.." Asked the woman. Eve would only nod, not being very good at expressing much otherwise. The woman sniffled then motioned for her to sit, which Eve did. "Thank you for doing this.. really it means so much!" proclaimed woman in a lighter tone. Eve hesitated, but nodded once more. "The leader of the raiders wears a hockey mask.. big fellow, likes to announce his presence before you see him.. hes the one I want dead.." The woman would state coldly. "He's the one that took my poor Richard away.." The woman would open the box, revealing many caps, and a worn picture of her former lover. Eve would nod once more. "Bring me his head.." Eve's eyes widened but she managed to inform the woman weakly. "I.. I will.." As quickly as it had opened, the woman closed the box, and patted Eve on the back. "Thank you so much dearie.. please don't take too long now.." With little need for encouragement, Eve stood and left the hut, off to a cliff above the raiders well known hiding spot.
By the time she made it up the precarious perch it was night time, the sun had just set, and the raiders were having some kind of celebration. Eve took her rifle out and looked through her scope, searching for the man she needed. Her mind raced trying to figure out how she could get his head after wards, but it wasn't long before the tumbling of a few kicked up pebbles from behind her caught her attention. Her eyes flashed with overwhelming panic as she caught a glimpse of a once white ski mask over one of the men's faces, of which there were three. Eve was going to scream, but knew it would only serve to worsen her situation, so she remained silent. The tall masked man laughed. "This one is cute.. I think we can fetch a pretty high price for her.." His two underlings nodded at the statement, and rushed over to grab Eve, setting her in front of their leader. Eve merely stared up at the man, her lower lip quivering.
"Do me a favor kid, don't be a hero. I mean after all that's how you got in this mess." The man went to remove his mask, and she quickly recognized him from the photo shown to her earlier. Noting her reaction the man began to speak again. "Ever wonder why the same old lady has been asking for someone to take out her husbands killer? Because selling them once they're caught pays well!" The man and his cronies laughed. Eve would stay silent, her mind racing, looking for a way out of this. "Ahh, the silent type huh? Well that's good I suppose, slavers don't like talkers.. but me personally.. I like screamers.." Richard revealed a whip from behind himself, and gave it a few experimental snaps against the ground. "Now lets see how quiet you stay.." His two henchmen exposed Eve's back to the man, and he began to strike her pale skin, breaking it and sending blood flying after the first hit. "Still nothing!?" He raised the whip high above his head, and as Eve braced for impact she heard the crack of a bullet being fire, nay, three bullets, followed by three thuds. She looked up, tears welling in her eyes, her back stinging, only to find she had been saved by a man she would come to know as Roswell. After getting Eve to safety, and leaving the town, they both set out together, searching for opportunity in the form of bounties wherever they went.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Eve's eyes scan the horizon, staying far back as she watches the man. It'd be dumb to try and help him, especially in his current state. She huffs quietly, waiting, though not for long, the storm is coming. Eve can already make out the sound of thunder, which gives her an idea. If she can't help him in life, she can at least give him a proper death. The man is crying out now, attracting much unneeded attention to himself. But Eve has her mission. As she nears the man and the scene, she slips the 10mm pistol out, and taps it against her waist. The man looks up, fear in his eyes, he tries to raise his hands but he finds he is in too much pain. "What is your name." Eve asks him calmly. He looks confused, tilts his head, the manages to stammer out. "T-thomas.. Thomas Cantin.." Eve raises her gun, aiming at Thomas's head. "Go with peace, Thomas Cantin." Thunder sounds, nearing, and a shell drops to the ground, sending a small bit of dust into the air. Eve holsters her pistol, and the corpse of Thomas slumps back down into its own pool of blood. She wipes her hands at takes out the squirrel on a stick, munching on it while she listens in to the radio, on the lookout for any buildings nearby. The storm was getting closer.
IGN: TMR_Chicken (in case you couldn’t guess)
IC:
Character Name: Artyom Isaacovich Asimov
Age:52 (at time of Beta, 53 at full release)
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): 6’3”, wears a brown leather coat with a wool lining, though he has no undershirt, he has light tan cargoes, he has white hair that still has black streaks in it, the hair reaches his shoulders, his beard is a close shave. He has brown eyes, looks very strong, and has massive amount of chest hair that can been seen between the sides of his coat
Strengths: He is very strong, knows how to fight in hand to hand combat very well, is good with conventional guns, knows many survival techniques, including basic medical procedures, though he can stretch his ability and occasionally do something a bit more complex, though he rarely cares to try
Weaknesses: He tires faster than those younger than him, and so depends on quick take downs. Doesn’t use plasma or laser weapons since he doesn’t trust them because of their ‘strange nature’
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
• Strength:10
• Perception:4
• Endurance:4
• Charisma:5
• Intelligence:8
• Agility:4
• Luck:5
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Artyom was born into a Russian family that lived in Alaska, where the snow and ice would kill anything weak without mercy. Artyom’s ancestors had successfully crossed the Bering Strait and settled in the northern Alaskan wilderness, more than used to the conditions. When the bombs went off, the family only found out when the sky lit up and the rumble of the distant explosions reached them since they were far from any populated areas, and so, far from where the nukes had hit. Artyom, from an early age, was trained in multiple survival techniques that the family had developed in their generations of living in the cold, unforgiving wilderness. By the age of ten, he had learned the proper way to skin an animal, which parts of the beast contained the highest protein, and generally how not to die. By the age of seventeen, Artyom moved out of his parent house and began to make his own way, building his own house from the ground up. One day while hunting, Artyom met a girl from one of the neighboring families, who really were just distant relatives, and promptly fell in love.
The couple held a ceremony when Artyom was twenty years old, to which all the families in the area attended, bringing a feast of food and wealth of gifts for the newlyweds. Artyom and his wife lived in relative peace, starting a family of their own when Artyom was twenty-one. One particularly hard winter, while Artyom was out hunting, his only son suddenly died of the harsh conditions, causing his mother to fall into a fit of despair and sorrow, the which Artyom found her in when he returned. After a few months, Artyom awoke to find his wife outside with a rope around her neck, ready to jump of a tree branch and end her life. Artyom ran out of the house, calling for her to stop, but to his horror, she jumped, dying instantly when the rope snapped taught. At this point Artyom could bear no longer to be in this place, and so grabbed what he needed from his house and charged out into the wilderness, never wanting to return to the place were all he had loved died.
For several years Artyom wondered the wilderness alone, until one day he happened upon a camp where a lone stranger sat roasting something over the fire. I quickly became evident that here would be a problem as Artyom only spoke Russian at the time while the other man only knew English, but even with this, the two men got along rather well as they traveled together. As they journeyed, the other man taught Artyom English while Artyom taught him Russian, though in the end the other man was found to be horrid at Russian, so Artyom had to learn English out of necessity. Within the first few months he could speak in broken sentences, and after a year of lessons, he could speak near perfect English. Ethan, the other man, revealed that he had been travelling the Canadian wastes for all his life, which to that point spanned nineteen years.
One day, while travelling towards what Ethan insured would be a well settled town, an irradiated bear, or Yao guai, attacked the duo. Ethan was tackled to the ground by the beast, but instead of running, Artyom shoved the bear off before taking out his knife and attacking the monster. Artyom and the Yao guia wrestled for a good bit until Ethan was able to shoot the monster’s head and have it jump off of Artyom and towards him, pinning him to a nearby tree. Artyom quickly got to him feet and jammed his knife into the base of the creature’s neck before dragging it around the front. After a few more cuts and a finishing blow from Artyom’s revolver, the beast finally died. Artyom then turned to Ethan, only to find his friend dead on the ground, his face having been mauled off when the bear had pinned him to the tree. Arytom buried his friend in the fire that he had set on the dead Yao guia’s body before setting off once more towards the south.
Twenty years later, Artyom reached Toronto, where he stayed for a good amount of time, but as the days and months drug on, he decided to head south once more, now with only a single goal in mind as years of sorrow and tragedy piled up on him. Either find a good way to die, or find an adequate reason to keep living.
(As a side note, yes, Artyom was able to wrestle with a Yao guia, but that was when he was in his early twenties. He would definitely not do as well if he tried it now since he has lower stamina than when he was younger. Just thought I might want to clear that up so that people don’t think I’ll try wrestling Yao guias on the server. Not that there are any, but you catch my drift.)
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Artyom* walks along the road, passing by the caravan
Guard: “H-hey, can I get some help?”
Artyom* looks over to the man, looking him over
Artyom: “Nyet.”
Guard: “Eh… what now?”
Artyom: “No.”
Artyom* begins to walk off
Guard: “H-hey, you can’t just leave me here to die!”
Artyom: “I can, and I will. One more death in the wastes isn’t much in the greater scheme of things.”
Guard: “But isn’t each life a sacred thing? Come on old man, give a guy some help, will yah?”
Artyom* continues walking away
Artyom: “Maybe at one time, but that was long ago…”
Guard: “And you’re willing to let that time die?”
Artyom* stops
Artyom* turns, taking out his gun
Artyom: “Don’t talk to me about death, I’ve seen more death and misery than you could ever imagine.”
Guard: “Would you witness one more?”
Artyom: “Nyet.”
Artyom* puts away his gun and walks away
Guard: “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Artyom: “No, I’ll leave now and no run the risk of watching you die. As you said, I rather not witness another death.”
Artyom* continues walking away
(third time is the charm so this better work out.. or maybe not)
Now I honestly liked the read and all, everything seems to line up but the thing is that Vault 66 opened in 2200, and or it also is more of a museum than anything else, plus the fact your character's nickname is "Gambit" but that's pretty much it, everything lines up so just fix where your character came from and the nickname and that's it but as of now you are...
Your application was pretty solid besides the fact that your character comes from Vault 76 which was supposed to open 20 years after the great war of 207, which would be in 2097 which is two centuries from what the beta/full server will be based in and those years are 2277 and 2278. Now everything else is fine because of that but as of now your application is...
Okay... so first of all the closest thing to an actual Russian within the U.S. as of now would be descendants of Russians who lived within the U.S. Now that's not the major problem, the major problem is how your character managed to walk 4129.9 miles across the North American wasteland all the way to Niagara across lands filled with god knows what in it. Somehow your character managed to wrestle and survive a Yao Guai wrestling with him in his mid twenties? Also your character's name is pretty much the same as that of Artyom from Metro 2033. I'm sorry but I'd recommend scrapping the whole character and going with something that makes a bit more sense within the area.
Pretty much repost your edited character application and you'll be accepted.
OOC:
IGN: MarcsURL
Age (Optional): 15
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): Sibs has it.
Time Zone: GMT+10/AEST
Prior Bans and reasons: No prior bans, I’m clean mates.
Define Role-play: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming can refer to two things; forcing actions onto other roleplayer's characters, and performing feats and actions your character wouldn't usually be able to perform. An example of the first being Player A swings his axe, and cuts Player B straight in half, and an example of the second being Despite Player X having no legs, he managed to scale the 20ft wall.
Define Metagaming: Roleplay, in essence, is putting yourself into a character's shoes, and acting them out accordingly. By playing this character, you should respond as they would to situations that are presented to you, and simply do things that character would do. A good analogy of the term is; roleplaying is liking being an actor acting his role, while also writing your script as you go along.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve been roleplaying on Minecraft for around two years; beginning with Silver Gaming’s TAC, then Tyrenale, Gildorym, Solstice and Lord of the Craft, and currently From the Ashes.
Previous Fallout experience: Fallout 3 & NV.
Have you read the rules?: Yuhuh.
Write any further questions here: Yeah, nah.
IC:
Character Name: Roswell Dalton
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian Oriental Halfbreed
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Roswell is a olive-skinned male, with thick, black hair. His face is slim and narrow, and shows obvious signs of the harsh wasteland environment. His eyes, also, are black, slightly almond-shaped from his racial heritage. More often than not, he is seen wearing an overcoat, and armored vest; similar to those seen in the New California Republic. On his left arm, strapped on tightly, is his Pip-Boy 3000 that he scavenged of one of his contract targets.
Strengths: Roswell is a sly, and tricky man. He is clever with words, and seems to posses the ability to get people to side with him; but which also means he can twirl them around his fingers if he so pleases. He's also extremely quick-thinker, coming up with solutions quickly, especially in times when one is needed desperately. The man is also adept with guns, but most specifically rifles. Having had an interest in them since he was a kid, and having found them the most effective during his adult life he's grown quite the eye for sharpshooting.
Weaknesses: Roswell is hardheaded, disloyal, and is driven, over anything, by money. He hates being proven wrong, and often goes to great lengths to prove that he's right, and pairing with him being extremely ignorant, is his greed. That's what drove him to do this job in the first place, his love for caps, and things of value, and adding to that, Roswell will always put himself in front of anyone. Roswell is also not the brightest, especially as a vault resident. He also found that there was no point in learning, since he was never going to use the information anyway. Albeit, because of this, he's fallen behind intellectually, and so isn't as capable as most at higher level thinking.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
From a young age, it was clear the Roswell wasn’t exactly the one who seemed like he would stay in the comforts of his Vault. He never did particularly well at school, for one; other than in Physical Education classes which he excelled to at in some degree. He much preferred to talk, and day-dream, and perhaps occasionally skip classes when he soon grew a love for weapons, taking his BB Guns to the lower areas of the vault, and shooting at radroaches. And, to be honest, everyone liked him because of it. His fellow students found him as somewhat as a rebel, and Roswell would much prefer himself to be known as that then some nerd. However, of course this was all to his parents disapproval; especially seeming was a doctor, and the other a teacher. Into his teenage life, Roswell was getting even brash. He even started gambling amongst a small group of friends he had, betting their rations against one another. While the boy did start growing an unhealthy addiction to card games, it was really ended up in his benefit; and that’s where he got his nickname, Gambit. Roswell was great at playing these games, and almost always ended the game in his favour – obviously not always through legitimate means, as he had a quick hand, and a mouth that made people look at his face, rather than his cards. Eventually though, Roswell grew bored of the environment he was constantly exposed to, and having have heard of the world outside the vault from stories and books, he decided what his next course of action would be.
Honestly, it was really a relief to his parents that, at the age of 19, that Roswell decided that he would leave the vault on his own adventures. They had been receiving considerable amounts of complaints of the young man sleeping around, and causing way too much trouble than what was good for him. And so, leaving the vault was really a positive for everyone; the Vault had one less rebel to deal with, and Roswell could finally leave the place the he now considered to be much like a prison, especially when he started getting a real taste of the outside world. He was told that one of the best cities to travel to was Niagara, and so, with the help of other travelers, he made his way to that city.
Now, of course, Roswell was particularly taken back by the extreme change of environment, and he wanted to get a full dose of the contrasting city life was compared to one in a vault. One thing that Roswell found himself dragged into heavily, was of course, gambling. But, like the times in Vault 21, he soon found that his main source of income was gaming; and he began addressing himself as the nickname he was given; and soon enough, people who knew him, knew him as Gambit. Nevertheless, after a few years of getting use to the city, and making a bit of money, he decided that he wanted to pursue something else. He wanted to explore the wasteland a bit further; and his sense of adventure soon took the better of him. And so, he looks for a job that would allow him to do this, and through a friend, he found something that he really wouldn’t mind doing; bounty hunting. Now, to begin with, Roswell was a little sceptical. The whole idea of being a bounty hunter sounded like one of those edgy children’s books he disliked as a teen, but when he saw the prices on people’s heads, the offer was soon taken up. He blew the money he had been earning on a decent semi-automatic rifle that he liked the look of, and took up a missions from his contractor. At first, the whole idea of killing people for money, usually because his employer had a grudge on them, sort of went against Roswell’s natural morals, and, to be truthful, to begin with he often wasn’t able to bring himself to do it. But as he went through with the killings more often, and as the caps increased, he soon found it easier, and easier to pull the trigger.
Roswell knew the business he was working in was bad; occasionally he would see himself working with slavers, raiders, and gangs from time to time, but, he liked it. The people that he worked with understood why he was in the job, and those were for two things; the caps, and the exploration. One thing that Roswell soon learnt during his ‘career’, was hold no relationships. Make friends and allies, yes, and make sure you have people you trust; but never, ever give them an opportunity where they hold your life in their hands, make sure that, if it was between you two, it would be you who would get out alive. And that was the code that Roswell lived by from then on, that was until one particular mission, that had lead him to someone that he felt that he could truly consider as an equal. This contract was actually directed towards a small group of slavers that had caught the wife of a sheriff in a small town. None of his men actually wanted to deal with it, scared that they might be captured and sold themselves, and so the bounty that Roswell would receive was set pretty high. Once he found the men, there was only so many of them, and from a distance, it didn’t take him long for him to pick them off, he released the sheriff’s wife, but also released another women, who had similar interests to his own. At their first talk, they knew one another. Not like how two best friends would know one another, but like how two bounty hunter would know why one another were in this position. And so, from then on, despite Roswell’s previous thoughts, he worked with Eve; raiding and collecting bounties as they did.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
What do you do?:
Roswell clicked his tongue at the view, his eyes flicking rapidly between the oncoming storm and the scene. He decided that he had some time to spare before his situation grew any more critical. He made his way to the guard that still had life in him, and quickly relieved him of that; withdrawing his pistol from his bag, making a quick reload, and firing a shot through his head, the man's blood slumping next to him without as much as a heavy thump as he collided with the ground. Roswell took another look at the sky, the storm was approaching at him at a steady pace, but he could begin to feel the air around him grow damp; he acted fast. Searching the corpse, he only found a measly 3 caps, and so he moved onto the second guard, thinking that both the caravan and the merchant would have been looted clean anyways. He's a bit luckier with the other, salvaging a round of ammo, as well as 8 caps; but as he turned to the sky, he realized it probably wasn't so worth it. The storm was now deathly close to him, his jacket now flapping hard with the increasing winds, and so, quickly cleaning his bloodied hands with the dirty water-bottle in his bag, he set of at a quick pace, tripping slightly over the Brahman, on course back to the city of Niagra.
There is no escaping the shadows of the old world.
OOC:
IGN: dedoralive
Age (Optional): I have been on *This* desolate planet for 18 years :C
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): fvck v ((please do not take this the wrong way, the actual account name is " odsta22 " but that is the user))
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: N/a
Define Role-play: Taking on a role of a character or entity that you wouldn't normally be irl or the like. For fun most of the time.
Define Powergaming: Forcing an action on another character. Or condition. Like *Breaks leg* With no room for response
Define Metagaming: Using information you have obtained oocly IC to benefit yourself, or just in general.
Previous roleplay experience: I've been rping on mc since 2012... *shudders*
Previous Fallout experience: Played fallout 3 and new Vegas
Have you read the rules?: of course not :^) jk I have <3
Write any further questions here: what does "There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World." mean ;-;
IC:
Character Name: Eve Manasseh
Age: 30
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian human
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Scarf toting red head. A rather thin looking girl. But tough enough where she needs to be. Piercingly sharp hazel eyes.
Strengths: Keen eyes, strong will, and a knack for being right. Eve likes to let her problems sort themselves out from afar. With out getting herself in danger if she can.
Weaknesses: Should she be in danger, she isn't one to be able to escape very quickly. Not very fast, and not too strong either. Her greatest weakness is that she thinks herself too safe at times.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Strength: 3
Perception: 9
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 3
Luck: 8
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Along with the few other 'lucky' vault dwellers, Eve grew up in the gambling vault 21; where in, the only real tests were that of regular human interaction... within a vault. She excelled in her classes, however, for her demanding father, and lap-dog of a mother, this was not enough. Her father, Joseph Manasseh, forced her into learning many things, which in turn made it difficult for her to connect with the other children in the vault. She never forgave him for it, but she did learn many things she needed once she broke from the vault. Eve learned how to handle guns, soon she found she enjoyed using them, and didn't mind the lessons so much. Her aim would improve by the week as she put her effort into learning the ins and outs of 'her' weapons. Besides weapons, she was taught basic first aid, how to care for her own wounds, and the wounds of others. She didn't like the idea of having to take care of others; besides, she seemed to be the only one on her own side in this.
Next on her fathers must know list, was economics, one of Eve's favorite subjects, aside from guns of course. She liked learning ways to make money, and even dared to ask about the ways people did so before life in the vaults. While intelligent, her father wanted her to at least be able to run for decent amounts of time, not necessarily fast. Joseph had her jog around the vault for hours till the other dwellers were tired of seeing her face. Joseph spared no expense in making sure his daughter was ready, teaching Eve the basics of surviving in nature as he knew best. While she didn't have much of a childhood, Eve would come to appreciate the work her father put into her, or rather the 'tough love' she received wasn't for no reason. After much of her life spent learning, training, and just being miserable, Eve left her vault at the age of 22.
Her first week consisted of a lot of hiding from the wastes inhabitants, as well as scavenging whatever she found far away from anything moving. Though soon that all changed when she found that some people weren't as hostile as the creatures that shared the land with them. Perhaps not the most socially adept person, Eve had trouble at first, but after keeping her head down and nose out of too much trouble, she learned of a very lucrative opportunity; bounty hunting. Simple enough to her, people wanted someone dealt with, and were willing to pay Eve a large sum to do so. But of course, as anyone starting something new, there are bound to be hiccups, this one Eve remembers well.
Eve trotted atop the dry cracked dirt path leading to the shoddily put together hut in which she had been informed, she may find a job. She tapped her knuckles on the old door, and from within came a whimper and beckon for entry. "C-come in!.." Cried the voice. Eve pushed the door open with ease, within the hut was a woman laying in a pile of dirtied laundry atop a even dirtier sleeping bag, with not much else besides a rusted green toolbox beside her. "I assume y-you're here about the job.." Asked the woman. Eve would only nod, not being very good at expressing much otherwise. The woman sniffled then motioned for her to sit, which Eve did. "Thank you for doing this.. really it means so much!" proclaimed woman in a lighter tone. Eve hesitated, but nodded once more. "The leader of the raiders wears a hockey mask.. big fellow, likes to announce his presence before you see him.. hes the one I want dead.." The woman would state coldly. "He's the one that took my poor Richard away.." The woman would open the box, revealing many caps, and a worn picture of her former lover. Eve would nod once more. "Bring me his head.." Eve's eyes widened but she managed to inform the woman weakly. "I.. I will.." As quickly as it had opened, the woman closed the box, and patted Eve on the back. "Thank you so much dearie.. please don't take too long now.." With little need for encouragement, Eve stood and left the hut, off to a cliff above the raiders well known hiding spot.
By the time she made it up the precarious perch it was night time, the sun had just set, and the raiders were having some kind of celebration. Eve took her rifle out and looked through her scope, searching for the man she needed. Her mind raced trying to figure out how she could get his head after wards, but it wasn't long before the tumbling of a few kicked up pebbles from behind her caught her attention. Her eyes flashed with overwhelming panic as she caught a glimpse of a once white ski mask over one of the men's faces, of which there were three. Eve was going to scream, but knew it would only serve to worsen her situation, so she remained silent. The tall masked man laughed. "This one is cute.. I think we can fetch a pretty high price for her.." His two underlings nodded at the statement, and rushed over to grab Eve, setting her in front of their leader. Eve merely stared up at the man, her lower lip quivering.
"Do me a favor kid, don't be a hero. I mean after all that's how you got in this mess." The man went to remove his mask, and she quickly recognized him from the photo shown to her earlier. Noting her reaction the man began to speak again. "Ever wonder why the same old lady has been asking for someone to take out her husbands killer? Because selling them once they're caught pays well!" The man and his cronies laughed. Eve would stay silent, her mind racing, looking for a way out of this. "Ahh, the silent type huh? Well that's good I suppose, slavers don't like talkers.. but me personally.. I like screamers.." Richard revealed a whip from behind himself, and gave it a few experimental snaps against the ground. "Now lets see how quiet you stay.." His two henchmen exposed Eve's back to the man, and he began to strike her pale skin, breaking it and sending blood flying after the first hit. "Still nothing!?" He raised the whip high above his head, and as Eve braced for impact she heard the crack of a bullet being fire, nay, three bullets, followed by three thuds. She looked up, tears welling in her eyes, her back stinging, only to find she had been saved by a man she would come to know as Roswell. After getting Eve to safety, and leaving the town, they both set out together, searching for opportunity in the form of bounties wherever they went.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Eve's eyes scan the horizon, staying far back as she watches the man. It'd be dumb to try and help him, especially in his current state. She huffs quietly, waiting, though not for long, the storm is coming. Eve can already make out the sound of thunder, which gives her an idea. If she can't help him in life, she can at least give him a proper death. The man is crying out now, attracting much unneeded attention to himself. But Eve has her mission. As she nears the man and the scene, she slips the 10mm pistol out, and taps it against her waist. The man looks up, fear in his eyes, he tries to raise his hands but he finds he is in too much pain. "What is your name." Eve asks him calmly. He looks confused, tilts his head, the manages to stammer out. "T-thomas.. Thomas Cantin.." Eve raises her gun, aiming at Thomas's head. "Go with peace, Thomas Cantin." Thunder sounds, nearing, and a shell drops to the ground, sending a small bit of dust into the air. Eve holsters her pistol, and the corpse of Thomas slumps back down into its own pool of blood. She wipes her hands at takes out the squirrel on a stick, munching on it while she listens in to the radio, on the lookout for any buildings nearby. The storm was getting closer.
IGN: TMR_Chicken (in case you couldn’t guess)
IC:
Character Name: Isaac Robinovich Asimov
Age:52 (at time of Beta, 53 at full release)
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): 6’3”, wears a brown leather coat with a wool lining, though he has no undershirt, he has light tan cargoes, he has white hair that still has black streaks in it, the hair reaches his shoulders, his beard is a close shave. He has brown eyes, looks very strong, and has massive amount of chest hair that can been seen between the sides of his coat
Strengths: He is very strong, knows how to fight in hand to hand combat very well, is good with conventional guns, knows many survival techniques, including basic medical procedures, though he can stretch his ability and occasionally do something a bit more complex, though he rarely cares to try
Weaknesses: He tires faster than those younger than him, and so depends on quick take downs. Doesn’t use plasma or laser weapons since he doesn’t trust them because of their ‘strange nature’
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
• Strength:10
• Perception:4
• Endurance:4
• Charisma:5
• Intelligence:8
• Agility:4
• Luck:5
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Isaac was born into a Russian family that lived north of Ontario. Isaac’s ancestors had successfully crossed the Bering Strait and settled in the northern Alaskan wilderness before moving farther south. Isaac, from an early age, was trained in multiple survival techniques that the family had developed in their generations of living in the cold, unforgiving wilderness. By the age of ten, he had learned the proper way to skin an animal, which parts of the beast contained the highest protein, and generally how not to die. By the age of seventeen, Isaac moved out of his parent house and began to make his own way, building his own house from the ground up. One day while hunting, Isaac met a girl from one of the neighboring families, who really were just distant relatives, and promptly fell in love.
The couple held a ceremony when Isaac was twenty years old, to which all the families in the area attended, bringing a feast of food and wealth of gifts for the newlyweds. Isaac and his wife lived in relative peace, starting a family of their own when Isaac was twenty-one. One particularly hard winter, while Isaac was out hunting, his only son suddenly died of the harsh conditions, causing his mother to fall into a fit of despair and sorrow, the which Isaac found her in when he returned. After a few months, Isaac awoke to find his wife outside with a rope around her neck, ready to jump of a tree branch and end her life. Isaac ran out of the house, calling for her to stop, but to his horror, she jumped, dying instantly when the rope snapped taught. At this point Isaac could bear no longer to be in this place, and so grabbed what he needed from his house and charged out into the wilderness, never wanting to return to the place were all he had loved died. Eventually he wondered towards London, Canada, where he lived for almost thirty years.
After a while, Isaac moved away from London, not caring for the surroundinga anymore, eventually finding Niagara.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Isaac* walks along the road, passing by the caravan
Guard: “H-hey, can I get some help?”
Isaac* looks over to the man, looking him over
Isaac: “Nyet.”
Guard: “Eh… what now?”
Isaac: “No.”
Isaac* begins to walk off
Guard: “H-hey, you can’t just leave me here to die!”
Isaac: “I can, and I will. One more death in the wastes isn’t much in the greater scheme of things.”
Guard: “But isn’t each life a sacred thing? Come on old man, give a guy some help, will yah?”
Isaac* continues walking away
Isaac: “Maybe at one time, but that was long ago…”
Guard: “And you’re willing to let that time die?”
Isaac* stops
Isaac* turns, taking out his gun
Isaac: “Don’t talk to me about death, I’ve seen more death and misery than you could ever imagine.”
Guard: “Would you witness one more?”
Isaac: “Nyet.”
Isaac* puts away his gun and walks away
Guard: “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Isaac: “No, I’ll leave now and no run the risk of watching you die. As you said, I rather not witness another death.”
OOC:
IGN: Tiffosaur
Age (Optional): 15
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): tiffosaur19
Time Zone: EST
Prior Bans and reasons: I'm all clean. c:
Define Role-play: Roleplay is when one takes control of a character, and deciding their actions, feelings and thoughts.
Define Powergaming: Powergaming is, in short, doing the impossible. Doing the impossible would include controlling another’s character or forcing an action on a character, being OP in general, etc.
Define Metagaming: Metagaming is when one has their character have knowledge they would not normally have, meaning they use sources from Out-of-Character to their advantage In-Character.
Previous roleplay experience: I’ve roleplayed on many Minecraft servers - including Silver Gaming’s previous servers - as well as on Skype. At the moment, I am on another rp server. I’ve previously roleplayed on Tumblr. In addition to these, I’ve also done forum RP, such as the RWBY RPG forum RP, and RP'd on Skype.
Previous Fallout experience: I haven't played any Fallout games, but I know of the story.
Have you read the rules?: Yes.
Write any further questions here: Is there any escaping the Shadows of the Old World?
IC:
Character Name: Victoria Verdin
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Race: Human; White
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin): Victoria stands about 5’7” (170.1 cm). She adorns short blonde hair, which frames her oval shaped face well. Victoria’s eyes glimmer a strong green, her strong cheekbones and sharp jawline complimenting said optics. Victoria may appear slender, weak, fragile, but due to hours of physical labor, she’s actually quite strong. Her skin is fair, but she harbors burn scars. They dress the right side of her body, reaching from her neck, down to her lower waist. Though, the scarf she adorns covers the upper scars, and her clothing covers the rest. ( http://imgur.com/ztYBlrZ )
Strengths: Kind and upbeat with those she first meets. She cares deeply for her family and friends, making her loyal. In addition, she is courageous, fierce, and competitive. Years of physical labor have left her with a relatively strong upper body and high endurance. She knows how to handle a gun well.
Weaknesses: Victoria can have violent episodes sometimes. Although she is kind, she has a short temper and is easy to be put off; she tends to be rather impulsive. She’s very self-conscious about herself in general. Although, she is most sensitive when talking about her scars. Sometimes, she tends to be a bit over emotional, and she has a deathly fear of flames. She’s triggered often if she comes close to them.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Character Biography (Please include at least two quality paragraphs):
Victoria, the twin of Gabriela, was born to Rose and Warren Verdin in the wastelands of Maine. She traveled with a small group. They often would stay in abandoned homes at night, before moving in the day. There was no particular place they hoped to find; they just wanted to stay safe. Many of the children didn’t make it, but the Verdin twins were one of the few that survived. Life was fairly simple for her as she grew. Everyday, she’d tell herself, “just wait for the next.” She didn’t know what she was waiting for, it was just something to get her through. Her first 13 years, she was taught the traits needed for survival in the wastelands.
Victoria was 13 when something significant finally happened, though it was nothing good. During a sunny day of Maine’s summer, the group had settled at a small barn. It seemed empty, but something made the group feel unsettled. It wasn’t long before they were being gunned down, and they all scattered. Many were captured, including Victoria. The raiders dragged them to their camp, where they were forced into physical labor. Any persons who didn’t obey was hit, whipped, burned, tortured.
Vic was rebellious. The pain she ignored, often trying to make her point by striking back. It was something her parents had taught her; when hit, fight back. This wasn’t always true though, and she didn’t learn this lesson until she was forced into the fire. She screamed, lashed out, cried as her skin singed and scorched. She didn’t know how long she had been in the heat, but it burned, it hurt so much. She was thrown to the ground and she whimpered, sobbed, cried as she curled into a ball. Apologies ripped out of her mouth as she felt the charred skin. From then on, she followed all orders she was given. The scars that formed from the burns were a reminder to listen, to obey. Though, vengeance was something she wanted terribly.
Victoria got what she wanted when she was 16.
Alongside Gabriele and the other slaves, she saw a chance. One of the raiders was falling asleep on shift. His gun sat at his side. A pistol was in his holster. Sweat ran down her face as she watched her brother stand from his makeshift bed and make his way over to the guard. She began to stand as well as he lifted the gun and fired it into the raider’s head. No doubt, this attracted the other’s attention. Gabriele threw Victoria the big gun and took the pistol; Vic was the buffer of the two. Hearing the footsteps coming, they quickly turned the raider’s body, so it didn’t appear as though he was dead.
When the next guard came in, they were all in their bed, guns hidden behind their backs. She stepped forward, eyeing them suspiciously and calling out her friend’s name. With no reply, she moved in front of the raider and- BAM! Victoria fired, and she fell to the ground. The other slaves grabbed what she had, and they all ran out. Everyone seemed to be alerted now, but the camp was not well lit. It was hard to see them as they snuck around.
They were nearly out, when the lights suddenly flashed on. “RUN!” Someone screamed, and she scattered. She was scared, so scared, as she ran unknowingly. She ran into the wild, and she could hear yelling behind her. Tears were threatening to fall as she heard others trying to escape now with all the hectic but were failing. She just kept running.
Victoria didn’t know how long she had been alone for. It was already day. The sun had just risen, and she was tired, desperately tired. She hid behind a tree, feeling herself drift off.
When she came to, she found herself in a bed, and for a moment, she panicked as she thought the whole escape had all been a dream. But a man settled her. He was well suited in armor. A military man, she guessed. She asked for them to teach her, teach her how to survive better and wield guns and just stay alive. In return, she did small things like carry bags, make food, wash dirty rags. She learned by his side.
Victoria was 24 when she decided to go off on her own. She found she could survive fine now, and no longer wanted to bother the man. He recommended she go towards Niagara in Canada. She would do so. No doubt the travel would be long, with all the mutants and raiders along the way, but she believed she could do it. And she would.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?:
Victoria was quiet as she came up to the scene. She peered down at the dying guard, but turned away. She went towards the merchant, kneeling down to take the box. The blonde turned towards the other guard, and saw the shells. The gun was gone though. To be expected. A faint scowl formed on her face, but she began to scavenge for any shotgun ammo left on the body; Vic doubted any would be left though. To her dismay, she was correct. Nothing was left. At last, she turned to the final guard. He looked to be in pain - so much pain. Victoria flinched as she saw the burned flesh, reminding herself very much of her own. She pulled out her pistol. “May we meet again,” she murmured. A saying she adorned when she killed out of mercy. The shell of her bullet clattered onto the ground as his body slumped over. Bile grew in the back of her throat as she slid her pistol away and moved to leave the scene. A storm was coming.
I'd recommend fixing the skin just a little bit.
WHATS UP PEOPLE, THEDEVILSPOET HERE
OOC:
IGN: bard252
Age (Optional):
Skype name (Optional for the group chat/faction chats): matthew.dejong1
Time Zone: Pacific
Prior Bans and reasons: lol
Define Role-play: RP is to take the life of someone you would never be able to, and see life from their perception, and actions, in their life
Define Powergaming: Doing unrealistic things, or taking control of other people's actions
Define Metagaming: Using OOC info IC
Previous roleplay experience: SoOF, AoOF, The Vault, Wild Wasteland, etc. Most Fallout servers I've been on, and usually a builder.
Previous Fallout experience: 200+ hours in both console Fallouts, beaten all but PS2 Fallout
Have you read the rules?: Mhmm
Write any further questions here:
IC:
Character Name: John Cain
Age: 234
Gender: Male
Race: Ghoul
Appearance (Please include an in-game screenshot of your skin):https://gyazo.com/cffe823facbc15ad8d0a59bf406d9b81
An old war ghoul, his battle worn face scarred by years in the wasteland. He wears a simple set of clothes, covered with marks of his old lives. His face is covered by a mask to keep our the elements. He towers over most, at 6'5". He is a mix between muscular and skinny, due to the fact that he is a ghoul. His eyes are cold, with a scar on his face from the beginning of the war.
Strengths: Stubborn. He's headstrong, tackling problems head on without much thinking. He very much likes to get things done efficiently however.
Weaknesses: Unsympathetic for the most part. Weakness for children, or harm to children or women. He is tired. So tired. Weakness to drinking. Impatient.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L. (Like in the games, you have 40 points to allocate. You must have at least one point in each, and cannot have more than ten.):
Boom. (WARNING, LONG)
He watched the bombs drop. He wasn't home then. His wife was, as were his children. He watched their atomic rain fall down, shadowing the earth with the screams of the innocent. It wasn't meant to be like this. The war changed mankind. It changed him.
33. That was his age. October. It's all he remembers from it. His first name was John. His birth name. After the bombs dropped, he as a man changed. His name changed, aswell. Cain was born in rural New York City, into an immigrant family from Spain, the . They weren't poor, but they weren't well off. They did alright. His mother worked at a press factor, while his father recently left the military. He had two brothers, Jefe. the oldest. and Mark. John was the youngest, his mother and father deciding to give him a more Americanized name. They decided on John, from the bible. He was a wonderful child. He did well in sports, enjoyed baseball, and did whatever American kid did back then. Enjoy life. Sometimes bits and pieces come back to him, the good and bad, like how his first kiss was little Susie in 6th grade, or how his brother Jefe tried to drown him as a kid in the bath tub because he wanted to be the youngest still.
Jefe was... a special child. He had a lot of special needs. In his teens, before John was born, his parents took him to a psychiatrist, due to a traumatic experience when he was younger involving two dogs and a chew toy. Jefe suffered brain damage, and, as a result, ended up into a psychopathic murderer in his later years.
Mark, however, was the wonder child. Good grades, good looking, kind. John looked up to him, and Mark treated John like gold. Perhaps that was part of the reason Jefe tried to drown him. Mark ended up joining the Navy on a contract, but later died at sea during the Great War.
So here lies John, the youngest. His mother and father didn't have much time to care for their children, so that duty fell on Mark. John had his troubles in school, the usual American teen struggle. Heart breaks, proms, bullying, falling in love, working hard. He was a good kid. After highschool he attended Alabama State University, earning his Engineering degree. During college, he met the love of his life, Maria. They dated through college, and married soon after graduation. Around this time, John knew about the war going on, and being the all American boy he was, enlisted as an officer in the Corps of Engineers in the Army in 2067. He was later deployed to Alaska to fight the communists, doing demolitions and building bridges, while commanding troops. He achieved the rank of Captain before being discharged from the Army for leg injuries in 2072. By this time, he and Maria had a child. A girl, named Lela. She was 4 when John was discharged.
After being discharged from the Army with honorable mentions, he got a well paying job at RobCo as a factory Supervisor, and Maria had already been working at a local Super-Duper Mart. Luckily, the factory was not far from their house, due to RobCo building housing for the workers so they could easily commute together. Every day during his break, he would stare at his house, longing to spend moe time with his wife and child. To this day he still wishes he spent more time.
It's 2077 now. It's October, John's working late, and Maria is pregnant at home with another child, this time a boy. He smiles. Today is a good day. He had picked up a bouquet and some fancy wine, and a nice bicycle for Lela. The clock strikes 9. One more hour and he can go home and see his beautiful wife and child. He is happy today. Very happy. He yawns, and goes on his evening break. It's 9:35 now, he dozed just a little bit. He was awoken to air raid sirens. RobCo had a contingency plan for this, due to even more rising tensions with China, with their nuclear threats. Each factory has a bomb shelter underneath, room for all their families. John runs to the window looking over the houses, and sees people panicking, scrambling below. He rushes out, and runs home, forgetting about his car. It's 9:40. He gathers his wife and child, both scared and half dazed. They have no time to pack. But Maria stops. She can't run, she can't go on. The baby is kicking, she says. John has tears in his eyes. He doesn't want to leave them. Maria tells him to go, take Lela with him. John tries to stay. It's 9:43, the clock is ticking. He lets go of Maria's hand, yelling his last I love you that he would ever say. John take's Lela's hand, taking her with him to the factor, to the bomb shelter. To what was supposed to be safety. They are the last ones in. The door closes. It's dark. Someone's watch reads 9:47. Everyone is scared, the babies crying, children wetting themselves, husbands and wives holding each other. Crash. Boom. They're so close. the bombs. John holds onto Lela, tears running down from losing Maria and his unborn child. It was going to be a son, their son.
Suddenly a bomb comes close. Too close. The shelter rocks, and cracks and breaks, killing several families. John and Lela huddle to the corner, whimpering, scared. John just wants it over, he can't live without Maria. A white light flashes, blinding everyone left momentarily. The shelter crumbles, and rocks. John is knocked out.
John woke up, his skin burning, his throat dry and raspy. He looked around, dizzy and disoriented. It was two days later. The bodies in the shelter had started slowly rotting. In his arms he held the last love of his life, Lela. She didn't make it, she didn't survive. Almost no one did. He was left alive and another man, his skin too burning like a thousand suns. John pukes beside him, seeing all the bodies, and looks back at Lela. He can't believe she's gone, he tries to cry but he can't. He's too dehydrated and weak to cry. He couldn't comprehend that God had allowed him to live while so many others died. He looks around, the only things in his mind survival and his family. He gets up shakily and dizzily, looking down to see a couple of skin flakes from his arms. He shrugs it off, and finds emergency rations, quickly eating them, but realizing it was a bad idea and pukes. The man left alive, unconscious, his legs crushed by rubble. He knew he had to get out. For days he pried away at the rubble blocking the only exit, living off only emergency rations and irradiated bottled water. He felt he was going insane, in a room full of corpses slowly rotting, including his own daughter's. Days later, he finally was able to make an opening through the rubble using a fire axe and crowbar. He packed as much food and water he could in a small bug out bag someone had brang, and took his first steps out into the world.
It was bright. He had to shield his eyes from it. He could barely see. Fires were still going. In some places he felt he would puke, probably from the mass amounts of radiation. He saw demolished houses, trees flat, and dead bodies. So many dead bodies, rushing to get to the factories where the bomb shelters were. It was sickening. Upon leaving his own shelter, he realized he wasn't the same man anymore. There was no way he could be. Remembering his days in catholic school, he decided on a more fitting name for himself. Cain, for he is who who restlessly wanders the earth.
Skip to a year later. It's anarchy. His hair began falling out a couple months after the bombs dropped. His skin burned and peeled like a 3rd degree sunburn. He met another like him, Adam. They traveled together. Cain never knew much about Adam, only that he was more advanced in the process of what is now known as ghoulification, as well as the fact that Adam was a researcher before the bombs dropped. Now he was a wanderer like Cain. They both heard of a place where the could get help, in DC. It was a good state away, but together they could make it. Eventually, they reached the Underworld, full of people like them, in varying stages. Cain quickly felt at home. After a while, Cain's skin rotted away, and his hair fell out, and his voice got raspy and he got sick. He was scared. He looked in the dirty broken mirror and he was scared at what he was now. If Maria and Lela were still alive, would they still love him as their father? Adam helped make sure Cain never went crazy. They shared stories together. They went outside together. They became peace keepers in the Underworld, removing those who couldn't comprehend what was happening. But everyone succumbs to craziness somehow. They all had to, to survive in this wasteland. Adam went first. One night he woke up screaming, saying he was a zombie, begging for Cain to kill him. One shot to the head. Cain knew mercy, and helped Adam find sanctity in the hands of God. Cain left after that.
For years, Cain traveled, gathering stories from all over, ghouls like him, regular people with better shelters and better luck. They were scared of him. He was shunned and shot at and looked at as a monster. He never could find a place to settle down. So he wandered. For a long, long time he wandered. He wandered from his old warzone of Alaska, down to the bottom tip of Mexico. He was shunned in most places, but accepted in only a few. He was still scared of what he was becoming. But he adapted, as did the wasteland. For he was Cain, he who walks the Earth restless and weary. He kept the memory of his family always in his mind, always pestering him. Some nights he would wake up ready to blow his own brains out because he missed them, because he hated this world, he hated himself. But a little voice, always swearing that it was Lela's, told him to go on. That there was something more for him. And there was. He found another group like him, Ghouls they called themselves. They accepted him, baptizing him again in the name of the Atom. They were a cult, Cain knew, but he didn't care. He fit in with a bunch of bible thumping crazy zombies. They called themselves Knights of the Blue Cross. He still wears the symbol. He traveled with them for a long while, being shunned away for their looks and beliefs. He resented what mankind had become, a group of scared, driveling, neanderthals. He always wished it could go back to the old way, back to when it was simple. Working regular hours, coming home to a nice warm bed, loving family, and good meal. He always misses it. He always will.
Fast forward 150 so years. The Knights of the Blue Cross were disbanded, after being raided by a settlement they camped near one night. They were slaughtered. Cain has escaped barely with his life, but not before being branded with a Y across his face. To this day he doesn't know what it means. Now he is again wandering, always lost, always searching. He has grown weary. Tired, always hungry for his previous life. His travels have lead him back up to Canada, a place he enjoyed a lot. It felt clean. It felt almost peaceful, if you didn't mind the constant warring factions, nuclear winters, and hostile locals. It reminded him of his previous life. He saddles up to Niagara falls, always enjoying the water falls. It helps him get peace. Clear his head. Like likes to come here every 50 years or so. It's changed, being a whole lot less irradiated. but There is no escaping the Shadows of the Old World. He hears shuffling behind him. He whips around just in time to see a baseball bat come slamming down on his head, and hear a bag rustling and being put over his head. The next thing he remembers is waking up with nothing but the clothes on his back outside the town of Niagara, robbed. He sighs, and heads in. Time to start again.
Roleplay Scenario: Time: 3:18 P.M. Location: 14 miles South of Niagara
As you're walking north along a desolate highway when you spot two large black birds circling in the sky in the distance. To the east, large thunderheads loom on the horizon. Hopeful to avoid the storm, you begin to walk a bit more briskly; scanning the area to find shelter from the radioactive downpour. You observe a small light grey smoke plume coming from the median of the highway only a couple hundred meters away. Before approaching the scene, you take a quick look in your bag (below is a list of your items). As you approach the scene, you can see that it is a Merchant Caravan that has been hit, likely by raiders. The merchant lies bloody and beaten to death near a slaughtered Brahman, blood covers his clothing and a box of items is scattered near him. Of the two guards, one lies near a jersey barrier; empty shell casings from her caravan shotgun scattered around her corpse. The other guard is struggling to pull himself upright using the one of the carts wheels, his left leg had been blown off below the shin and is now nothing but a bloody mix of singed skin and asphalt.
Bag contents:
1x 10mm Pistol
4x 10mm Pistol rounds
1x bottle of dirty water
2x Mentants
1x Salisbury steak
1x Squirrel on a stick
1x small radio (functional)
1x Stimpak
1x Half-used first aid kit (missing supplies)
What do you do?: Cain would immediately break out his single stimpack and half used first aid kit. He would first check the surroundings, having his 10mm at the ready, and then check the first guard, who he finds has no pulse. He would sigh, looking up at the sky and cursing at himself for being too "caring". He'd move his hand away from his 10mm, and grab his medical supplies, going to the obviously alive guard, popping a pack of mentants for that extra "Oomph".
"Are you alright?" JCain would ask in his raspy voice, to which the guard laughs, and replies "No! I'm not alright! Get help".
Cain shake his head, tearing away the fabric around the guard's blown off leg. He'd take what medical supplies and tried to wrap gauze around the open wound, stabbing the guard with the stimpack first.
"Man, get out of here. Just put a bullet in my brain, and take the rest of the stuff the raiders didn't take. You look like the grim reaper anyways".
Cain shakes his head again, mouthing "No", and helps the guard hobble to the caravan, seeing the clouds getting darker, he knows he needs to find cover, but there is none. He instead sees the remnants of the caravan, the cloth covering and wooden cart. He scavenges what he can from the left over things the raiders didn't want, and start pulling the wooden cart over the guard. The guard is near passed out now. Cain slaps him hard, and hands him his bottle of water and a squirrel on a stick. The guard looks at it, and starts quickly drinking the water. Cain shakes his head, a third time, and starts using his radio to try and get a frequency to get help. There isn't much hope in this weather. He hears the rain start hitting the cart, and hopes for the best, that someone comes by and notices, and the rain lets up. He checks to see that the guard is breathing heavily. It's all he could do, Cain thinks, it's in god's hands now.
EDIT: Sorry, I posted it uncompleted by accident. Took me 2 hours to do this