Sorry for the delays in the whitelisting process, a certain Josh1133 was supposed to check over apps for the past two nights but keeps on 'forgetting', but I'll make him pay. Anyways, I'll be your whitelister this morning.
The app looks good, but the personality and appearance are quite short. Give things like eye color, height and things like does he have anger problems? Also, D.C. in our timeline is a very harsh place. The BoS was wiped out by the Crawler's orbital missile and now it's the Outcasts who run the place, who take tech from anyone who has any. By force. It's up to you if that affects him, but food for thought. Unfortunately though, you, for now until you fix those things, are...
Very nicely done application, there's just a few problems we have with this all. AI are nigh impossible to have in Fallout on your person, as only ZAX supercomputers have them in previous Fallout games. Bringing such a thing in is impossible, unfortunately. Along with that, the ability to create Pip-boys isn't quite possible without having pre-war factories that have been repaired, which would take quite a long time. You could come in with one from the Vault however. Lastly, knowing that many things but majoring in Nuclear is something that's just a little too much. I know he was studying many years, however that's just a little too much with how he likely had to spend much time surviving as well. Yes, he'd be able to help wastelanders with his knowledge, but Nuclear is again too much. Until those are fixed, you are unfortunately...
Unfortunately, a lot of problems with this app. Some of which you likely had no chance of knowing, but still gonna need you to correct it. Chicago isn't a normal city and it hasn't started to recover, no. Chicago is owned by the Enclave, large numbers of soldiers there. The city would need to be changed, but there's still more. It's very unlikely that many cities would behave the way that the city that Roman and Leo went to. Having a police department that's functional is highly unlikely and killers are very common in the wastes. Also, without any tracking knowledge he'd likely need some kind of help from an outsider. So unfortunately, until these things are fixed, you are...
Uh...Failcrap: NV. Was that the actual name of the server? Just a little worrying to see such a thing. Could you explain if you mean the game or is that an actual server? Beyond all of that however, the application looks very good. I just need to know about the 'Failcrap' thing before I can be sure to whitelist you. So until that's explained, you are unfortunately...
Definition of meta gaming: Using OOC information IC.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions on another,
I believe. Another commonly accepted form of this, is playing for power, and not to RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I have relished each fallout game. I have plenty of MCHRP experience.
IC:
Name: Thomas Miller
Age: 30
Appearance:Thomas is a self-proclaimed king of decency, in the wastes. He prides himself on his appearence, wearing cleaned and mended vault suits, whenever possible. The suits give him a comforting feel of order and stability.He makes a point of having a spare suit with himself at all times. His hair is usually slicked back, wolfenstein style, using boiled mutfruit rind wax. He usually wears a pair of sunglasses, not to look stylish, but to protect his yes from the unforgiving suns rays. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, and many various removable pockets have been clipped to his jumpsuit belt. The satchel is his go to for storage, holding plenty of holotapes, and odd nicknacks. His belt holds a small magazine of bullets, as well as a measly nine millimeter handgun. On his feet, are two standard vault boots, made of rubber and leather.
Personality:As has been stated, he prides himself on his decency. He works hard to bring out a sence of pride
and courage in those he meets. He donates when he can, to those towns his vists. Sometimes he even works for
little to no money. He shares what he learns, and loves to learn himself. He eats politely, and savoringly, enjoyin his meals. Even in the toughest situations, he remains unnaturally calm.
This can also tentatively affect him, though. His open heart can allow for bad influences to worm their way
in like a maggot in old meat.
Backstory:
Thomas Miller was born in vault 72. Luckily, this was a control vault in West Virginia. It was nested into the natural salt caves, deep within a mountain. This ensured that little to no radiation would contaminate the area around the vault, if such a disaster were to occur- Which it did, of course. Thomas was brought up as all vault dwellers should be. He was given an education, he played on the vault 73 baseball team, and read books to his hearts content. Thomas showed a natural interest in math and science as a child. Vast amounts of data were installed on his old pip-boy 2000 that he loved to go over when he was through with class. He began to outpace his classmates, and was recommended for independent study by his educator.
Seeing as how he could easily complete each and every piece of school work given to him, he had a lot of time on his hands. This was spent exploring the vast halls of the vault. Sometimes he would run into a maintenance technician in the far corners, who would only be happy to entertain him by showing him the workings of the many machines that they were working on. He made friends with a man named Greg, who he met with each afternoon. He was shown many different machines. Reverse hydroelectric chips, wiring mechanisms, door locks- He saw it all. Despite his promising intelligence, and the possibility of earning a job as a real engineer, Thomas took a position as a lowly maintenance tech when he reached the age of eighteen.
And his time was spent with that, for the next year, before times changed.
The reactor had begun to leak radio active fluids. Some might have said that if Thomas had not wasted his potential, this might have not happened. Well, some people are just plain stupid. What they did not know, was that Vault-tec had intended for this to happen. It was all part of an elaborate experiment, one which I do not have the time to explain.
The Overseer evacuated, and sealed off the lower levels. Food, vault records, holotapes, and needed supplies were gathered. All of the valuable equipment that the people could carry, was taken. Another vault was merely ten miles away- Ten miles! Vault records showed that it had ample space to share with vault 73's population.
The vault dwellers set out, Thomas included. They marched for two days straight, frighted by the open air, and chilling sounds. Thankfully, nobody died during the trip, though they were a bit shaken. They marched right up to vault 73's doors, and the overseer keyed the intercom. After a few words were spoken, the door slid open. No tricks. No lollygagging. They were all welcomed inside with open and friendly arms, by vault 82's residents.
Life was a bit exciting for the first few months, before they settled in. Vault 73's engineers were badly needed by vault 82's staff, and they were sent straight to work. Maintenance staff, although, they had too many of. Thomas was laid off, and told to find a new position.
And so of course, he came to the Overseer personally, to see whet needed to be done. He was sat down, and given a coffee. Coffee was a rare thing in the vaults. It had to be rationed, as hydroponics could only grow so much a year. This meant that this was important.
He was told of the vaults past. How each overseer before him had been cruel, and corrupted by their power. How he, John Steinbeck, had been the first kind hearted Overseer. How he had been the first to make sure that equality came first. Thomas was also told of what the future might hold. Pre-war maps revealed a nearby city was only a mile away. It could be the next step for the vault. The step to create society anew. For now, the overseer explained, he would be tasked with simply pursuing a new education. He was aware of his academic records, and actually ordered him to pursue an education in nuclear engineering. As was stated, they needed more engineers. And so, study it, he did.
Thomas was a little unsure about the idea of leaving the vault, but he agreed to the motives. A draft was created for volunteers. Most of those who arrived from vault 72 came forth instantly. They were eager to see the tantalizing outside world again. They felt as if they had a civic duty to vault eighty two's dwellers, to face the unknown for them, in return for having been given a new home.
They were armed with weapons, provisions, and communications equipment to keep in touch with the vault. The door opened, and all 200 of the volunteers marched outside.
It took a few days to adjust. Some turned and ran back to the vault door. Others, well, they were fascinated by the tall trees. The dirt, the fresh air. It was all so wonderful to them. They came to...Love it. They descended lower into the valley through out the next day. nature seemed to be reclaiming the scarred earth already. Fresh grass and pure new life.
It took them the next 10 years to erect a settlement. Small brick homes belched wood smoke out of chimneys. A town-center was established. A well was dug. Walls were erected around the town, and they flourished! Assisted by vault 82, they were unstoppable. They no longer though of themselves as vault-dwellers, but as pioneers in a new world.
Thomas was now 28. He had been promoted to the position of head engineer long ago. He had helped create this town. A lot of his time, however, was spent back at the vault, maintaining the reactor.
Unfortunately, nothing stayed the way it does forever. Thomas was on his last shift outside of the vault, when Ghouls began to pour into the valley one morning, and just never stopped. It was a veritable army of the undead. The settlement was quickly overwhelmed. The inhabitants fled back to the vault, where they were ushered inside by those present and the door slid closed. The vault dwellers vowed to regroup, and retake their settlement. They were safe- For now.
Everyone, except, Thomas. Thomas was not prepared to give up his life on the outside. Hunkered inside of the town center, he sent a few messaged to the vault informing them of the situation on the outside, and the best way to deal with it. Ghouls were pounding on the doors of homes, howling to be let in. 'Extermination plans', he thought. They acknowledged, and asked him why he was still outside.
He explained himself, wished them the best of luck, and. prepared to leave. Before he did, he had the forethought to slip a holotape copy of the vaults library into his satchel. "This" He reasoned. "Would come in handy." He slipped out of the building, under the cover of night, and headed north where the ghouls would be hard-pressed to come after him.
And such was the beginning of the adventure of Thomas.
Definition of meta gaming: Using OOC information IC.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions on another,
I believe. Another commonly accepted form of this, is playing for power, and not to RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I have relished each fallout game. I have plenty of MCHRP experience.
IC:
Name: Thomas Miller
Age: 30
Appearance:Thomas is a self-proclaimed king of decency, in the wastes. He prides himself on his appearence, wearing cleaned and mended vault suits, whenever possible. The suits give him a comforting feel of order and stability.He makes a point of having a spare suit with himself at all times. His hair is usually slicked back, wolfenstein style, using boiled mutfruit rind wax. He usually wears a pair of sunglasses, not to look stylish, but to protect his yes from the unforgiving suns rays. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, and many various removable pockets have been clipped to his jumpsuit belt. The satchel is his go to for storage, holding plenty of holotapes, and odd nicknacks. His belt holds a small magazine of bullets, as well as a measly nine millimeter handgun. On his feet, are two standard vault boots, made of rubber and leather.
Personality:As has been stated, he prides himself on his decency. He works hard to bring out a sence of pride
and courage in those he meets. He donates when he can, to those towns his vists. Sometimes he even works for
little to no money. He shares what he learns, and loves to learn himself. He eats politely, and savoringly, enjoyin his meals. Even in the toughest situations, he remains unnaturally calm.
This can also tentatively affect him, though. His open heart can allow for bad influences to worm their way
in like a maggot in old meat.
Backstory:
Thomas Miller was born in vault 72. Luckily, this was a control vault in West Virginia. It was nested into the natural salt caves, deep within a mountain. This ensured that little to no radiation would contaminate the area around the vault, if such a disaster were to occur- Which it did, of course. Thomas was brought up as all vault dwellers should be. He was given an education, he played on the vault 73 baseball team, and read books to his hearts content. Thomas showed a natural interest in math and science as a child. Vast amounts of data were installed on his old pip-boy 2000 that he loved to go over when he was through with class. He began to outpace his classmates, and was recommended for independent study by his educator.
Seeing as how he could easily complete each and every piece of school work given to him, he had a lot of time on his hands. This was spent exploring the vast halls of the vault. Sometimes he would run into a maintenance technician in the far corners, who would only be happy to entertain him by showing him the workings of the many machines that they were working on. He made friends with a man named Greg, who he met with each afternoon. He was shown many different machines. Reverse hydroelectric chips, wiring mechanisms, door locks- He saw it all. Despite his promising intelligence, and the possibility of earning a job as a real engineer, Thomas took a position as a lowly maintenance tech when he reached the age of eighteen.
And his time was spent with that, for the next year, before times changed.
The reactor had begun to leak radio active fluids. Some might have said that if Thomas had not wasted his potential, this might have not happened. Well, some people are just plain stupid. What they did not know, was that Vault-tec had intended for this to happen. It was all part of an elaborate experiment, one which I do not have the time to explain.
The Overseer evacuated, and sealed off the lower levels. Food, vault records, holotapes, and needed supplies were gathered. All of the valuable equipment that the people could carry, was taken. Another vault was merely ten miles away- Ten miles! Vault records showed that it had ample space to share with vault 73's population.
The vault dwellers set out, Thomas included. They marched for two days straight, frighted by the open air, and chilling sounds. Thankfully, nobody died during the trip, though they were a bit shaken. They marched right up to vault 73's doors, and the overseer keyed the intercom. After a few words were spoken, the door slid open. No tricks. No lollygagging. They were all welcomed inside with open and friendly arms, by vault 82's residents.
Life was a bit exciting for the first few months, before they settled in. Vault 73's engineers were badly needed by vault 82's staff, and they were sent straight to work. Maintenance staff, although, they had too many of. Thomas was laid off, and told to find a new position.
And so of course, he came to the Overseer personally, to see whet needed to be done. He was sat down, and given a coffee. Coffee was a rare thing in the vaults. It had to be rationed, as hydroponics could only grow so much a year. This meant that this was important.
He was told of the vaults past. How each overseer before him had been cruel, and corrupted by their power. How he, John Steinbeck, had been the first kind hearted Overseer. How he had been the first to make sure that equality came first. Thomas was also told of what the future might hold. Pre-war maps revealed a nearby city was only a mile away. It could be the next step for the vault. The step to create society anew. For now, the overseer explained, he would be tasked with simply pursuing a new education. He was aware of his academic records, and actually ordered him to pursue an education in nuclear engineering. As was stated, they needed more engineers. And so, study it, he did.
Thomas was a little unsure about the idea of leaving the vault, but he agreed to the motives. A draft was created for volunteers. Most of those who arrived from vault 72 came forth instantly. They were eager to see the tantalizing outside world again. They felt as if they had a civic duty to vault eighty two's dwellers, to face the unknown for them, in return for having been given a new home.
They were armed with weapons, provisions, and communications equipment to keep in touch with the vault. The door opened, and all 200 of the volunteers marched outside.
It took a few days to adjust. Some turned and ran back to the vault door. Others, well, they were fascinated by the tall trees. The dirt, the fresh air. It was all so wonderful to them. They came to...Love it. They descended lower into the valley through out the next day. nature seemed to be reclaiming the scarred earth already. Fresh grass and pure new life.
It took them the next 10 years to erect a settlement. Small brick homes belched wood smoke out of chimneys. A town-center was established. A well was dug. Walls were erected around the town, and they flourished! Assisted by vault 82, they were unstoppable. They no longer though of themselves as vault-dwellers, but as pioneers in a new world.
Thomas was now 28. He had been promoted to the position of head engineer long ago. He had helped create this town. A lot of his time, however, was spent back at the vault, maintaining the reactor.
Unfortunately, nothing stayed the way it does forever. Thomas was on his last shift outside of the vault, when Ghouls began to pour into the valley one morning, and just never stopped. It was a veritable army of the undead. The settlement was quickly overwhelmed. The inhabitants fled back to the vault, where they were ushered inside by those present and the door slid closed. The vault dwellers vowed to regroup, and retake their settlement. They were safe- For now.
Everyone, except, Thomas. Thomas was not prepared to give up his life on the outside. Hunkered inside of the town center, he sent a few messaged to the vault informing them of the situation on the outside, and the best way to deal with it. Ghouls were pounding on the doors of homes, howling to be let in. 'Extermination plans', he thought. They acknowledged, and asked him why he was still outside.
He explained himself, wished them the best of luck, and. prepared to leave. Before he did, he had the forethought to slip a holotape copy of the vaults library into his satchel. "This" He reasoned. "Would come in handy." He slipped out of the building, under the cover of night, and headed north where the ghouls would be hard-pressed to come after him.
And such was the beginning of the adventure of Thomas.
Hi there! Reading everything, it is a very good app with lots of detail.
That being said, we do have one problem, which is your backstory. First off, Is it Vault 72 or 73? You switch back and forth on his home vault many times though this is not a major issue. The major issue is well, he seems to be way too talented and is coming in with quite a bit of knowledge and a holotape of a entire vault's library. Not only do I have to say no to the Holotape, you can play a educated character but just tone down his talents. He can be a skilled mechanic and engineer, just maybe not as skilled as you describe him.
What Im saying is, tone it down a little bit and you should be all set.
Definition of meta gaming: Using OOC information IC.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions on another,
I believe. Another commonly accepted form of this, is playing for power, and not to RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I have relished each fallout game. I have plenty of MCHRP experience.
IC:
Name: Thomas Miller
Age: 30
Appearance:Thomas is a self-proclaimed king of decency, in the wastes. He prides himself on his appearence, wearing cleaned and mended vault suits, whenever possible. The suits give him a comforting feel of order and stability.He makes a point of having a spare suit with himself at all times. His hair is usually slicked back, wolfenstein style, using boiled mutfruit rind wax. He usually wears a pair of sunglasses, not to look stylish, but to protect his yes from the unforgiving suns rays. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, and many various removable pockets have been clipped to his jumpsuit belt. The satchel is his go to for storage, holding plenty of holotapes, and odd nicknacks. His belt holds a small magazine of bullets, as well as a measly nine millimeter handgun. On his feet, are two standard vault boots, made of rubber and leather.
Personality:As has been stated, he prides himself on his decency. He works hard to bring out a sence of pride
and courage in those he meets. He donates when he can, to those towns his vists. Sometimes he even works for
little to no money. He shares what he learns, and loves to learn himself. He eats politely, and savoringly, enjoyin his meals. Even in the toughest situations, he remains unnaturally calm.
This can also tentatively affect him, though. His open heart can allow for bad influences to worm their way
in like a maggot in old meat.
Backstory:
Thomas Miller was born in vault 72. Luckily, this was a control vault in West Virginia. It was nested into the natural salt caves, deep within a mountain. This ensured that little to no radiation would contaminate the area around the vault, if such a disaster were to occur- Which it did, of course. Thomas was brought up as all vault dwellers should be. He was given an education, he played on the vault 72 baseball team, and read books to his hearts content. Thomas showed a natural interest in math and science as a child. Vast amounts of data were installed on his old pip-boy 2000 that he loved to go over when he was through with class. He began to outpace his classmates, and was recommended for independent study by his educator.
Seeing as how he could easily complete each and every piece of school work given to him, he had a lot of time on his hands. This was spent exploring the vast halls of the vault. Sometimes he would run into a maintenance technician in the far corners, who would only be happy to entertain him by showing him the workings of the many machines that they were working on. He made friends with a man named Greg, who he met with each afternoon. He was shown many different machines. Reverse hydroelectric chips, wiring mechanisms, door locks- He saw it all. Despite his promising intelligence, and the possibility of earning a job as a real engineer, Thomas took a position as a lowly maintenance tech when he reached the age of eighteen.
And his time was spent with that, for the next year, before times changed.
The reactor had begun to leak radio active fluids. Some might have said that if Thomas had not wasted his potential, this might have not happened. Well, some people are just plain stupid. What they did not know, was that Vault-tec had intended for this to happen. It was all part of an elaborate experiment, one which I do not have the time to explain.
The Overseer evacuated, and sealed off the lower levels. Food, vault records, holotapes, and needed supplies were gathered. All of the valuable equipment that the people could carry, was taken. Another vault was merely ten miles away- Ten miles! Vault records showed that it had ample space to share with vault 73's population.
The vault dwellers set out, Thomas included. They marched for two days straight, frighted by the open air, and chilling sounds. Thankfully, nobody died during the trip, though they were a bit shaken. They marched right up to vault 73's doors, and the overseer keyed the intercom. After a few words were spoken, the door slid open. No tricks. No lollygagging. They were all welcomed inside with open and friendly arms, by vault 82's residents.
Life was a bit exciting for the first few months, before they settled in. Vault 73's engineers were badly needed by vault 82's staff, and they were sent straight to work. Maintenance staff, although, they had too many of. Thomas was laid off, and told to find a new position.
And so of course, he came to the Overseer personally, to see whet needed to be done. He was sat down, and given a coffee. Coffee was a rare thing in the vaults. It had to be rationed, as hydroponics could only grow so much a year. This meant that this was important.
He was told of the vaults past. How each overseer before him had been cruel, and corrupted by their power. How he, John Steinbeck, had been the first kind hearted Overseer. How he had been the first to make sure that equality came first. Thomas was also told of what the future might hold. Pre-war maps revealed a nearby city was only a mile away. It could be the next step for the vault. The step to create society anew. For now, the overseer explained, he would be tasked with simply pursuing a new education. He was aware of his academic records, and actually ordered him to pursue an education in machinery engineering. 'Not only would this compliment his already present gift in mechanics' Reasoned the Overseer, 'But it would be a valuable skill in the outside world.'
Thomas was a little unsure about the idea of leaving the vault, but he agreed to the motives. A draft was created for volunteers. Most of those who arrived from vault 72 came forth instantly. They were eager to see the tantalizing outside world again. They felt as if they had a civic duty to vault eighty two's dwellers, to face the unknown for them, in return for having been given a new home.
They were armed with weapons, provisions, and communications equipment to keep in touch with the vault. The door opened, and all 200 of the volunteers marched outside.
It took a few days to adjust. Some turned and ran back to the vault door. Others, well, they were fascinated by the tall trees. The dirt, the fresh air. It was all so wonderful to them. They came to...Love it. They descended lower into the valley through out the next day. nature seemed to be reclaiming the scarred earth already. Fresh grass and pure new life.
It took them the next 6 years to erect a settlement. Small brick homes belched wood smoke out of chimneys. A town-center was established. A well was dug. Walls were erected around the town, and they flourished! Assisted by vault 73, they were unstoppable. They no longer though of themselves as vault-dwellers, but as pioneers in a new world.
Thomas was now 25. He had helped create this town. A lot of his time, however, was spent back at the vault, maintaining the systems.
Unfortunately, nothing stayed the way it does forever. Thomas was on his last shift outside of the vault, when Ghouls began to pour into the valley one morning, and just never stopped. It was a veritable army of the undead. The settlement was quickly overwhelmed. The inhabitants fled back to the vault, where they were ushered inside by those present and the door slid closed. The vault dwellers vowed to regroup, and retake their settlement. They were safe- For now.
Everyone, except, Thomas. Thomas was not prepared to give up his life on the outside. Hunkered inside of the town center, he sent a few messaged to the vault informing them of the situation on the outside, and the best way to deal with it. Ghouls were pounding on the doors of homes, howling to be let in. 'Extermination plans', he thought. They acknowledged, and asked him why he was still outside.
He explained himself, wished them the best of luck, and prepared to leave. He slipped out of the building, under the cover of night, and headed north where the ghouls would be hard-pressed to come after him.
And such was the beginning of the adventure of Thomas.
((So basically, he is now skilled technician, but he works to create machinery. Presses, processors, purifiers, and such. So, not a nuclear engineer- Just a machinery engineer.))
Unfortunately, a lot of problems with this app. Some of which you likely had no chance of knowing, but still gonna need you to correct it. Chicago isn't a normal city and it hasn't started to recover, no. Chicago is owned by the Enclave, large numbers of soldiers there. The city would need to be changed, but there's still more. It's very unlikely that many cities would behave the way that the city that Roman and Leo went to. Having a police department that's functional is highly unlikely and killers are very common in the wastes. Also, without any tracking knowledge he'd likely need some kind of help from an outsider. So unfortunately, until these things are fixed, you are...
If I'm being honest, I tried to continue the story of previous fallout rp characters, and that's what was going on in those servers, but I do understand what was wrong with it and I will redo my app.
OOC:[/b]
Minecraft Username: JMickeyD[/b]
Age: 17[/b]
[b]Definition of meta gaming: using info gained OOC while IC[/b]
Definition of power gaming: Forcing your actions onto another player ( "knocks you unconscious" would be but not "punches")[/b]
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: played many fallout rp servers, its actually what got me into fallout itself. also played 3 and NV[/b]
IC:[/b]
Name: Mack Eagle [/b]
Age: 25[/b]
Appearance: Mack has Ice blue hair, deep red eyes, wears a business suit, and occasionally sunglasses.[/b]
Personality: With a personality as cold as his hair color, Mack does his best to keep his actions calculated, although he has been known to rarely slip up and care for a person. While the state of the nation has left some to join groups to protect themselves, and others working to assist others, Mack has taken this as an opportunity to become rich, rich enough to cripple all who oppose him. Mack will gladly take some caps and doesn't usually care about the means by which he receives them.[/b]
Backstory: When Mack was young, he lived with his father, who was always scavenging for caps and food alike. Mack was upset with this and dreamed of being rich and helping the poor. Mack's father got involved with some big wig loan sharks while they were 'visiting' in New Vegas. His father called it visiting but Mack knew that they had to move around to maintain survival. When Mack's father was running out of time to pay back his caps, he and his son became very stressed. On top of that, Mack became resentful, as his father had tried to get his NCR brother to send them caps, but they never got a response. One day, Mack came back to where they were staying to find the place empty. His first thought was that the sharks had his father killed, so he grabbed a kitchen knife they had and went to find the men who loaned them the caps. Just before he got the their establishment, Mack saw his father run up to him before latching onto his son and doubling over. The sharks had beaten up the man and injured him, but Mack didn't have the caps to afford any sort of treatment. He brought his father back to their apartment and let him heal the only way they could afford, by resting. Mack's father told his boy the truth that they both knew but never spoke of. The old man was nearing death. He explained that he didn't want to hold Mack back from his ambitions, and wanted him to explore the world and escape their debts and poverty while he could. With this, Mack grabbed the kitchen knife and left the room, slamming the door. Mack was furious, and felt like his father didn't want him anymore. Mack went into the bar and sat down, noticing that only an empty stool was between him and one of the men working for the loan sharks. Mack saw what he was wearing as a symbol of respect, and as far as Mack was concerned, those men deserved no such thing, so he killed the man and stole his suit and the minimal caps he carried on him. He then set out in an effort to take over what industry was left in the world and do what he needed to make some money. His end goal: Buy out the men who ruined his father, and perhaps even the NCR, who employed his selfish uncle. Mack headed eastward on a long journey, hoping to begin anew where many others had previously begun their lives in this nation. New York.[/b]
Fallcraft: New Vegas, but its final days were...unfortunately substandard, which made me, and various other individuals refer to it as "Failcrap", to represent our contempt for said server.
Definition of meta gaming: Usage of outside knowledge of the game, or knowledge your character wouldn't know to influence in game behavior. Examples include: Meta-Grudging, Wiki Usage, or Usage of OOC in IC.[/b]
Definition of power gaming: Playing exclusively to win, often to the detriment of players trying to enjoy a decent RP.[/b]
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I used to play on a server owned by a Facebook Page Admin which was for atleast eighteen months a Fallout RP Server. I have spent almost two years playing SS13 on Heavy RP servers on Byond. I frequently play Dungeons and Dragons and other Tabletop Roleplaying Games, if that counts as well.[/b]
IC: [/b]
Name: Flint Mahnke[/b]
Age: 25[/b]
Appearance: Flint is a tall, thin Caucasian male, of possible Irish descent based on facial features. He wears leather clothing, likely homemade or stolen off of a body. On His back, he has a large rucksack, dotted with holes and sewn in patches. Dangling from his neck is a poor conditioned gas mask with a few cracks on the goggles but nothing that prevents it from being unusable. His hair is a rusty red color, and is rather disheveled, not giving time to make it look good.[/b]
Personality: Flint is a sarcastic, crass, and often abrasive individual when it comes to talking to strangers. A dry wit combined with a dark sense of humor can make Flint seem like a morbid person, but this is the byproduct of living the way he did. Once mutual trust is formed with someone, Flint will open up, being a rather jovial and loyal friend to those who manage to get him there.[/b]
Backstory: Flint Mahnke grew up in a tribe outside Chicago, and was raised to be a scavenger. His tribe was often trading scrap to other tribes, and through this trade, Flint learned decent language skills and a bit of mercantile sense. After reaching adulthood, Flint set off to the east, through the fallen city of Chicago, looking for fortune in another 'mega-city' he was told about: New York City. With nothing more than his wits, a decent firearm, and a map He set off to find this place.[/b]
Fallcraft: New Vegas, but its final days were...unfortunately substandard, which made me, and various other individuals refer to it as "Failcrap", to represent our contempt for said server.
Thank you for clarifying, just some of the staff wanted to be certain. You're now...
Age: Just old enough to think age isn't a proper measure of suitability sometimes.
Definition of meta gaming: Using information In-Character which your character wouldn't actually possess, or that you heard OOC. Like finding that one vault that you built or that you live in as another character whose unrelated, or knowing how to operate Power Armor as someone who never even saw the stuff.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions upon others without allowing for response, no consent involved.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: Let's just say I've been around a while, and that I'm not proud of that whole past.
IC:
Name: J. Mortimer
Age: 26
Appearance:
Mortimer stands at an initially unimposing 5'9", with somewhat broad shoulders. His musculature is compact and practical, toned rather than thick, and his skin has a light golden brown tan, pocked with small scars along his arms. It'd seem he maintains peak condition best he can.
There seem to be much fewer scars along his torso, though there is a set of more rough binding scars along the base of his neck, and a harsh one that seems to split into many lines, from a lash, on the right side of his abdomen. There seem to be similar ones along his back, though faded heavily, focused on the right side.
His most prominent facial feature would be his eyes, feline, wider than they are tall, giving his resting expressions a passive, predatory look, despite any mood he might be in. His brows seem to furrow passively as well, if only by some slight amount, often giving him a look of focus or unfriendliness. His nose comes down in a straight slope, and is generally well-proportioned with his features. Mortimer's jawline is fairly strong, and his chin juts very slightly. He has a shallow scar on his right cheek, diagonal, with the bottom tip angled towards his chin, and it's short. His eyes are a dark coffee brown, and rather than stare through people, Mortimer's eyes seem to stare into them, instead. He has a tendency to grow very dark brown stubble, and his hair is usually kept short out of habit. He generally doesn't care too much about grooming, though.
His clothing leans towards practical more than aesthetically pleasing, and as a long time native of New York, as well as one of the more dedicated hunters of the traders, keeps a Cockatrice pelt tied around his neck for the most part. He has a simple hide shirt on, fashioned from the hide of a younger Greyback, which outlines the visible skin on the chest and abdomen, with short, dense fur covering the rest, sleeves reaching a little over three quarters down the way of his arms. He has a pair of cargo pants, and a set of boots that reach just up to his shin, worn, with thinned soles. He generally wears a plain, aged and white t-shirt beneath the Greyback shirt, and there's a set of tinted goggles that seem to hang around his neck frequently.
Mortimer retains an Imperial accent, the enunciated and clear tone of a Legionnaire.
Personality:
Mortimer generally proves to be quiet most of the time, though with an intense air and look about him. He prizes efficiency and versatility, and prefers to live a cleaner life than most. He refuses to use any recreational or performance-enhancing chems, and proves his own brand of tidy, loosely organizing his belongings.
But while Mortimer would seem reserved and stiff to those who'd observe, this is because he is, to a certain extent. Only as long as it proves convenient, as when push comes to shove he proves to be completely willing to resort to more extreme or questionable measures than a great many people. Strict with himself, he sees opportunities everywhere, and generally never tries to be wasteful. While his general behaviors can change with his moods, he keeps fairly consistent, though the fact he resorts to questionable or underhanded measures isn't to say he's a coward. Mortimer is more than capable of maintaining his nerves, as a life in his vault, the Legion, and New York has assured that such an innate ability is ingrained upon his psyche, and he proves very attuned to and aware of danger.
Mortimer often keeps secrets, as well as his thoughts, to himself, and he has been desensitized to murder and violence to the point that when he looks at a body, often enough his only concern is checking how fresh it is. The smell of death and the sight of blood are commonplace to him, and he shows no aversion to getting down and dirty. A survivalist, he shows remarkable hardiness, though despite a notable detachment to his personal possessions, he proves different with anyone he might call a "friend." Generally, he proves helpful to most, and seems to never care enough to go out of his way to be rude to people. He's also not above manipulating people.
However, Mortimer feels things very strongly, and very frequently doesn't show this on the surface. He has fervent beliefs and passions about things in the Wasteland, often enough relating to the conditions in which most people live, and the lack of opportunities to excel for the vaster populace. Previously, he had a bad habit of simply relegating himself to whatever was required of his role, as well as disavowing himself of his actions, though now feels the pressing need and craving to make a difference, adhering to the idea that one man can make a difference in the Wasteland. He's savvy of the evils of the Wasteland, and is intent on curtailing them for a somewhat more abstract, greater freedom that provides opportunity.
Backstory:
Mortimer's history began in the confines of Vault 32, a massive, sprawling complex compared to other Vaults. The intended experiment of Vault 32 lay in it's design- The underground shelter was enormous, and this was because of the large, complex mechanism which helped the Vault achieve what made it a marvel. Intended to test the effect of a constantly changing and deteriorating environment upon continued generations of dwellers, it was set in Kansas in order to facilitate the great size, and it's first generation occupants were all chosen based upon high scores in Vault-Tec approved tests for pattern cognizance, IQ's, and/or careers in the engineering field.
The mechanisms within the Vault were designed to turn it into a dynamic labyrinth. Multi-leveled and heavily compartmentalized, the labyrinth followed a specific algorithm chained to the central computer, which was normally inaccessible to the denizens. There was no appointed Overseer either, and the Pip-Boy units of the Vault were altered to replace the Map functionality with an advanced calculator and stopwatch. Every 48 hours, the Vault was set to undergo a shift in compartments that followed it's algorithm, and would seclude certain portions of the Vault- Sometimes, for weeks at a time.
While initially, adjustment proved extremely difficult for it's inhabitants, the subjects proved capable of adapting before it was too late. The brightest of the Vault's denizens caught on to the pattern by which the Vault shifted when the central computer access was finally opened- While it never looped, it seemed like it had a terminus, like it was meant to hit a 0 at some point in the future. What this meant didn't immediately strike, however- Sets of data were provided to represent current shifts, complex tables, but never any maps. The process, mechanical as it was, continued. Like clockwork the inhabitants prepared for shifts and runs into parts of the vault that could be secluded for another few days or weeks after a shift. This'd continue for roughly 200 years- Until the terminus was reached.
At this point, a secondary algorithm was activated, and the first negated. The vault's experiment was complete. The shifts changed- And the way back to the Vault's unlocked door became hidden in the shifts, as vital systems began deteriorating heavily.
From the door rose a people changed by their time within- Evolved, yet untamed by the Vault. Over the course of 200 years, the terminals initially installed had deteriorated within the first 30 years to unusability. In this time, the Vault dwellers resorted to improvisation in fear of losing the schematics of their research, the Vault testing their resolve to preserve things in an environment that wouldn't allow it. They began painting the walls with the paint they could recover from the supplies closets, which only rarely rotated in. The centuries bred a culture of conservation and efficiency, one that venerated mathematics as a tool to see the future, as a method of survival.
The paintings became sacred things, and efficiency, memories, these became the pillars of society, where the elderly dedicated themselves to being Remembrancers at the central computer, whose location never changed, the center of the labyrinth. The shifts became near-mystical at times, where old schematics and paintings'd be rediscovered in long-gone compartments. Savantism was observed more in the populace, and the language turned to using metaphoric mathematical terms. The inhabitants naturally flocked towards the smaller, walled areas, avoiding the wider spaces of the Vault. They ran and scurried, life hurried and at a hectic pace. It was somewhere in the midst of this rush that Mortimer was born, and his early life was like that of any other boy or girl in the Vault. While a little more distant and reserved than the others, he watched the paintings made then, and long ago, and ran around the Vault to grab the supplies before their compartments closed. A number of times he was trapped in shifted compartments for days at a time, and survived simply off his high tolerance for harsh conditions. He proved difficult to bother, and adapted to the stress of the Vault's hectic as most did.
But when they finally came out, they were greeted by a system, an organization that they couldn't circumvent. There were fewer of them than in other Vaults- Life was practical in there, efficient, but people had children less often than most. As they exited into the light, they found themselves exiting to a force of people dressed in red, flying the banner of a gold bull against red- Caesar's Legion. The small force, doing it's rounds, set upon enslaving the newly exited Vault dwellers immediately. Unexpectedly, however, the Vault dwellers came peacefully- Their pragmatism told them not to resist, as it'd be best for them. They couldn't win, losing only more people if they struggled.
It'd prove their downfall.
Reeducation took place near immediately. The children were taken, and Mortimer, 15, was just old enough to go into the fighting pits with the other children to weed out the weak. To Mortimer, this came as a sudden shock- Yet at the same time, something about it made him aware he breathed the air- The sound of steel clashing in the hands of recent recruits, wicked cries of delight as they beat upon new arrivals and sampled the newly taken slave girls, the scent of blood and the heat of the sun as it baked their skin, this primal pulse and urge of violence that seemed to come from his veins, it got to him, seduced him. It swelled in his throat, and climaxed in a cry for war, and a frenzy. Despite non-violence being taught in the Vault, it seemed like the only thing that made sense at the moment, no matter what the Remembrancers said. Before he could register where his hands had lead him, he was tearing into the other children. By the end of it all, ten of them survived, all battered and bruised, bloody with their family and history. It seemed to wash away any thoughts of home, any previously learned behaviors, and the blood only stopped being shed because the Legion overseers were satisfied.
The next years were spent in a lurid haze to Mortimer- Or at least he'd claim so. He remembers the years vividly in training. He remembers reeducation. To the Legion of Caesar, they were unfinished tools, they were animals, dogs to be broken and whipped into submission to the service of the Son of Mars. They taught them how to kill, how to strike, how to walk and stand, even how to breathe and run. How to think, and what thoughts to let in, which ones to simply not have. They carefully obliterated every bit of an identity that he brought with him from the Vault, from the method of speaking to his thoughts, even his name before then, to the point he couldn't recall it. By the end of it all, they obliterated any sort of cultural identity they brought from the Vault, even their method of speaking, primarily mathematical terms which were used metaphorically, as analogies. By the end of it all, when they finally saw the light through the fog of war, they were bare sculptures of humans, hardly capable of being called men. They were cast into soldiers, merciless and unforgiving, almost unthinking. By the end of training, fewer still survived. Brainwashed into the vision of the Son of Mars, Mortimer was no different, and after the grueling trials, few of the children survived. Each remaining son who was trained was simply named "Mori", after the high death toll of their "tribe", in the eyes of the Legion.
His service in the Legion- It was a crime against humanity, all of it. Every heinous act you could think of, it became part of a daily routine, where the only question that came to their minds was "Which horror will I commit today?" Violence the likes of which had never been seen since centuries ago, where blood was spilt on sand and men hardly even knew what they fought for. Pillaging, murder, torture, these became commonplace to Mori, and he saw the blood shorn from the forms of countless men- Both by his hand, and those of other Legion recruits. Before long, he assimilated entirely into this culture of violence, where success equated survival and advancement, and where failure meant crucifixion, death, and the Darwinistic society supporting his detached mindset. He spoke casually with the men of sampling the slave girls, of the ideal method to chop a man in two with just a machete, how to attach the slave collar just right so that the flesh bulged over it, and the wearer never adjusted. He felt a sick, primitive glee of conquest with each collar attached in particular, though at the same time, the scars he sustained from the ropes and his own collar while he was a capture never seemed to fade. They'd burn in response.
That became a vivid detail to him, the burning.
After every burning of a heretic, every crucifixion, each raid and rape, he came back to his tent alone, his scars burned, he recalled- They burned, and after every burning, every crucifixion, each raid and rape, he came back to his tent alone. That momentary satisfaction, achieved in that same, familiar and blind frenzy he felt in the heat of it all, it distracted him, as well as the roaring chants of praise his brothers called out when victory was near- But alone, reflection began to take hold, and like some sort of omen, made him aware of what felt like a deep, heated mass of inscrutable sensation in the pit of his stomach, in his core. He felt this foreign, yet recognizable darkness, and it overwhelmed him with nausea at times, as if his body were trying to expel it. In that pit, in the back of his head, something ate at him. It blunted and shallowed the deep pangs of pleasure that he garnered from the daily debauchery, and this made him more vicious, though less passionate. He initiated his violence with less cries, he fought in silence, fought no longer to maim or to torture later, but simply to kill as the resistance of bone to blade became less of a challenge to beat, and more of a nuisance, an obstacle.
His brutal efficiency, however, won him favor, as did his smooth method of operation, and nerves of steel. He grew to an Explorer. Stationed in the far East territories, at the edge of Denver, he struck out with a small team of partner explorers. They went farther than most had ever done- Across Kansas, and to Missouri. Past the tip of Illinois, and though they intended to stop, farther than any Legionnaire had ever been from their homelands- But he felt a pressing need to go further. Though his brothers said they should turn and report to the Legion what they found in their travels, he wanted to continue. To see if the land stretched forever, if there really was a coast.
And at the same time, his brothers began to lose faith in him. At night, they'd see him watching the ground between his feet in silence, as if thinking. He was, and it was confronting this abstract, obscure hold whatever darkness was inside him had taken on him. A few nights before they were ambushed by raiders who'd sought chems, he noticed the tiny, faded gold "32" on his Pip-Boy. It seemed almost offensive, that symbol of the past, as if a monument and a reminder of his sins, what he left. But it reminded him that there was some life before all this- It was the sole reminder he had there was life beyond the Legion, beyond conquest and murder.
When the raiders came, he didn't warn his comrades that he had seen one in the pass off to their side. He didn't warn them that the outcropping they were passing hid them. Instead, he turned, and ran East when the shots erupted.
And he walked. He walked a long time. Past Illinois, past Kentucky, over Pennsylvania. He saw the Pitt from afar, he saw slavery again, and he saw other Wastelands, saw the new creatures and monsters the Wasteland had bred- And he was ready for them, ready to dodge and duck and fight if he had to. But there were new places, and people who had never so much as heard of the Legion.
Then he found some semblance of civilization. Passing Pennsylvania, he reached New York.
When he finally reached it, it seemed foreign, yet familiar to him. The skeletons of skyscrapers looming in the distance, the image of Lady Liberty standing at sea, the city, it was new. Then he found people, and some strange urge told him that this was right. That there was something here, even as he familiarized himself with the horrors that were here. Years passed, and he assimilated into this new home, as well. He learned how to be an individual when he learned the stories of the people who lived in the Stadium, the only ones that'd take him in. People who lived to survive, not for profit or for other goals. Their hearts seemed honest, in a way, and it became a new home. While he remains a more distant and reserved member of the settlement, he freely refers to New York as his new home, and remains one of the most knowledgeable hunters on the local wildlife and territories.
Now, he's learnt to not simply relegate himself to what's expected of his role, to go beyond. Now Mortimer is here, and he feels the pressing need to make a difference for the better in the state- To cleanse it, purge it of what makes the Apple rotten. It'll be reborn in blood if it has to be, but for now, his concern remains with securing his new family, and those who'd dare to come, a place.
And for once, he'll see some place great fly a banner that isn't the Golden Bull.
And perhaps, just maybe, a place where the Tunnel Snakes don't rule.
Hello there again, let's see what you've changed about the app...
Yeah, best not to try and be a main character or something of the like. Remember, there's supposed to be no main characters in RP.
Now to look at the IC section, since the OOC didn't need any changing...white hair and red eyes would either be caused by albinism or by a mixture of extreme drug usage to the point of total dependence upon it plus hair dye for the hair. Also, how did Mack hear about New York City? It's the exact opposite side of the nation. No one in the NCR has come from there before, since there's multiple mountain ranges to pass through. Could you explain the trip there as well and how he managed to survive that long? Until those issues are addressed, you are unfortunately...
Definition of meta gaming: Usage of outside knowledge of the game, or knowledge your character wouldn't know to influence in game behavior. Examples include: Meta-Grudging, Wiki Usage, or Usage of OOC in IC.
Definition of power gaming: Playing exclusively to win, often to the detriment of players trying to enjoy a decent RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I used to play on a server owned by a Facebook Page Admin which was for atleast eighteen months a Fallout RP Server. I have spent almost two years playing SS13 on Heavy RP servers on Byond. I frequently play Dungeons and Dragons and other Tabletop Roleplaying Games, if that counts as well.
IC:
Name: Flint Mahnke
Age: 25
Appearance: Flint is a tall, thin Caucasian male, of possible Irish descent based on facial features. He wears leather clothing, likely homemade or stolen off of a body. On His back, he has a large rucksack, dotted with holes and sewn in patches. Dangling from his neck is a poor conditioned gas mask with a few cracks on the goggles but nothing that prevents it from being unusable. His hair is a rusty red color, and is rather disheveled, not giving time to make it look good.
Personality: Flint is a sarcastic, crass, and often abrasive individual when it comes to talking to strangers. A dry wit combined with a dark sense of humor can make Flint seem like a morbid person, but this is the byproduct of living the way he did. Once mutual trust is formed with someone, Flint will open up, being a rather jovial and loyal friend to those who manage to get him there.
Backstory: Flint Mahnke grew up in a tribe outside Chicago, and was raised to be a scavenger. His tribe was often trading scrap to other tribes, and through this trade, Flint learned decent language skills and a bit of mercantile sense. After reaching adulthood, Flint set off to the east, through the fallen city of Chicago, looking for fortune in another 'mega-city' he was told about: New York City. With nothing more than his wits, a decent firearm, and a map He set off to find this place.
And last app for today for me. Let's see what's going on in this app...
Unfortunately, your power gaming definition is off. I know some servers have different definitions, just check what it is in other people's applications, preferably staff, like my own even.
The background is short and sweet, but there's just a few things that you need to know about the area. Chicago is an Enclave-controlled city. The place is a kill zone. His tribe would have to be pretty far out and small in order to avoid detection, and lucky as well. Also, the trip to NYC is still fairly long. Could you give some information on the trip there and how Flint managed to make it? I see your app has a lot of potential, just needs a few more details. Until that, you unfortunately are...
Hello there again, let's see what you've changed about the app...
Yeah, best not to try and be a main character or something of the like. Remember, there's supposed to be no main characters in RP.
Now to look at the IC section, since the OOC didn't need any changing...white hair and red eyes would either be caused by albinism or by a mixture of extreme drug usage to the point of total dependence upon it plus hair dye for the hair. Also, how did Mack hear about New York City? It's the exact opposite side of the nation. No one in the NCR has come from there before, since there's multiple mountain ranges to pass through. Could you explain the trip there as well and how he managed to survive that long? Until those issues are addressed, you are unfortunately...
Wasn't a main character complex, just trying to keep an old idea alive. As far as hearing about New York, I was thinking of it like this: in the Fallout Universe, 50's culture is very popular, inlcuding artists such as Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. These artists among others often sang about New York, on top of the fact that it was known as a common place for starting a new life, the exact thing Mack was looking for. I'll change the hair and eye colors if that's necessary. As far as the trip goes, I could write a novel if you need me to, but he basically scavenged his way across the nation, taking food and weapons that he found along the way (although they often break so he won't be arriving on the server with any). He did his best to travel North East using the sun as a sort of compass, and once he got to the eastern seaboard after a long while, he followed the rare rubble of highway signs toward the north. He did odd jobs along the way but mostly stole and killed his way across the nation.
Wasn't a main character complex, just trying to keep an old idea alive. As far as hearing about New York, I was thinking of it like this: in the Fallout Universe, 50's culture is very popular, inlcuding artists such as Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. These artists among others often sang about New York, on top of the fact that it was known as a common place for starting a new life, the exact thing Mack was looking for. I'll change the hair and eye colors if that's necessary. As far as the trip goes, I could write a novel if you need me to, but he basically scavenged his way across the nation, taking food and weapons that he found along the way (although they often break so he won't be arriving on the server with any). He did his best to travel North East using the sun as a sort of compass, and once he got to the eastern seaboard after a long while, he followed the rare rubble of highway signs toward the north. He did odd jobs along the way but mostly stole and killed his way across the nation.
Please do change the hair and eye color to something more...natural and you should be good, chief. Just post those changes to the appearance.
Definition of meta gaming: Using outside information in character for an advantage. Such as Character Names, Character history, other events, etc, etc.
Definition of power gaming: The act of forcing a player into an action, not giving them an option to react. For example: *Slaps his face, as hard as they can.* This structure doesn't allow someone to react.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: Previous RPCraft, some forum play, hollow world, general fun with friends. Etc.
IC:
First things first, yes it's an Android character... I know how badly they can be portrayed as well. Though, I believe I can at least try to do good by it. Second; I realize some of the things in the back story may not add up, but most of the backstory (mainly the midsection) where implanted memories, thus may have some mishmashes with the lore. (Mainly due to what the government was doing at the time, trying to cement the popular names such as Vault-Tec) That, or everything check out... so yay!
Name: Rick Lucrane (ASRR-2490, Advanced Synthetic Robot Reploid Model 2490)
Age: His percived age is 19, (though he was made in 2077 just 2 weeks before the bombs dropped)
Appearance:
Eye color: Brown
Stature: Recluse, leaning, lacking of posture
Open air weakspots He's a robot, but also has sensitive bits to shoot yer lead at! Bang bang boom boom means he goes bye bye. (Just saying he's not overly op, sept for some minor and I mean -minor- laser defense. All that heat can not be good for wires)
dressed in tattered clothing that he had found off of a dead body, various holes are present through his attire. Two holes in the midsection area, about the size of peas. The shoulder area has a large gash along the hem of the shirt, though it still holds itself together. The shirt, coloured a dark blue, accented only by the caked on dirt and rust from a hollowed out cave. His jeans are torn, the right leg is torn right off up to the knee, and the left leg has a long gash down the front side, heading from the rightmost point of the knee, down to the cuff on the right. His eyes, synthetically made have a slight glow, not noticeable in the light, but in dark they look more like a soft humming light. His face, now only a mixture of joints and wiring now. Over his face, tied down by a leather strap bound around his metal cranium. The mask, just fits over his joints so that his face can't be shown. On top of his head rests a red baseball cap, and just below that on his shoulders rests a brown trench coat. His knee high boots tend to cover most of his exposed circuits, but in a closer inspection of any of the holes, it's not hard to tell he's not a human (or ghoul, as that's what he believes to be)
Personality: Quiet, recluse, the kind of person who would rather be beside the party, and not in one. The kind of person who hates loud noises, but doesn't say anything about them. Mostly passive, until he's threatened to death. He has no fear of water, or liquids though they can make him short out till his backup pumps push it out. He is reluctant to eat, mainly due to him believing he is a ghoul, he believes that he's not allowed to eat, since he's grown up to dislike ghouls. His conditioning after reactivation made him learn about ghouls, and how they where a scourge on the wastelands at being ugly, evil individuals. Rick, doesn't enjoy guns, he tends to avoid them as he sees them as an "unnecessary accessory of death." Though, this does not stop him from using one when the time comes. Rick enjoys technology however, and the protection of other living things. In his programming, he is designed to protect others on a specific set of ethics that where dictated by his programmer, as well as making educated observations through media, and others. He also seems to be the kind of person who is moderately self loathing due to what he believes himself to be, which is a ghoul.
Backstory: During the war times, there was a drive to create spies made out of synthetic humanoids. The drive was set in motion by DARPA. During this time period before the Droids where sent out to war, they had various testing models. Created for use in war times to create weapons, or handle software and data management inside the main base in Yonkers, New York. The main base was stationed in Yonkers, because at the time the main commercial section around New York, but not so close to it to make the secret base apparent. Too many prying eyes to deal with at the time.
Rick was made in this base, designed to be a programmer and Data Management co-head. Growing up to think that he was born and raised in Missouri, and learned how to use a computer from his late uncle Farkas. His father, though supportive was a fairly strict man, as his mother was the kind who babied their children so they would grow up with a more nurtured personality, whilst still remaining tactful and strict. His brother, by the name of Tomas was the kind of person who liked to work with automobiles, and he was often found under the hood of his fathers T-1800 V-cyllinder electric car. Rick Idolized his brother and Uncle, and wished to be like them when he grew up, wanting to be as attractive and well liked as they where. The American dream was implanted into his mind since he was a young boy.
Later on in his life, around the age of 17 he got an apprenticeship at a major Vault-tec laboratory, This lasted for about a year and a half until he decided to enroll in the military. Once there, he realized that he didn't want to work with a gun, as it was much too noisy and he could never come to pick up a gun, lest he needed to do so. The head officers, understanding that some men don't have what it takes to pick up a gun, put him behind a desk. A week or two later, would be the time of his activation.
When activated, Rick worked as normal, thinking he was just a normal human being and had no problems fitting in with the other staff. (though, they were androids as well) Making various friends made him feel accepted and "Well liked" as he always grew up to believe was the best thing he could achieve. He stayed at the job for 2 weeks, enjoying his job and having a fun time with the guys. Often finding himself in the canteen, and swinging with some of the other people there. He was quite the popular person at the time. During a dance with a girl whom Rick called "One hot Tamale" is when his life became, very -very- hot.
This, was when the bombs dropped. The alarm sounded and Rick found himself pushing the girl who he was dancing with down to the ground, apologizing profusely he made his way towards the nearest fallout shelter. Slipping himself in the lead lined mini-bunker he felt something attach to the back of his neck, forcing him into sleep mode. When the bombs struck, there was a slight silence before the bomb struck. Luckily for Rick, he was lucky to make it to the pod where minimal debris fell onto it. During the explosion, Rick was exposed to quite a lot of heat, melting some of the soldering and circuitry inside of his cranial processor.
A few of the scientists survived, and where tasked with going out in heavily insulated hazmat suits to assist any of the Androids that where fortunate enough to make it out unscathed, or slightly damaged. Rick was collected by one Dr.Krashaw, and was brought in for repairs. His servos where damaged, but not un-fixable. His automated repair functions bleeped
"Cranial processor damaged, please re solder connector 42b, located under the cortex."
The good doctor, once done so had started the restarting process just to check if everything was alright. Upon waking up, Rick flew into a rage as something became disaligned in the restart process. He made a run for the doctor, flailing his naked and metal arms in the process. Working quick, the doctor shut him down, as he was still connected to the machine. Rick, would need some software reconstruction.
Setting up the computer again, the doctor started the restarting process. Thankfully, with the back up generators running at full power, and where purely dedicated towards restarting any of the undamaged androids (as they where too much of a precious commodity). The computer's power was sufficient enough for the restarting process, though it would take time. A reboot would last about 3 days, and in those three days the scientists where raided, and murdered. The Chinese (which, were also decked out in heavily lined hazmat suits, and power armor) where there to kill all of the scientists producing weapons, but once looking over the entirety of the base they realized that anything and everything inside (except for the data to create androids) was relatively useless. Shutting down the base they left it there to rot.
Hundreds of years later, as the world was no longer at war, A lonely dweller of the wastes stumbled onto the old laboratory. Heading down into it's Radroach infested halls, he found himself at the generator. Upon activation he turned around to find the safety lock down protocols had started up again. Without proper identification the poor man was "neutralized" Rick, still hooked up to the computer was soon awoken. Standing up, all of the cords pulled out of him and he started to make his way down to the generator room. Finding the dead body, riddled with bullet holes he took the clothes off of it.
On the travelers pip-boy, the android started to skim through holotape files, and even a small snip-it of audio propaganda. It read, as follows.
"Everyone! Watch out, the radioactive doomsday is upon us, and who is the perpetrator? Why, it's GHOULS! They're everywhere, infesting your homes and towns with their rotted flesh that has peeled of their faces due to excess radiation! If you know a ghoul, stay clear as their condition -IS- contagious! You can tell what they are as you can see their insides, and what makes them TICK!"
Looking up at a computer monitor, it gave Rick a clear reflection of what he was. His flesh, melted off to see his insides, and as he looked himself over he believed this is what is truly inside a human being. Seeing himself, his flesh melted off. Some of the synthetic flesh, now ooze due to time wasting it away, was peeled off by Rick himself in a self loathing rage, he couldn't live like an ugly infectious ghoul, but on the other hand he couldn't off himself... after all; what would his mother think!? Keeping his composure he started to make his way outside. On his way out, a monitor blipped on, and it read out in a robotic tone
"Go to new York to s-s-save yourself-"
Hearing this, and not bothering to listen to any more, Rick ran his way outside seeing the burned landscape all around him, the buildings that had toppled over in the distance. Looking around for a sign, he made his way to the highway walking along the dusty old road to New york.
On the way, he realized he can't have people realizing he was a ghoul, so with some quick thinking and ingenuity, he picked up a piece of scrap metal. Using a hammer and a small tool kit he had found on the side of the road, consisting of a hammer and a few screwdrivers with nails. he managed to make himself a mask with two eye holes and a slit for his mouth. Taking the leather strap out of the coat that he got from the wastelander, he slips it through two holes and binds it to the back of his head. At least nobody can tell he's a ghoul... right?
Acquired 1(one):Makeshift Mask
Tunnel Snakes RULE(ers) "With that new metalic sheen~"
After transmission:
"Head to new york to s-s-save yourself f-f-from poverty! Become a salesman and be that well liked individual you where always meant to be~"
Hey there Hothorn, I can see you really put a lot of work into this application, but we just can't have things like androids and the like. We're trying to keep from having things like main characters and special snowflakes, both of which this seems to be what it's trying for. I'm sorry that you put in a lot of work and it all ended up being wasted, but we've been very strict with our whitelisting standards lately for ANW. Feel free to try again whenever you'd like and with whatever else you'd like.
Definition of meta gaming: using info gained OOC while IC
Definition of power gaming: Forcing your actions onto another player ( "knocks you unconscious" would be but not "punches")
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: played many fallout rp servers, its actually what got me into fallout itself. also played 3 and NV
IC:
Name: Mack Eagle
Age: 25
Appearance: Mack has light blonde hair, Icy blue eyes, wears a business suit, and occasionally sunglasses.
Personality: With a personality as cold as his eye color, Mack does his best to keep his actions calculated, although he has been known to rarely slip up and care for a person. While the state of the nation has left some to join groups to protect themselves, and others working to assist others, Mack has taken this as an opportunity to become rich, rich enough to cripple all who oppose him. Mack will gladly take some caps and doesn't usually care about the means by which he receives them.
Backstory: When Mack was young, he lived with his father, who was always scavenging for caps and food alike. Mack was upset with this and dreamed of being rich and helping the poor. Mack's father got involved with some big wig loan sharks while they were 'visiting' in New Vegas. His father called it visiting but Mack knew that they had to move around to maintain survival. When Mack's father was running out of time to pay back his caps, he and his son became very stressed. On top of that, Mack became resentful, as his father had tried to get his NCR brother to send them caps, but they never got a response. One day, Mack came back to where they were staying to find the place empty. His first thought was that the sharks had his father killed, so he grabbed a kitchen knife they had and went to find the men who loaned them the caps. Just before he got the their establishment, Mack saw his father run up to him before latching onto his son and doubling over. The sharks had beaten up the man and injured him, but Mack didn't have the caps to afford any sort of treatment. He brought his father back to their apartment and let him heal the only way they could afford, by resting. Mack's father told his boy the truth that they both knew but never spoke of. The old man was nearing death. He explained that he didn't want to hold Mack back from his ambitions, and wanted him to explore the world and escape their debts and poverty while he could. With this, Mack grabbed the kitchen knife and left the room, slamming the door. Mack was furious, and felt like his father didn't want him anymore. Mack went into the bar and sat down, noticing that only an empty stool was between him and one of the men working for the loan sharks. Mack saw what he was wearing as a symbol of respect, and as far as Mack was concerned, those men deserved no such thing, so he killed the man and stole his suit and the minimal caps he carried on him. He then set out in an effort to take over what industry was left in the world and do what he needed to make some money. His end goal: Buy out the men who ruined his father, and perhaps even the NCR, who employed his selfish uncle. Mack headed eastward on a long journey, hoping to begin anew where many others had previously begun their lives in this nation. New York. He had chosen New York, as he had often heard about it in popular songs, and he heard it was a place people once began a new chapter of their lives, something he was hoping to do. He scavenged his way across the nation, taking food and weapons that he found along the way (although they often broke so he won't be arriving on the server with any). He did his best to travel North East using the sun as a sort of compass, and once he got to the eastern seaboard after a long while, he followed the rare rubble of highway signs toward the north. He did odd jobs along the way but mostly stole and killed his way across the nation.
My aim, was actually the opposite. A character whom had something "Special" about him, but make him a background character, one who exists but doesn't try to make a revolution. Take for example the quest in Fallout 3, the one with the Android roaming the wastes because he wants to be left alone, and doesn't want any trouble. That, is in fact my character. They are more likely to be hiding away in a hovel or hole in the ground, working on various things and studying alone. To me, this character isn't the fact of what he is, but what he's trying to be. He is an android, that's certain but he also thinks he's a human, which, is how he's going to act. (not to mention, how I wish he was judged in terms of white listing)
My aim, was actually the opposite. A character whom had something "Special" about him, but make him a background character, one who exists but doesn't try to make a revolution. Take for example the quest in Fallout 3, the one with the Android roaming the wastes because he wants to be left alone, and doesn't want any trouble. That, is in fact my character. They are more likely to be hiding away in a hovel or hole in the ground, working on various things and studying alone. To me, this character isn't the fact of what he is, but what he's trying to be. He is an android, that's certain but he also thinks he's a human, which, is how he's going to act. (not to mention, how I wish he was judged in terms of white listing)
Also, Hi UofMT, how've things been?
We understand that you don't want him to be a special snowflake, but it's the fact of what he is that makes the reason why we can't allow him. A lot of the staff has had bad previous experiences with characters like androids and psykers, intelligent deathclaws, et cetera. This decision to not allow the android was made after a unanimous decision not only by me, but by the entire admin staff. Luckily, Fallout lore has openings for many very interesting things or even better, you can create a land of your own inside North America and have your character be shaped by the place and come from there.
And I've been pretty good, thanks for asking. Again, I'm sorry we can't let you play the android, but it's not an individual reason, it's the fact that we want to prevent things like "Well if he was allowed to do it, why can't I?"
Definition of meta gaming: Metagaming is the quite annoying habit of taking OOC knowledge and applying it to IC decisions and such. It impacts Roleplay rather hard. Someone who is metagaming is simply not playing by the same rules as others.
Definition of power gaming: Power Gaming is when a player just does not react to other players actions or does not give them a chance to react to hit. Actions such as instantly murdering an opponent without chance of recourse is an example of powergaming. It has a heavy impact on a server and is the bane of good Roleplaying.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: A metric ass load.
IC: Also Yes.
Name: John Gestalt. Also sometimes refereed to as "Twitch"
Race/Species/What-have-you: Ghoulie
Age: 238
Appearance: John stands about five foot ten inches, average. He's a ghoul so he's far from a bulky fellow, registering roughly 120 - 125 pounds. Depending on meal consumption and activity, of course. He's got a lithe set of muscles left, but nothing to write home about. As a ghoul, his skin is rather crusty but he has managed to stave off total decomposition, settling for a dry and dusty face with /most/ of its skin intact, though it is more than obvious he is a ghoul when his face is on display. As for hair, most of his natural hair is gone aside from a small chin-spike and some scraps along his dome. To combat the loss of his hair, John adopted a nice weave that matches what remains of his hair in color and texture, though on closer examination one could easily tell it is non-natural. He has a set of cloudy blue eyes below the remains of his eyebrows.
As for clothing and equipment. Mr. Gestalt is often seen dressed up like it's the dead of winter no matter the season. If you ask him, he'll mumble something about always being cold, but we're getting off track. John is fond of earth tones and grey, and his clothing reflects that. A simple tan shirt would be his initial layer, with a set of suspenders and a belt over it. Upon his legs would be a simple set of dark brown trousers of a touch material and make, patched though from wear and tear. Above his simple clothing is an older brown bomber jacket he took a liking too awhile back. Above that, is a dark grey sleeveless duster of unknown make, yet it seems oddly dear to him. Upon his face, John wears a gas mask modified by his own hands to better suit his 'condition' and a bomber cap that matches the jacket. On his wrist is a pipboy from his time in vault 76. He often has a medium sized satchel tossed over his shoulder to carry any large items of his.
Personality: Defective would be the best way to describe John. To most people he would seem neurotic, often shifting between mania and depressions but sometimes falling into a neutral state. He is extremely paranoid of his surroundings and those around him, this has bit him in the ass on more than a few occasions, also lending itself to his nickname. It extends to him often trapping and fortifying his current living quarters, be it a house or a rented room in a bar. Below his paranoia and neurotic attitude, rests a rather intelligent and creative mind. Having a rather quality education pre-war lends itself well in the post apocalyptic world. Often tinkering with old machines or chemicals, it seems to calm him and keep his focus easier. Gestalt abhors direct violence, finding it sloppy and a waste of life. He will rarely start a fight but will defend himself if need be with rather meager weapon skills, not used to anything larger than a pistol or smaller smg and flat out near useless with heavy or large weapons. Charisma wise, he's far from a face-man. He refers more to logical reasoning and thus often comes off a bit cold and has trouble convincing others to anything too outlandish. His ghoulish nature often causes people to overlook his other qualities, leaving him frustrated when actions go bad.
Backstory: (Keep in mind this is 200 odd years condensed for ease of reading, and my sanity of course)
Mr. John Gestalt was born in the year 2047 to a middle-class family in upper Boston Massachusetts. Growing up was nothing special at the time. He attended to all the normal functions of a growing adolescent. His mind was rather sharp and he could easily be described as 'bookish' by some. This aided him rather well in his development years and his finished high-school with quite good academic marks. Furthering his education, John attended MIT in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He still remembers his time there fondly, a bright spot in his past he holds onto. He remained there until the year 2077. Gaining a masters degree in mechanical engineering, a masters degree in chemical engineering and was just starting on his doctorate in bio-medical research, but was barely a month in when the day came.
And by day, we all know what came. On October 23, 2077 the sirens sounded. John had previously applied for a spot in Vault 76 in his home-town of Boston and was accepted a year ago. Clutching his information and the meager amount of personal possessions he could quickly gather, John rushed off to the vault. He made it in shortly before the bombs started to fall upon his beloved town. Luckily for John and the other inhabitants, Vault 76 was a control vault set to open 10 years after the nuclear exchange. Unluckily for them, it was in Boston. Boston was hit rather hard during the war due to it being a key city of the United States. As the vault dwellers cracked open the door and shuffled out, they were greeted with a still toxic environment. They attempted to follow the Vault instructions but it seemed to be in vain. Most of the population either succumbed to the radiation and perished or were mutated into ghouls. John was 'lucky' and mutated into a ghoul like a few others.
And just like that, the vault quickly perished to either death or un-death. Most of the ghoulish occupants left the vault behind, going their separate ways. John traveled with a small contingent of more militarized ghouls around the Massachusetts area, seeing the destruction brought upon by the nuclear exchange. Those early years were some of the hardest ones, though John and his small group persevered through. After a time of wandering up and down New England the group returned to the Cambridge area to discover a sort of civilization had restarted itself their. The location that would slowly come to be known as the Commonwealth had taken root around old MIT, now known as "The Institute" to those that dwelled within and around it. It would seem that scientific progress never stops, even in this sort of world.
John left his small party of ghouls, deciding instead to settle down within the Commonwealth. He attempted to regain a position at the Institute, but was barely allowed inside due to his condition. The paranoia and habit of trapping whatever room he occupied certainly did not help either. So, he was resigned to exist outside of the sealed temple of scientific progress. He did what he could, and still was able to assist around the settlement that cropped up around the Institute, and occasionally learn of what it is they were working on inside. Hearing such rumors of advanced technology akin to Artificial Intelligence and Androids. It was a bit worrying, and he managed to get himself involved in some rather shady deals that resulted in his expulsion and exile from the Commonwealth.
Back to wandering he went, now alone mostly. He continued to migrate up and down the eastern seaboard. From Maine all the way down to Florida. He enjoyed the simplicity of wandering life, yet it did not help his paranoia at all. More often than not he was being chased by raiders or his 'kin' that had lost their sense of reason and logic. So his wandering continued, without real reason at this point. Sometimes with a group or caravan, but more often than not on his own.
It would be on one of these many trips up the seaboard, scavenging and learning that he would stumble into what remained of the Big Apple. It interested him quite a bit and John wandered the city for awhile. Taking in the grandeur of the old war, remembering family vacations here in his youth. From Yankee Stadium to the Statue of Liberty he enjoyed the sights.
So let's see shall we... character's name is good, character description is good, character personality is unique, along with the backstory. App is well organized and it shows that you have a good grasp on your grammar. The link to the tunnel snakes rule website is a unique touch to the app. Overall you are...
Sorry for the delays in the whitelisting process, a certain Josh1133 was supposed to check over apps for the past two nights but keeps on 'forgetting', but I'll make him pay. Anyways, I'll be your whitelister this morning.
The app looks good, but the personality and appearance are quite short. Give things like eye color, height and things like does he have anger problems? Also, D.C. in our timeline is a very harsh place. The BoS was wiped out by the Crawler's orbital missile and now it's the Outcasts who run the place, who take tech from anyone who has any. By force. It's up to you if that affects him, but food for thought. Unfortunately though, you, for now until you fix those things, are...
Now onto you, friend. Let's see here...
Very nicely done application, there's just a few problems we have with this all. AI are nigh impossible to have in Fallout on your person, as only ZAX supercomputers have them in previous Fallout games. Bringing such a thing in is impossible, unfortunately. Along with that, the ability to create Pip-boys isn't quite possible without having pre-war factories that have been repaired, which would take quite a long time. You could come in with one from the Vault however. Lastly, knowing that many things but majoring in Nuclear is something that's just a little too much. I know he was studying many years, however that's just a little too much with how he likely had to spend much time surviving as well. Yes, he'd be able to help wastelanders with his knowledge, but Nuclear is again too much. Until those are fixed, you are unfortunately...
Application numero tres!
Unfortunately, a lot of problems with this app. Some of which you likely had no chance of knowing, but still gonna need you to correct it. Chicago isn't a normal city and it hasn't started to recover, no. Chicago is owned by the Enclave, large numbers of soldiers there. The city would need to be changed, but there's still more. It's very unlikely that many cities would behave the way that the city that Roman and Leo went to. Having a police department that's functional is highly unlikely and killers are very common in the wastes. Also, without any tracking knowledge he'd likely need some kind of help from an outsider. So unfortunately, until these things are fixed, you are...
And onto the very last application.
Uh...Failcrap: NV. Was that the actual name of the server? Just a little worrying to see such a thing. Could you explain if you mean the game or is that an actual server? Beyond all of that however, the application looks very good. I just need to know about the 'Failcrap' thing before I can be sure to whitelist you. So until that's explained, you are unfortunately...
OOC:
Minecraft Username: Cre8or38
Age: 19
Definition of meta gaming: Using OOC information IC.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions on another,
I believe. Another commonly accepted form of this, is playing for power, and not to RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I have relished each fallout game. I have plenty of MCHRP experience.
IC:
Name: Thomas Miller
Age: 30
Appearance:Thomas is a self-proclaimed king of decency, in the wastes. He prides himself on his appearence, wearing cleaned and mended vault suits, whenever possible. The suits give him a comforting feel of order and stability.He makes a point of having a spare suit with himself at all times. His hair is usually slicked back, wolfenstein style, using boiled mutfruit rind wax. He usually wears a pair of sunglasses, not to look stylish, but to protect his yes from the unforgiving suns rays. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, and many various removable pockets have been clipped to his jumpsuit belt. The satchel is his go to for storage, holding plenty of holotapes, and odd nicknacks. His belt holds a small magazine of bullets, as well as a measly nine millimeter handgun. On his feet, are two standard vault boots, made of rubber and leather.
Personality:As has been stated, he prides himself on his decency. He works hard to bring out a sence of pride
and courage in those he meets. He donates when he can, to those towns his vists. Sometimes he even works for
little to no money. He shares what he learns, and loves to learn himself. He eats politely, and savoringly, enjoyin his meals. Even in the toughest situations, he remains unnaturally calm.
This can also tentatively affect him, though. His open heart can allow for bad influences to worm their way
in like a maggot in old meat.
Backstory:
Thomas Miller was born in vault 72. Luckily, this was a control vault in West Virginia. It was nested into the natural salt caves, deep within a mountain. This ensured that little to no radiation would contaminate the area around the vault, if such a disaster were to occur- Which it did, of course. Thomas was brought up as all vault dwellers should be. He was given an education, he played on the vault 73 baseball team, and read books to his hearts content. Thomas showed a natural interest in math and science as a child. Vast amounts of data were installed on his old pip-boy 2000 that he loved to go over when he was through with class. He began to outpace his classmates, and was recommended for independent study by his educator.
Seeing as how he could easily complete each and every piece of school work given to him, he had a lot of time on his hands. This was spent exploring the vast halls of the vault. Sometimes he would run into a maintenance technician in the far corners, who would only be happy to entertain him by showing him the workings of the many machines that they were working on. He made friends with a man named Greg, who he met with each afternoon. He was shown many different machines. Reverse hydroelectric chips, wiring mechanisms, door locks- He saw it all. Despite his promising intelligence, and the possibility of earning a job as a real engineer, Thomas took a position as a lowly maintenance tech when he reached the age of eighteen.
And his time was spent with that, for the next year, before times changed.
The reactor had begun to leak radio active fluids. Some might have said that if Thomas had not wasted his potential, this might have not happened. Well, some people are just plain stupid. What they did not know, was that Vault-tec had intended for this to happen. It was all part of an elaborate experiment, one which I do not have the time to explain.
The Overseer evacuated, and sealed off the lower levels. Food, vault records, holotapes, and needed supplies were gathered. All of the valuable equipment that the people could carry, was taken. Another vault was merely ten miles away- Ten miles! Vault records showed that it had ample space to share with vault 73's population.
The vault dwellers set out, Thomas included. They marched for two days straight, frighted by the open air, and chilling sounds. Thankfully, nobody died during the trip, though they were a bit shaken. They marched right up to vault 73's doors, and the overseer keyed the intercom. After a few words were spoken, the door slid open. No tricks. No lollygagging. They were all welcomed inside with open and friendly arms, by vault 82's residents.
Life was a bit exciting for the first few months, before they settled in. Vault 73's engineers were badly needed by vault 82's staff, and they were sent straight to work. Maintenance staff, although, they had too many of. Thomas was laid off, and told to find a new position.
And so of course, he came to the Overseer personally, to see whet needed to be done. He was sat down, and given a coffee. Coffee was a rare thing in the vaults. It had to be rationed, as hydroponics could only grow so much a year. This meant that this was important.
He was told of the vaults past. How each overseer before him had been cruel, and corrupted by their power. How he, John Steinbeck, had been the first kind hearted Overseer. How he had been the first to make sure that equality came first. Thomas was also told of what the future might hold. Pre-war maps revealed a nearby city was only a mile away. It could be the next step for the vault. The step to create society anew. For now, the overseer explained, he would be tasked with simply pursuing a new education. He was aware of his academic records, and actually ordered him to pursue an education in nuclear engineering. As was stated, they needed more engineers. And so, study it, he did.
Thomas was a little unsure about the idea of leaving the vault, but he agreed to the motives. A draft was created for volunteers. Most of those who arrived from vault 72 came forth instantly. They were eager to see the tantalizing outside world again. They felt as if they had a civic duty to vault eighty two's dwellers, to face the unknown for them, in return for having been given a new home.
They were armed with weapons, provisions, and communications equipment to keep in touch with the vault. The door opened, and all 200 of the volunteers marched outside.
It took a few days to adjust. Some turned and ran back to the vault door. Others, well, they were fascinated by the tall trees. The dirt, the fresh air. It was all so wonderful to them. They came to...Love it. They descended lower into the valley through out the next day. nature seemed to be reclaiming the scarred earth already. Fresh grass and pure new life.
It took them the next 10 years to erect a settlement. Small brick homes belched wood smoke out of chimneys. A town-center was established. A well was dug. Walls were erected around the town, and they flourished! Assisted by vault 82, they were unstoppable. They no longer though of themselves as vault-dwellers, but as pioneers in a new world.
Thomas was now 28. He had been promoted to the position of head engineer long ago. He had helped create this town. A lot of his time, however, was spent back at the vault, maintaining the reactor.
Unfortunately, nothing stayed the way it does forever. Thomas was on his last shift outside of the vault, when Ghouls began to pour into the valley one morning, and just never stopped. It was a veritable army of the undead. The settlement was quickly overwhelmed. The inhabitants fled back to the vault, where they were ushered inside by those present and the door slid closed. The vault dwellers vowed to regroup, and retake their settlement. They were safe- For now.
Everyone, except, Thomas. Thomas was not prepared to give up his life on the outside. Hunkered inside of the town center, he sent a few messaged to the vault informing them of the situation on the outside, and the best way to deal with it. Ghouls were pounding on the doors of homes, howling to be let in. 'Extermination plans', he thought. They acknowledged, and asked him why he was still outside.
He explained himself, wished them the best of luck, and. prepared to leave. Before he did, he had the forethought to slip a holotape copy of the vaults library into his satchel. "This" He reasoned. "Would come in handy." He slipped out of the building, under the cover of night, and headed north where the ghouls would be hard-pressed to come after him.
And such was the beginning of the adventure of Thomas.
Hi there! Reading everything, it is a very good app with lots of detail.
That being said, we do have one problem, which is your backstory. First off, Is it Vault 72 or 73? You switch back and forth on his home vault many times though this is not a major issue. The major issue is well, he seems to be way too talented and is coming in with quite a bit of knowledge and a holotape of a entire vault's library. Not only do I have to say no to the Holotape, you can play a educated character but just tone down his talents. He can be a skilled mechanic and engineer, just maybe not as skilled as you describe him.
What Im saying is, tone it down a little bit and you should be all set.
Until then, you are:
OOC:
Minecraft Username: Cre8or38
Age: 19
Definition of meta gaming: Using OOC information IC.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions on another,
I believe. Another commonly accepted form of this, is playing for power, and not to RP.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I have relished each fallout game. I have plenty of MCHRP experience.
IC:
Name: Thomas Miller
Age: 30
Appearance:Thomas is a self-proclaimed king of decency, in the wastes. He prides himself on his appearence, wearing cleaned and mended vault suits, whenever possible. The suits give him a comforting feel of order and stability.He makes a point of having a spare suit with himself at all times. His hair is usually slicked back, wolfenstein style, using boiled mutfruit rind wax. He usually wears a pair of sunglasses, not to look stylish, but to protect his yes from the unforgiving suns rays. A satchel hangs from his shoulder, and many various removable pockets have been clipped to his jumpsuit belt. The satchel is his go to for storage, holding plenty of holotapes, and odd nicknacks. His belt holds a small magazine of bullets, as well as a measly nine millimeter handgun. On his feet, are two standard vault boots, made of rubber and leather.
Personality:As has been stated, he prides himself on his decency. He works hard to bring out a sence of pride
and courage in those he meets. He donates when he can, to those towns his vists. Sometimes he even works for
little to no money. He shares what he learns, and loves to learn himself. He eats politely, and savoringly, enjoyin his meals. Even in the toughest situations, he remains unnaturally calm.
This can also tentatively affect him, though. His open heart can allow for bad influences to worm their way
in like a maggot in old meat.
Backstory:
Thomas Miller was born in vault 72. Luckily, this was a control vault in West Virginia. It was nested into the natural salt caves, deep within a mountain. This ensured that little to no radiation would contaminate the area around the vault, if such a disaster were to occur- Which it did, of course. Thomas was brought up as all vault dwellers should be. He was given an education, he played on the vault 72 baseball team, and read books to his hearts content. Thomas showed a natural interest in math and science as a child. Vast amounts of data were installed on his old pip-boy 2000 that he loved to go over when he was through with class. He began to outpace his classmates, and was recommended for independent study by his educator.
Seeing as how he could easily complete each and every piece of school work given to him, he had a lot of time on his hands. This was spent exploring the vast halls of the vault. Sometimes he would run into a maintenance technician in the far corners, who would only be happy to entertain him by showing him the workings of the many machines that they were working on. He made friends with a man named Greg, who he met with each afternoon. He was shown many different machines. Reverse hydroelectric chips, wiring mechanisms, door locks- He saw it all. Despite his promising intelligence, and the possibility of earning a job as a real engineer, Thomas took a position as a lowly maintenance tech when he reached the age of eighteen.
And his time was spent with that, for the next year, before times changed.
The reactor had begun to leak radio active fluids. Some might have said that if Thomas had not wasted his potential, this might have not happened. Well, some people are just plain stupid. What they did not know, was that Vault-tec had intended for this to happen. It was all part of an elaborate experiment, one which I do not have the time to explain.
The Overseer evacuated, and sealed off the lower levels. Food, vault records, holotapes, and needed supplies were gathered. All of the valuable equipment that the people could carry, was taken. Another vault was merely ten miles away- Ten miles! Vault records showed that it had ample space to share with vault 73's population.
The vault dwellers set out, Thomas included. They marched for two days straight, frighted by the open air, and chilling sounds. Thankfully, nobody died during the trip, though they were a bit shaken. They marched right up to vault 73's doors, and the overseer keyed the intercom. After a few words were spoken, the door slid open. No tricks. No lollygagging. They were all welcomed inside with open and friendly arms, by vault 82's residents.
Life was a bit exciting for the first few months, before they settled in. Vault 73's engineers were badly needed by vault 82's staff, and they were sent straight to work. Maintenance staff, although, they had too many of. Thomas was laid off, and told to find a new position.
And so of course, he came to the Overseer personally, to see whet needed to be done. He was sat down, and given a coffee. Coffee was a rare thing in the vaults. It had to be rationed, as hydroponics could only grow so much a year. This meant that this was important.
He was told of the vaults past. How each overseer before him had been cruel, and corrupted by their power. How he, John Steinbeck, had been the first kind hearted Overseer. How he had been the first to make sure that equality came first. Thomas was also told of what the future might hold. Pre-war maps revealed a nearby city was only a mile away. It could be the next step for the vault. The step to create society anew. For now, the overseer explained, he would be tasked with simply pursuing a new education. He was aware of his academic records, and actually ordered him to pursue an education in machinery engineering. 'Not only would this compliment his already present gift in mechanics' Reasoned the Overseer, 'But it would be a valuable skill in the outside world.'
Thomas was a little unsure about the idea of leaving the vault, but he agreed to the motives. A draft was created for volunteers. Most of those who arrived from vault 72 came forth instantly. They were eager to see the tantalizing outside world again. They felt as if they had a civic duty to vault eighty two's dwellers, to face the unknown for them, in return for having been given a new home.
They were armed with weapons, provisions, and communications equipment to keep in touch with the vault. The door opened, and all 200 of the volunteers marched outside.
It took a few days to adjust. Some turned and ran back to the vault door. Others, well, they were fascinated by the tall trees. The dirt, the fresh air. It was all so wonderful to them. They came to...Love it. They descended lower into the valley through out the next day. nature seemed to be reclaiming the scarred earth already. Fresh grass and pure new life.
It took them the next 6 years to erect a settlement. Small brick homes belched wood smoke out of chimneys. A town-center was established. A well was dug. Walls were erected around the town, and they flourished! Assisted by vault 73, they were unstoppable. They no longer though of themselves as vault-dwellers, but as pioneers in a new world.
Thomas was now 25. He had helped create this town. A lot of his time, however, was spent back at the vault, maintaining the systems.
Unfortunately, nothing stayed the way it does forever. Thomas was on his last shift outside of the vault, when Ghouls began to pour into the valley one morning, and just never stopped. It was a veritable army of the undead. The settlement was quickly overwhelmed. The inhabitants fled back to the vault, where they were ushered inside by those present and the door slid closed. The vault dwellers vowed to regroup, and retake their settlement. They were safe- For now.
Everyone, except, Thomas. Thomas was not prepared to give up his life on the outside. Hunkered inside of the town center, he sent a few messaged to the vault informing them of the situation on the outside, and the best way to deal with it. Ghouls were pounding on the doors of homes, howling to be let in. 'Extermination plans', he thought. They acknowledged, and asked him why he was still outside.
He explained himself, wished them the best of luck, and prepared to leave. He slipped out of the building, under the cover of night, and headed north where the ghouls would be hard-pressed to come after him.
And such was the beginning of the adventure of Thomas.
((So basically, he is now skilled technician, but he works to create machinery. Presses, processors, purifiers, and such. So, not a nuclear engineer- Just a machinery engineer.))
If I'm being honest, I tried to continue the story of previous fallout rp characters, and that's what was going on in those servers, but I do understand what was wrong with it and I will redo my app.
OOC:[/b]
Minecraft Username: JMickeyD[/b]
Age: 17[/b]
[b]Definition of meta gaming: using info gained OOC while IC[/b]
Definition of power gaming: Forcing your actions onto another player ( "knocks you unconscious" would be but not "punches")[/b]
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: played many fallout rp servers, its actually what got me into fallout itself. also played 3 and NV[/b]
IC:[/b]
Name: Mack Eagle [/b]
Age: 25[/b]
Appearance: Mack has Ice blue hair, deep red eyes, wears a business suit, and occasionally sunglasses.[/b]
Personality: With a personality as cold as his hair color, Mack does his best to keep his actions calculated, although he has been known to rarely slip up and care for a person. While the state of the nation has left some to join groups to protect themselves, and others working to assist others, Mack has taken this as an opportunity to become rich, rich enough to cripple all who oppose him. Mack will gladly take some caps and doesn't usually care about the means by which he receives them.[/b]
Backstory: When Mack was young, he lived with his father, who was always scavenging for caps and food alike. Mack was upset with this and dreamed of being rich and helping the poor. Mack's father got involved with some big wig loan sharks while they were 'visiting' in New Vegas. His father called it visiting but Mack knew that they had to move around to maintain survival. When Mack's father was running out of time to pay back his caps, he and his son became very stressed. On top of that, Mack became resentful, as his father had tried to get his NCR brother to send them caps, but they never got a response. One day, Mack came back to where they were staying to find the place empty. His first thought was that the sharks had his father killed, so he grabbed a kitchen knife they had and went to find the men who loaned them the caps. Just before he got the their establishment, Mack saw his father run up to him before latching onto his son and doubling over. The sharks had beaten up the man and injured him, but Mack didn't have the caps to afford any sort of treatment. He brought his father back to their apartment and let him heal the only way they could afford, by resting. Mack's father told his boy the truth that they both knew but never spoke of. The old man was nearing death. He explained that he didn't want to hold Mack back from his ambitions, and wanted him to explore the world and escape their debts and poverty while he could. With this, Mack grabbed the kitchen knife and left the room, slamming the door. Mack was furious, and felt like his father didn't want him anymore. Mack went into the bar and sat down, noticing that only an empty stool was between him and one of the men working for the loan sharks. Mack saw what he was wearing as a symbol of respect, and as far as Mack was concerned, those men deserved no such thing, so he killed the man and stole his suit and the minimal caps he carried on him. He then set out in an effort to take over what industry was left in the world and do what he needed to make some money. His end goal: Buy out the men who ruined his father, and perhaps even the NCR, who employed his selfish uncle. Mack headed eastward on a long journey, hoping to begin anew where many others had previously begun their lives in this nation. New York.[/b]
Tunnel Snakes Rule![/b]
Fallcraft: New Vegas, but its final days were...unfortunately substandard, which made me, and various other individuals refer to it as "Failcrap", to represent our contempt for said server.
[b]OOC:
[/b]Minecraft Username: audhulma[/b]
Age: 18 years old.[/b]
Definition of meta gaming: Usage of outside knowledge of the game, or knowledge your character wouldn't know to influence in game behavior. Examples include: Meta-Grudging, Wiki Usage, or Usage of OOC in IC.[/b]
Definition of power gaming: Playing exclusively to win, often to the detriment of players trying to enjoy a decent RP.[/b]
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: I used to play on a server owned by a Facebook Page Admin which was for atleast eighteen months a Fallout RP Server. I have spent almost two years playing SS13 on Heavy RP servers on Byond. I frequently play Dungeons and Dragons and other Tabletop Roleplaying Games, if that counts as well.[/b]
IC: [/b]
Name: Flint Mahnke[/b]
Age: 25[/b]
Appearance: Flint is a tall, thin Caucasian male, of possible Irish descent based on facial features. He wears leather clothing, likely homemade or stolen off of a body. On His back, he has a large rucksack, dotted with holes and sewn in patches. Dangling from his neck is a poor conditioned gas mask with a few cracks on the goggles but nothing that prevents it from being unusable. His hair is a rusty red color, and is rather disheveled, not giving time to make it look good.[/b]
Personality: Flint is a sarcastic, crass, and often abrasive individual when it comes to talking to strangers. A dry wit combined with a dark sense of humor can make Flint seem like a morbid person, but this is the byproduct of living the way he did. Once mutual trust is formed with someone, Flint will open up, being a rather jovial and loyal friend to those who manage to get him there.[/b]
Backstory: Flint Mahnke grew up in a tribe outside Chicago, and was raised to be a scavenger. His tribe was often trading scrap to other tribes, and through this trade, Flint learned decent language skills and a bit of mercantile sense. After reaching adulthood, Flint set off to the east, through the fallen city of Chicago, looking for fortune in another 'mega-city' he was told about: New York City. With nothing more than his wits, a decent firearm, and a map He set off to find this place.[/b]
Thank you for clarifying, just some of the staff wanted to be certain. You're now...
OOC:
Minecraft Username: Around_The_Bend
Age: Just old enough to think age isn't a proper measure of suitability sometimes.
Definition of meta gaming: Using information In-Character which your character wouldn't actually possess, or that you heard OOC. Like finding that one vault that you built or that you live in as another character whose unrelated, or knowing how to operate Power Armor as someone who never even saw the stuff.
Definition of power gaming: Forcing actions upon others without allowing for response, no consent involved.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: Let's just say I've been around a while, and that I'm not proud of that whole past.
IC:
Name: J. Mortimer
Age: 26
Appearance:
Mortimer stands at an initially unimposing 5'9", with somewhat broad shoulders. His musculature is compact and practical, toned rather than thick, and his skin has a light golden brown tan, pocked with small scars along his arms. It'd seem he maintains peak condition best he can.
There seem to be much fewer scars along his torso, though there is a set of more rough binding scars along the base of his neck, and a harsh one that seems to split into many lines, from a lash, on the right side of his abdomen. There seem to be similar ones along his back, though faded heavily, focused on the right side.
His most prominent facial feature would be his eyes, feline, wider than they are tall, giving his resting expressions a passive, predatory look, despite any mood he might be in. His brows seem to furrow passively as well, if only by some slight amount, often giving him a look of focus or unfriendliness. His nose comes down in a straight slope, and is generally well-proportioned with his features. Mortimer's jawline is fairly strong, and his chin juts very slightly. He has a shallow scar on his right cheek, diagonal, with the bottom tip angled towards his chin, and it's short. His eyes are a dark coffee brown, and rather than stare through people, Mortimer's eyes seem to stare into them, instead. He has a tendency to grow very dark brown stubble, and his hair is usually kept short out of habit. He generally doesn't care too much about grooming, though.
His clothing leans towards practical more than aesthetically pleasing, and as a long time native of New York, as well as one of the more dedicated hunters of the traders, keeps a Cockatrice pelt tied around his neck for the most part. He has a simple hide shirt on, fashioned from the hide of a younger Greyback, which outlines the visible skin on the chest and abdomen, with short, dense fur covering the rest, sleeves reaching a little over three quarters down the way of his arms. He has a pair of cargo pants, and a set of boots that reach just up to his shin, worn, with thinned soles. He generally wears a plain, aged and white t-shirt beneath the Greyback shirt, and there's a set of tinted goggles that seem to hang around his neck frequently.
Mortimer retains an Imperial accent, the enunciated and clear tone of a Legionnaire.
Personality:
Mortimer generally proves to be quiet most of the time, though with an intense air and look about him. He prizes efficiency and versatility, and prefers to live a cleaner life than most. He refuses to use any recreational or performance-enhancing chems, and proves his own brand of tidy, loosely organizing his belongings.
But while Mortimer would seem reserved and stiff to those who'd observe, this is because he is, to a certain extent. Only as long as it proves convenient, as when push comes to shove he proves to be completely willing to resort to more extreme or questionable measures than a great many people. Strict with himself, he sees opportunities everywhere, and generally never tries to be wasteful. While his general behaviors can change with his moods, he keeps fairly consistent, though the fact he resorts to questionable or underhanded measures isn't to say he's a coward. Mortimer is more than capable of maintaining his nerves, as a life in his vault, the Legion, and New York has assured that such an innate ability is ingrained upon his psyche, and he proves very attuned to and aware of danger.
Mortimer often keeps secrets, as well as his thoughts, to himself, and he has been desensitized to murder and violence to the point that when he looks at a body, often enough his only concern is checking how fresh it is. The smell of death and the sight of blood are commonplace to him, and he shows no aversion to getting down and dirty. A survivalist, he shows remarkable hardiness, though despite a notable detachment to his personal possessions, he proves different with anyone he might call a "friend." Generally, he proves helpful to most, and seems to never care enough to go out of his way to be rude to people. He's also not above manipulating people.
However, Mortimer feels things very strongly, and very frequently doesn't show this on the surface. He has fervent beliefs and passions about things in the Wasteland, often enough relating to the conditions in which most people live, and the lack of opportunities to excel for the vaster populace. Previously, he had a bad habit of simply relegating himself to whatever was required of his role, as well as disavowing himself of his actions, though now feels the pressing need and craving to make a difference, adhering to the idea that one man can make a difference in the Wasteland. He's savvy of the evils of the Wasteland, and is intent on curtailing them for a somewhat more abstract, greater freedom that provides opportunity.
Backstory:
Mortimer's history began in the confines of Vault 32, a massive, sprawling complex compared to other Vaults. The intended experiment of Vault 32 lay in it's design- The underground shelter was enormous, and this was because of the large, complex mechanism which helped the Vault achieve what made it a marvel. Intended to test the effect of a constantly changing and deteriorating environment upon continued generations of dwellers, it was set in Kansas in order to facilitate the great size, and it's first generation occupants were all chosen based upon high scores in Vault-Tec approved tests for pattern cognizance, IQ's, and/or careers in the engineering field.
The mechanisms within the Vault were designed to turn it into a dynamic labyrinth. Multi-leveled and heavily compartmentalized, the labyrinth followed a specific algorithm chained to the central computer, which was normally inaccessible to the denizens. There was no appointed Overseer either, and the Pip-Boy units of the Vault were altered to replace the Map functionality with an advanced calculator and stopwatch. Every 48 hours, the Vault was set to undergo a shift in compartments that followed it's algorithm, and would seclude certain portions of the Vault- Sometimes, for weeks at a time.
While initially, adjustment proved extremely difficult for it's inhabitants, the subjects proved capable of adapting before it was too late. The brightest of the Vault's denizens caught on to the pattern by which the Vault shifted when the central computer access was finally opened- While it never looped, it seemed like it had a terminus, like it was meant to hit a 0 at some point in the future. What this meant didn't immediately strike, however- Sets of data were provided to represent current shifts, complex tables, but never any maps. The process, mechanical as it was, continued. Like clockwork the inhabitants prepared for shifts and runs into parts of the vault that could be secluded for another few days or weeks after a shift. This'd continue for roughly 200 years- Until the terminus was reached.
At this point, a secondary algorithm was activated, and the first negated. The vault's experiment was complete. The shifts changed- And the way back to the Vault's unlocked door became hidden in the shifts, as vital systems began deteriorating heavily.
From the door rose a people changed by their time within- Evolved, yet untamed by the Vault. Over the course of 200 years, the terminals initially installed had deteriorated within the first 30 years to unusability. In this time, the Vault dwellers resorted to improvisation in fear of losing the schematics of their research, the Vault testing their resolve to preserve things in an environment that wouldn't allow it. They began painting the walls with the paint they could recover from the supplies closets, which only rarely rotated in. The centuries bred a culture of conservation and efficiency, one that venerated mathematics as a tool to see the future, as a method of survival.
The paintings became sacred things, and efficiency, memories, these became the pillars of society, where the elderly dedicated themselves to being Remembrancers at the central computer, whose location never changed, the center of the labyrinth. The shifts became near-mystical at times, where old schematics and paintings'd be rediscovered in long-gone compartments. Savantism was observed more in the populace, and the language turned to using metaphoric mathematical terms. The inhabitants naturally flocked towards the smaller, walled areas, avoiding the wider spaces of the Vault. They ran and scurried, life hurried and at a hectic pace. It was somewhere in the midst of this rush that Mortimer was born, and his early life was like that of any other boy or girl in the Vault. While a little more distant and reserved than the others, he watched the paintings made then, and long ago, and ran around the Vault to grab the supplies before their compartments closed. A number of times he was trapped in shifted compartments for days at a time, and survived simply off his high tolerance for harsh conditions. He proved difficult to bother, and adapted to the stress of the Vault's hectic as most did.
But when they finally came out, they were greeted by a system, an organization that they couldn't circumvent. There were fewer of them than in other Vaults- Life was practical in there, efficient, but people had children less often than most. As they exited into the light, they found themselves exiting to a force of people dressed in red, flying the banner of a gold bull against red- Caesar's Legion. The small force, doing it's rounds, set upon enslaving the newly exited Vault dwellers immediately. Unexpectedly, however, the Vault dwellers came peacefully- Their pragmatism told them not to resist, as it'd be best for them. They couldn't win, losing only more people if they struggled.
It'd prove their downfall.
Reeducation took place near immediately. The children were taken, and Mortimer, 15, was just old enough to go into the fighting pits with the other children to weed out the weak. To Mortimer, this came as a sudden shock- Yet at the same time, something about it made him aware he breathed the air- The sound of steel clashing in the hands of recent recruits, wicked cries of delight as they beat upon new arrivals and sampled the newly taken slave girls, the scent of blood and the heat of the sun as it baked their skin, this primal pulse and urge of violence that seemed to come from his veins, it got to him, seduced him. It swelled in his throat, and climaxed in a cry for war, and a frenzy. Despite non-violence being taught in the Vault, it seemed like the only thing that made sense at the moment, no matter what the Remembrancers said. Before he could register where his hands had lead him, he was tearing into the other children. By the end of it all, ten of them survived, all battered and bruised, bloody with their family and history. It seemed to wash away any thoughts of home, any previously learned behaviors, and the blood only stopped being shed because the Legion overseers were satisfied.
The next years were spent in a lurid haze to Mortimer- Or at least he'd claim so. He remembers the years vividly in training. He remembers reeducation. To the Legion of Caesar, they were unfinished tools, they were animals, dogs to be broken and whipped into submission to the service of the Son of Mars. They taught them how to kill, how to strike, how to walk and stand, even how to breathe and run. How to think, and what thoughts to let in, which ones to simply not have. They carefully obliterated every bit of an identity that he brought with him from the Vault, from the method of speaking to his thoughts, even his name before then, to the point he couldn't recall it. By the end of it all, they obliterated any sort of cultural identity they brought from the Vault, even their method of speaking, primarily mathematical terms which were used metaphorically, as analogies. By the end of it all, when they finally saw the light through the fog of war, they were bare sculptures of humans, hardly capable of being called men. They were cast into soldiers, merciless and unforgiving, almost unthinking. By the end of training, fewer still survived. Brainwashed into the vision of the Son of Mars, Mortimer was no different, and after the grueling trials, few of the children survived. Each remaining son who was trained was simply named "Mori", after the high death toll of their "tribe", in the eyes of the Legion.
His service in the Legion- It was a crime against humanity, all of it. Every heinous act you could think of, it became part of a daily routine, where the only question that came to their minds was "Which horror will I commit today?" Violence the likes of which had never been seen since centuries ago, where blood was spilt on sand and men hardly even knew what they fought for. Pillaging, murder, torture, these became commonplace to Mori, and he saw the blood shorn from the forms of countless men- Both by his hand, and those of other Legion recruits. Before long, he assimilated entirely into this culture of violence, where success equated survival and advancement, and where failure meant crucifixion, death, and the Darwinistic society supporting his detached mindset. He spoke casually with the men of sampling the slave girls, of the ideal method to chop a man in two with just a machete, how to attach the slave collar just right so that the flesh bulged over it, and the wearer never adjusted. He felt a sick, primitive glee of conquest with each collar attached in particular, though at the same time, the scars he sustained from the ropes and his own collar while he was a capture never seemed to fade. They'd burn in response.
That became a vivid detail to him, the burning.
After every burning of a heretic, every crucifixion, each raid and rape, he came back to his tent alone, his scars burned, he recalled- They burned, and after every burning, every crucifixion, each raid and rape, he came back to his tent alone. That momentary satisfaction, achieved in that same, familiar and blind frenzy he felt in the heat of it all, it distracted him, as well as the roaring chants of praise his brothers called out when victory was near- But alone, reflection began to take hold, and like some sort of omen, made him aware of what felt like a deep, heated mass of inscrutable sensation in the pit of his stomach, in his core. He felt this foreign, yet recognizable darkness, and it overwhelmed him with nausea at times, as if his body were trying to expel it. In that pit, in the back of his head, something ate at him. It blunted and shallowed the deep pangs of pleasure that he garnered from the daily debauchery, and this made him more vicious, though less passionate. He initiated his violence with less cries, he fought in silence, fought no longer to maim or to torture later, but simply to kill as the resistance of bone to blade became less of a challenge to beat, and more of a nuisance, an obstacle.
His brutal efficiency, however, won him favor, as did his smooth method of operation, and nerves of steel. He grew to an Explorer. Stationed in the far East territories, at the edge of Denver, he struck out with a small team of partner explorers. They went farther than most had ever done- Across Kansas, and to Missouri. Past the tip of Illinois, and though they intended to stop, farther than any Legionnaire had ever been from their homelands- But he felt a pressing need to go further. Though his brothers said they should turn and report to the Legion what they found in their travels, he wanted to continue. To see if the land stretched forever, if there really was a coast.
And at the same time, his brothers began to lose faith in him. At night, they'd see him watching the ground between his feet in silence, as if thinking. He was, and it was confronting this abstract, obscure hold whatever darkness was inside him had taken on him. A few nights before they were ambushed by raiders who'd sought chems, he noticed the tiny, faded gold "32" on his Pip-Boy. It seemed almost offensive, that symbol of the past, as if a monument and a reminder of his sins, what he left. But it reminded him that there was some life before all this- It was the sole reminder he had there was life beyond the Legion, beyond conquest and murder.
When the raiders came, he didn't warn his comrades that he had seen one in the pass off to their side. He didn't warn them that the outcropping they were passing hid them. Instead, he turned, and ran East when the shots erupted.
And he walked. He walked a long time. Past Illinois, past Kentucky, over Pennsylvania. He saw the Pitt from afar, he saw slavery again, and he saw other Wastelands, saw the new creatures and monsters the Wasteland had bred- And he was ready for them, ready to dodge and duck and fight if he had to. But there were new places, and people who had never so much as heard of the Legion.
Then he found some semblance of civilization. Passing Pennsylvania, he reached New York.
When he finally reached it, it seemed foreign, yet familiar to him. The skeletons of skyscrapers looming in the distance, the image of Lady Liberty standing at sea, the city, it was new. Then he found people, and some strange urge told him that this was right. That there was something here, even as he familiarized himself with the horrors that were here. Years passed, and he assimilated into this new home, as well. He learned how to be an individual when he learned the stories of the people who lived in the Stadium, the only ones that'd take him in. People who lived to survive, not for profit or for other goals. Their hearts seemed honest, in a way, and it became a new home. While he remains a more distant and reserved member of the settlement, he freely refers to New York as his new home, and remains one of the most knowledgeable hunters on the local wildlife and territories.
Now, he's learnt to not simply relegate himself to what's expected of his role, to go beyond. Now Mortimer is here, and he feels the pressing need to make a difference for the better in the state- To cleanse it, purge it of what makes the Apple rotten. It'll be reborn in blood if it has to be, but for now, his concern remains with securing his new family, and those who'd dare to come, a place.
And for once, he'll see some place great fly a banner that isn't the Golden Bull.
And perhaps, just maybe, a place where the Tunnel Snakes don't rule.
Hey there, looks like you fixed everything! You know what that means, you're...
Hello there again, let's see what you've changed about the app...
Yeah, best not to try and be a main character or something of the like. Remember, there's supposed to be no main characters in RP.
Now to look at the IC section, since the OOC didn't need any changing...white hair and red eyes would either be caused by albinism or by a mixture of extreme drug usage to the point of total dependence upon it plus hair dye for the hair. Also, how did Mack hear about New York City? It's the exact opposite side of the nation. No one in the NCR has come from there before, since there's multiple mountain ranges to pass through. Could you explain the trip there as well and how he managed to survive that long? Until those issues are addressed, you are unfortunately...
And last app for today for me. Let's see what's going on in this app...
Unfortunately, your power gaming definition is off. I know some servers have different definitions, just check what it is in other people's applications, preferably staff, like my own even.
The background is short and sweet, but there's just a few things that you need to know about the area. Chicago is an Enclave-controlled city. The place is a kill zone. His tribe would have to be pretty far out and small in order to avoid detection, and lucky as well. Also, the trip to NYC is still fairly long. Could you give some information on the trip there and how Flint managed to make it? I see your app has a lot of potential, just needs a few more details. Until that, you unfortunately are...
Wasn't a main character complex, just trying to keep an old idea alive. As far as hearing about New York, I was thinking of it like this: in the Fallout Universe, 50's culture is very popular, inlcuding artists such as Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. These artists among others often sang about New York, on top of the fact that it was known as a common place for starting a new life, the exact thing Mack was looking for. I'll change the hair and eye colors if that's necessary. As far as the trip goes, I could write a novel if you need me to, but he basically scavenged his way across the nation, taking food and weapons that he found along the way (although they often break so he won't be arriving on the server with any). He did his best to travel North East using the sun as a sort of compass, and once he got to the eastern seaboard after a long while, he followed the rare rubble of highway signs toward the north. He did odd jobs along the way but mostly stole and killed his way across the nation.
Please do change the hair and eye color to something more...natural and you should be good, chief. Just post those changes to the appearance.
OOC:
Minecraft Username: hothhorn
Age:18
Definition of meta gaming: Using outside information in character for an advantage. Such as Character Names, Character history, other events, etc, etc.
Definition of power gaming: The act of forcing a player into an action, not giving them an option to react. For example: *Slaps his face, as hard as they can.* This structure doesn't allow someone to react.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: Previous RPCraft, some forum play, hollow world, general fun with friends. Etc.
IC:
First things first, yes it's an Android character... I know how badly they can be portrayed as well. Though, I believe I can at least try to do good by it. Second; I realize some of the things in the back story may not add up, but most of the backstory (mainly the midsection) where implanted memories, thus may have some mishmashes with the lore. (Mainly due to what the government was doing at the time, trying to cement the popular names such as Vault-Tec) That, or everything check out... so yay!
Name: Rick Lucrane (ASRR-2490, Advanced Synthetic Robot Reploid Model 2490)
Age: His percived age is 19, (though he was made in 2077 just 2 weeks before the bombs dropped)
Appearance:
Eye color: Brown
Stature: Recluse, leaning, lacking of posture
Open air weakspots He's a robot, but also has sensitive bits to shoot yer lead at! Bang bang boom boom means he goes bye bye. (Just saying he's not overly op, sept for some minor and I mean -minor- laser defense. All that heat can not be good for wires)
dressed in tattered clothing that he had found off of a dead body, various holes are present through his attire. Two holes in the midsection area, about the size of peas. The shoulder area has a large gash along the hem of the shirt, though it still holds itself together. The shirt, coloured a dark blue, accented only by the caked on dirt and rust from a hollowed out cave. His jeans are torn, the right leg is torn right off up to the knee, and the left leg has a long gash down the front side, heading from the rightmost point of the knee, down to the cuff on the right. His eyes, synthetically made have a slight glow, not noticeable in the light, but in dark they look more like a soft humming light. His face, now only a mixture of joints and wiring now. Over his face, tied down by a leather strap bound around his metal cranium. The mask, just fits over his joints so that his face can't be shown. On top of his head rests a red baseball cap, and just below that on his shoulders rests a brown trench coat. His knee high boots tend to cover most of his exposed circuits, but in a closer inspection of any of the holes, it's not hard to tell he's not a human (or ghoul, as that's what he believes to be)
Personality: Quiet, recluse, the kind of person who would rather be beside the party, and not in one. The kind of person who hates loud noises, but doesn't say anything about them. Mostly passive, until he's threatened to death. He has no fear of water, or liquids though they can make him short out till his backup pumps push it out. He is reluctant to eat, mainly due to him believing he is a ghoul, he believes that he's not allowed to eat, since he's grown up to dislike ghouls. His conditioning after reactivation made him learn about ghouls, and how they where a scourge on the wastelands at being ugly, evil individuals. Rick, doesn't enjoy guns, he tends to avoid them as he sees them as an "unnecessary accessory of death." Though, this does not stop him from using one when the time comes. Rick enjoys technology however, and the protection of other living things. In his programming, he is designed to protect others on a specific set of ethics that where dictated by his programmer, as well as making educated observations through media, and others. He also seems to be the kind of person who is moderately self loathing due to what he believes himself to be, which is a ghoul.
Backstory: During the war times, there was a drive to create spies made out of synthetic humanoids. The drive was set in motion by DARPA. During this time period before the Droids where sent out to war, they had various testing models. Created for use in war times to create weapons, or handle software and data management inside the main base in Yonkers, New York. The main base was stationed in Yonkers, because at the time the main commercial section around New York, but not so close to it to make the secret base apparent. Too many prying eyes to deal with at the time.
Rick was made in this base, designed to be a programmer and Data Management co-head. Growing up to think that he was born and raised in Missouri, and learned how to use a computer from his late uncle Farkas. His father, though supportive was a fairly strict man, as his mother was the kind who babied their children so they would grow up with a more nurtured personality, whilst still remaining tactful and strict. His brother, by the name of Tomas was the kind of person who liked to work with automobiles, and he was often found under the hood of his fathers T-1800 V-cyllinder electric car. Rick Idolized his brother and Uncle, and wished to be like them when he grew up, wanting to be as attractive and well liked as they where. The American dream was implanted into his mind since he was a young boy.
Later on in his life, around the age of 17 he got an apprenticeship at a major Vault-tec laboratory, This lasted for about a year and a half until he decided to enroll in the military. Once there, he realized that he didn't want to work with a gun, as it was much too noisy and he could never come to pick up a gun, lest he needed to do so. The head officers, understanding that some men don't have what it takes to pick up a gun, put him behind a desk. A week or two later, would be the time of his activation.
When activated, Rick worked as normal, thinking he was just a normal human being and had no problems fitting in with the other staff. (though, they were androids as well) Making various friends made him feel accepted and "Well liked" as he always grew up to believe was the best thing he could achieve. He stayed at the job for 2 weeks, enjoying his job and having a fun time with the guys. Often finding himself in the canteen, and swinging with some of the other people there. He was quite the popular person at the time. During a dance with a girl whom Rick called "One hot Tamale" is when his life became, very -very- hot.
This, was when the bombs dropped. The alarm sounded and Rick found himself pushing the girl who he was dancing with down to the ground, apologizing profusely he made his way towards the nearest fallout shelter. Slipping himself in the lead lined mini-bunker he felt something attach to the back of his neck, forcing him into sleep mode. When the bombs struck, there was a slight silence before the bomb struck. Luckily for Rick, he was lucky to make it to the pod where minimal debris fell onto it. During the explosion, Rick was exposed to quite a lot of heat, melting some of the soldering and circuitry inside of his cranial processor.
A few of the scientists survived, and where tasked with going out in heavily insulated hazmat suits to assist any of the Androids that where fortunate enough to make it out unscathed, or slightly damaged. Rick was collected by one Dr.Krashaw, and was brought in for repairs. His servos where damaged, but not un-fixable. His automated repair functions bleeped
"Cranial processor damaged, please re solder connector 42b, located under the cortex."
The good doctor, once done so had started the restarting process just to check if everything was alright. Upon waking up, Rick flew into a rage as something became disaligned in the restart process. He made a run for the doctor, flailing his naked and metal arms in the process. Working quick, the doctor shut him down, as he was still connected to the machine. Rick, would need some software reconstruction.
Setting up the computer again, the doctor started the restarting process. Thankfully, with the back up generators running at full power, and where purely dedicated towards restarting any of the undamaged androids (as they where too much of a precious commodity). The computer's power was sufficient enough for the restarting process, though it would take time. A reboot would last about 3 days, and in those three days the scientists where raided, and murdered. The Chinese (which, were also decked out in heavily lined hazmat suits, and power armor) where there to kill all of the scientists producing weapons, but once looking over the entirety of the base they realized that anything and everything inside (except for the data to create androids) was relatively useless. Shutting down the base they left it there to rot.
Hundreds of years later, as the world was no longer at war, A lonely dweller of the wastes stumbled onto the old laboratory. Heading down into it's Radroach infested halls, he found himself at the generator. Upon activation he turned around to find the safety lock down protocols had started up again. Without proper identification the poor man was "neutralized" Rick, still hooked up to the computer was soon awoken. Standing up, all of the cords pulled out of him and he started to make his way down to the generator room. Finding the dead body, riddled with bullet holes he took the clothes off of it.
Acquired 1(one):Tattered shirt
Acquired 1(one):Tattered Jeans
Acquired 1(one):R baseball_cap
Acquired 1(one):Long Overcoat
On the travelers pip-boy, the android started to skim through holotape files, and even a small snip-it of audio propaganda. It read, as follows.
"Everyone! Watch out, the radioactive doomsday is upon us, and who is the perpetrator? Why, it's GHOULS! They're everywhere, infesting your homes and towns with their rotted flesh that has peeled of their faces due to excess radiation! If you know a ghoul, stay clear as their condition -IS- contagious! You can tell what they are as you can see their insides, and what makes them TICK!"
Looking up at a computer monitor, it gave Rick a clear reflection of what he was. His flesh, melted off to see his insides, and as he looked himself over he believed this is what is truly inside a human being. Seeing himself, his flesh melted off. Some of the synthetic flesh, now ooze due to time wasting it away, was peeled off by Rick himself in a self loathing rage, he couldn't live like an ugly infectious ghoul, but on the other hand he couldn't off himself... after all; what would his mother think!? Keeping his composure he started to make his way outside. On his way out, a monitor blipped on, and it read out in a robotic tone
"Go to new York to s-s-save yourself-"
Hearing this, and not bothering to listen to any more, Rick ran his way outside seeing the burned landscape all around him, the buildings that had toppled over in the distance. Looking around for a sign, he made his way to the highway walking along the dusty old road to New york.
On the way, he realized he can't have people realizing he was a ghoul, so with some quick thinking and ingenuity, he picked up a piece of scrap metal. Using a hammer and a small tool kit he had found on the side of the road, consisting of a hammer and a few screwdrivers with nails. he managed to make himself a mask with two eye holes and a slit for his mouth. Taking the leather strap out of the coat that he got from the wastelander, he slips it through two holes and binds it to the back of his head. At least nobody can tell he's a ghoul... right?
Acquired 1(one):Makeshift Mask
Tunnel Snakes RULE(ers) "With that new metalic sheen~"
After transmission:
"Head to new york to s-s-save yourself f-f-from poverty! Become a salesman and be that well liked individual you where always meant to be~"
Hey there Hothorn, I can see you really put a lot of work into this application, but we just can't have things like androids and the like. We're trying to keep from having things like main characters and special snowflakes, both of which this seems to be what it's trying for. I'm sorry that you put in a lot of work and it all ended up being wasted, but we've been very strict with our whitelisting standards lately for ANW. Feel free to try again whenever you'd like and with whatever else you'd like.
OOC:
Minecraft Username: JMickeyD
Age: 17
Definition of meta gaming: using info gained OOC while IC
Definition of power gaming: Forcing your actions onto another player ( "knocks you unconscious" would be but not "punches")
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: played many fallout rp servers, its actually what got me into fallout itself. also played 3 and NV
IC:
Name: Mack Eagle
Age: 25
Appearance: Mack has light blonde hair, Icy blue eyes, wears a business suit, and occasionally sunglasses.
Personality: With a personality as cold as his eye color, Mack does his best to keep his actions calculated, although he has been known to rarely slip up and care for a person. While the state of the nation has left some to join groups to protect themselves, and others working to assist others, Mack has taken this as an opportunity to become rich, rich enough to cripple all who oppose him. Mack will gladly take some caps and doesn't usually care about the means by which he receives them.
Backstory: When Mack was young, he lived with his father, who was always scavenging for caps and food alike. Mack was upset with this and dreamed of being rich and helping the poor. Mack's father got involved with some big wig loan sharks while they were 'visiting' in New Vegas. His father called it visiting but Mack knew that they had to move around to maintain survival. When Mack's father was running out of time to pay back his caps, he and his son became very stressed. On top of that, Mack became resentful, as his father had tried to get his NCR brother to send them caps, but they never got a response. One day, Mack came back to where they were staying to find the place empty. His first thought was that the sharks had his father killed, so he grabbed a kitchen knife they had and went to find the men who loaned them the caps. Just before he got the their establishment, Mack saw his father run up to him before latching onto his son and doubling over. The sharks had beaten up the man and injured him, but Mack didn't have the caps to afford any sort of treatment. He brought his father back to their apartment and let him heal the only way they could afford, by resting. Mack's father told his boy the truth that they both knew but never spoke of. The old man was nearing death. He explained that he didn't want to hold Mack back from his ambitions, and wanted him to explore the world and escape their debts and poverty while he could. With this, Mack grabbed the kitchen knife and left the room, slamming the door. Mack was furious, and felt like his father didn't want him anymore. Mack went into the bar and sat down, noticing that only an empty stool was between him and one of the men working for the loan sharks. Mack saw what he was wearing as a symbol of respect, and as far as Mack was concerned, those men deserved no such thing, so he killed the man and stole his suit and the minimal caps he carried on him. He then set out in an effort to take over what industry was left in the world and do what he needed to make some money. His end goal: Buy out the men who ruined his father, and perhaps even the NCR, who employed his selfish uncle. Mack headed eastward on a long journey, hoping to begin anew where many others had previously begun their lives in this nation. New York. He had chosen New York, as he had often heard about it in popular songs, and he heard it was a place people once began a new chapter of their lives, something he was hoping to do. He scavenged his way across the nation, taking food and weapons that he found along the way (although they often broke so he won't be arriving on the server with any). He did his best to travel North East using the sun as a sort of compass, and once he got to the eastern seaboard after a long while, he followed the rare rubble of highway signs toward the north. He did odd jobs along the way but mostly stole and killed his way across the nation.
Ya got it.
My aim, was actually the opposite. A character whom had something "Special" about him, but make him a background character, one who exists but doesn't try to make a revolution. Take for example the quest in Fallout 3, the one with the Android roaming the wastes because he wants to be left alone, and doesn't want any trouble. That, is in fact my character. They are more likely to be hiding away in a hovel or hole in the ground, working on various things and studying alone. To me, this character isn't the fact of what he is, but what he's trying to be. He is an android, that's certain but he also thinks he's a human, which, is how he's going to act. (not to mention, how I wish he was judged in terms of white listing)
Also, Hi UofMT, how've things been?
We understand that you don't want him to be a special snowflake, but it's the fact of what he is that makes the reason why we can't allow him. A lot of the staff has had bad previous experiences with characters like androids and psykers, intelligent deathclaws, et cetera. This decision to not allow the android was made after a unanimous decision not only by me, but by the entire admin staff. Luckily, Fallout lore has openings for many very interesting things or even better, you can create a land of your own inside North America and have your character be shaped by the place and come from there.
And I've been pretty good, thanks for asking. Again, I'm sorry we can't let you play the android, but it's not an individual reason, it's the fact that we want to prevent things like "Well if he was allowed to do it, why can't I?"
OOC: yes
Minecraft Username: syvs
Age: Nineteen
Definition of meta gaming: Metagaming is the quite annoying habit of taking OOC knowledge and applying it to IC decisions and such. It impacts Roleplay rather hard. Someone who is metagaming is simply not playing by the same rules as others.
Definition of power gaming: Power Gaming is when a player just does not react to other players actions or does not give them a chance to react to hit. Actions such as instantly murdering an opponent without chance of recourse is an example of powergaming. It has a heavy impact on a server and is the bane of good Roleplaying.
What is your past experience in RP, Fallout or otherwise?: A metric ass load.
IC: Also Yes.
Name: John Gestalt. Also sometimes refereed to as "Twitch"
Race/Species/What-have-you: Ghoulie
Age: 238
Appearance: John stands about five foot ten inches, average. He's a ghoul so he's far from a bulky fellow, registering roughly 120 - 125 pounds. Depending on meal consumption and activity, of course. He's got a lithe set of muscles left, but nothing to write home about. As a ghoul, his skin is rather crusty but he has managed to stave off total decomposition, settling for a dry and dusty face with /most/ of its skin intact, though it is more than obvious he is a ghoul when his face is on display. As for hair, most of his natural hair is gone aside from a small chin-spike and some scraps along his dome. To combat the loss of his hair, John adopted a nice weave that matches what remains of his hair in color and texture, though on closer examination one could easily tell it is non-natural. He has a set of cloudy blue eyes below the remains of his eyebrows.
As for clothing and equipment. Mr. Gestalt is often seen dressed up like it's the dead of winter no matter the season. If you ask him, he'll mumble something about always being cold, but we're getting off track. John is fond of earth tones and grey, and his clothing reflects that. A simple tan shirt would be his initial layer, with a set of suspenders and a belt over it. Upon his legs would be a simple set of dark brown trousers of a touch material and make, patched though from wear and tear. Above his simple clothing is an older brown bomber jacket he took a liking too awhile back. Above that, is a dark grey sleeveless duster of unknown make, yet it seems oddly dear to him. Upon his face, John wears a gas mask modified by his own hands to better suit his 'condition' and a bomber cap that matches the jacket. On his wrist is a pipboy from his time in vault 76. He often has a medium sized satchel tossed over his shoulder to carry any large items of his.
Personality: Defective would be the best way to describe John. To most people he would seem neurotic, often shifting between mania and depressions but sometimes falling into a neutral state. He is extremely paranoid of his surroundings and those around him, this has bit him in the ass on more than a few occasions, also lending itself to his nickname. It extends to him often trapping and fortifying his current living quarters, be it a house or a rented room in a bar. Below his paranoia and neurotic attitude, rests a rather intelligent and creative mind. Having a rather quality education pre-war lends itself well in the post apocalyptic world. Often tinkering with old machines or chemicals, it seems to calm him and keep his focus easier. Gestalt abhors direct violence, finding it sloppy and a waste of life. He will rarely start a fight but will defend himself if need be with rather meager weapon skills, not used to anything larger than a pistol or smaller smg and flat out near useless with heavy or large weapons. Charisma wise, he's far from a face-man. He refers more to logical reasoning and thus often comes off a bit cold and has trouble convincing others to anything too outlandish. His ghoulish nature often causes people to overlook his other qualities, leaving him frustrated when actions go bad.
Backstory: (Keep in mind this is 200 odd years condensed for ease of reading, and my sanity of course)
Mr. John Gestalt was born in the year 2047 to a middle-class family in upper Boston Massachusetts. Growing up was nothing special at the time. He attended to all the normal functions of a growing adolescent. His mind was rather sharp and he could easily be described as 'bookish' by some. This aided him rather well in his development years and his finished high-school with quite good academic marks. Furthering his education, John attended MIT in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He still remembers his time there fondly, a bright spot in his past he holds onto. He remained there until the year 2077. Gaining a masters degree in mechanical engineering, a masters degree in chemical engineering and was just starting on his doctorate in bio-medical research, but was barely a month in when the day came.
And by day, we all know what came. On October 23, 2077 the sirens sounded. John had previously applied for a spot in Vault 76 in his home-town of Boston and was accepted a year ago. Clutching his information and the meager amount of personal possessions he could quickly gather, John rushed off to the vault. He made it in shortly before the bombs started to fall upon his beloved town. Luckily for John and the other inhabitants, Vault 76 was a control vault set to open 10 years after the nuclear exchange. Unluckily for them, it was in Boston. Boston was hit rather hard during the war due to it being a key city of the United States. As the vault dwellers cracked open the door and shuffled out, they were greeted with a still toxic environment. They attempted to follow the Vault instructions but it seemed to be in vain. Most of the population either succumbed to the radiation and perished or were mutated into ghouls. John was 'lucky' and mutated into a ghoul like a few others.
And just like that, the vault quickly perished to either death or un-death. Most of the ghoulish occupants left the vault behind, going their separate ways. John traveled with a small contingent of more militarized ghouls around the Massachusetts area, seeing the destruction brought upon by the nuclear exchange. Those early years were some of the hardest ones, though John and his small group persevered through. After a time of wandering up and down New England the group returned to the Cambridge area to discover a sort of civilization had restarted itself their. The location that would slowly come to be known as the Commonwealth had taken root around old MIT, now known as "The Institute" to those that dwelled within and around it. It would seem that scientific progress never stops, even in this sort of world.
John left his small party of ghouls, deciding instead to settle down within the Commonwealth. He attempted to regain a position at the Institute, but was barely allowed inside due to his condition. The paranoia and habit of trapping whatever room he occupied certainly did not help either. So, he was resigned to exist outside of the sealed temple of scientific progress. He did what he could, and still was able to assist around the settlement that cropped up around the Institute, and occasionally learn of what it is they were working on inside. Hearing such rumors of advanced technology akin to Artificial Intelligence and Androids. It was a bit worrying, and he managed to get himself involved in some rather shady deals that resulted in his expulsion and exile from the Commonwealth.
Back to wandering he went, now alone mostly. He continued to migrate up and down the eastern seaboard. From Maine all the way down to Florida. He enjoyed the simplicity of wandering life, yet it did not help his paranoia at all. More often than not he was being chased by raiders or his 'kin' that had lost their sense of reason and logic. So his wandering continued, without real reason at this point. Sometimes with a group or caravan, but more often than not on his own.
It would be on one of these many trips up the seaboard, scavenging and learning that he would stumble into what remained of the Big Apple. It interested him quite a bit and John wandered the city for awhile. Taking in the grandeur of the old war, remembering family vacations here in his youth. From Yankee Stadium to the Statue of Liberty he enjoyed the sights.
I'll show you a real tunnel snake.
http://www.tunnelsnakes.com/
So let's see shall we... character's name is good, character description is good, character personality is unique, along with the backstory. App is well organized and it shows that you have a good grasp on your grammar. The link to the tunnel snakes rule website is a unique touch to the app. Overall you are...