Fallout: When the Bull came (Starting)

[Clade-170]

[HEADING=1]FALLOUT[/HEADING][HEADING=2]When the Bull came[/HEADING]​

Spoiler: The Situation

3 years have passed since the second battle of Hoover Dam. The Legion had won taking it over and "The Courier" was presumably killed in action.

Mr. House (Thanks to the Couriers efforts) used his securitron army to insure that Vegas doesnt fall to Legion hands, being one of the only three places uncontrolled by Legion. The Boomers of Nellis AFB and the Khans of Red rock canyon.

After its defeat the NCR became greatly decimated and only a few remaining pockets of resistance remained to oppose the Legion.

Many communities outside New Vegas suffered greatly under Legion rule, as crosses popped about like daisies and many became enslaved.

Many began flocking for the safety of Vegas but concerned about over crowding of the city, Mr. House enacted strict entry laws that greatly limited the amount of people entering.

The Khans of Red rock canyon are barely able to hold them off, eventually, they will fall if something isnt done.

The Boomers have ben on high alert since reports returned of the Legions now domination of the Mojave.

The Brother Hood joined up with the few remaining NCR forces in the resistance of Legion control.

...Basically as close to hell as you can get on Earth.

Spoiler: Story

The Mojave is a mess right now, if it wasn't already. As you may already know the Legion now controls most of the Mojave with the exception of New Vegas, Nellis AFB, and Red Rock Canyon. The rest of the land suffers greatly by Caesar's forces. Communities are burned, people are latched on crosses for no reason at all as well as being enslaved. With these heinous crimes being committed clear across the Mojave, it would be easy for one to loose faith in all good things. But even in the darkest hours a light still shines, The remaining NCR forces have teamed up with the Brother hood who have ben previously hiding. Still, even together they don't stand much of a chance against the strengthened Legion, But...that's where you come in. Whether you are a former NCR soldier, great Khan, Boomer, Brother hood, or some Mercenary brute, You all have come together to help liberate the many places occupied by Legion. It will be a hard brutal road ahead, one that will test your courage and strength. You will be placed against impossible odds and whether or not you succeed...well, that remains to be seen.

Spoiler: Sheet

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Race:

Appearance:

Personality:

History:

Perks: can have 5 perks

Skills: can choose 4 skills to be good at

Traits: can have 2 traits

Strength:

Possible weakness:

Weapons:

Items: includes any misc items you may be holding, ex. scrap m, conductors, fission batteries, etc

Spoiler: Howard Cohen

Age:223

Gender:Male

Race:Ghoul

Appearance: Howard has a standard build, nothing to intimidating. He has short shaggy hair and brown withered eyes. Like any Ghoul his skin is cracked and...well...looks like a regular Ghoul person. He usually wears a roving trader outfit when traveling, when he stops in a town for a while he can be seen wearing a merc grunt outfit.

Personality:At first Howard can seem like a bitter grumpy person, but once you get past the brittle surface he is in truth a good compassionate person who just doesn't take crap from no one. As a habit from his earlier years he likes to study medicine, and always strives to improve his medical abilities. If he would settle down in any town or settlement he would make an exemplary physician. But don't be fooled, he has had a long brutal life just trying to survive and is more then willing to kill a few people if attacked.

History: Howard has lived a long and brutal life. He cant remember much about his life before the great atomic war, but the farthest he can remember with absolute clarity was him having a heated argument with his father and storming out of his house in rage. Only to be greeted by a intense flash of light, so intense he can recall seeing the outline of his bones in his arms as he tried covering his face. What happens afterwards was foggy, but he can remember waking up really burned up and some distance from his home.

In the years that fallowed he basically did everything he could to survive things like stealing, killing, lying, tricking to live another day. He wasnt particularly proud of those dark early years as his basic primal instincts took over as he tried to survive in a dangerous hostile world. But as society somewhat rebuilt itself he began to become more gathered and controlled. Their isnt a day that goes by that he thinks about his old life, all his family and friends that were incinerated by the bombs centuries ago. He often wonders why he managed to live, why was he spared? surely their must have ben a reason for his survival, that is his sole reason for him not to just throw in the towel. He hopes one day, all his struggles and pain over the years will all be worth it, till that day comes he refuses to allow the dangers of the wastes to claim him like it has so many others.

Perks:Animal friend, Life giver, Paralyzing palm, Terrifying presence, Cowboy

Skills: Medicine, unarmed, Guns

Traits:Hunter, Retention

Strengths: Howard is generally good and knowledgeable about most guns and can use them quite well. If need be he can also dish out some damage with his bare hands. His quick and experienced mind usually allows him to retain things he learned from various magazines he finds laying around.

Possible weaknesses:Although it wasnt always the case, his compassionate nature sometimes can be his downfall as he can be easily led into tight situations that could end his life.

weapons: Lever action shotgun, 9mm pistol, and a combat knife.

Items: He carries a little bit of miscellaneous items like, conductors, scrap metal, scrap electronics etc to trade off for some caps. He also carries an old withered photograph of him before he was Ghoulified its his only memory of his long lost humanity.

Edit:If you noticed an exact same thread as this posted as well, please, Ignore it. I honestly have no Idea how I posted this twice, just a little note.

 

[Captain Anon]

First here's my sheet hope you like it and it's complete with bio, second God-Damnit you made two sign up threads

Spoiler: John Matthews

Name:John Matthews

Race:Human

Gender & Age:27, Male

Profession:A mercenary at times but mainly a well-known bounty hunter.

Items:two 1873 Colt revolvers, Bowie Knife, some grenades, some C4, 5 or 6 stimpacks, a 1894 Winchester Repeating Rifle, Pack of cigarettes, a map of the Mojave and 500 caps.

APPEARANCE: a 5 o'clock shadow beard, has a tall and strong looking build, standing at 6,1 and weights 260 pounds plus armor, a fair few scars on his face and body, thick black short hair and blue cold eyes, usually wears a white undershirt, a metal breastplate covering his torso, dark brown jeans, brown boots, a black duster and two pistol holsters, as he always carried two revolvers. He accessorized himself with a wide brimmed hat, two bandoliers and a pair of fingerless gloves, his armor is that of a knight's chestplate he found not long ago it's not bulletproof but it's resistance is about 75% chance of protection.

History/How you came to be in Vegas: Not much know a few legends and myths passed around...Legends mostly say his hometown was raided and his mother and sister raped and killed in front of him. He grew up alone learning traits to survive in the cruel world. Then one day he finally found the gang that destroyed his childhood and decided to join in. When he finally got the trust of all the members he waited till nightfall to slit all of their throats. That was a long, long time ago, now he drifts aimlessly across the wastelands and has entered the Mojave just recently looking for work if it pays well.

Spoiler: Clothing and Armor

I'm thinking the shoulder armor,the Chest armor and um everything below the chest armor.

mixed with the clothing, the weariness and the bandelier.

PERSONALITY: when he's in town he's usually is quiet but if something terrible and soul shattering is happening he will not hesitate kill the person responsible instantly too, and on his judgment, he is a bounty hunter takes all bounty and always brings them and he likes to smoke as well, He has been known to lighten up from time to time, showing a sense of humor through sarcasm, as well as being very compassionate to people he believes to be good and he does have a 'soft' side; loyal to those he considers friends and willing to stand up to a threat to defend them. He also has a soft side for the little guy, just trying to get by.

Perks: Terrifying presence, Cowboy, Gunslinger and Lawbringer.

Skills: Guns, Lockpick and Speech.

Traits: Good Natured, Heavy Handed.

Strengths: good with any gun you hand him but prefers with a revolver, not bad at lock-picking but could use some practice, a master of hand to hand combat but now fighting like he was in a bar fight you know smash a bottle over someone's head something.

Possible weaknesses:John's primary Achilles' Heels is his surprisingly reliance on instantaneous executions and the 30% chance of armor being penetrated

 

[Clade-170]

First here's my sheet hope you like it and it's complete with bio, second God-Damnit you made two sign up threads

Spoiler: John Matthews

Name:John Matthews

Race:Human

Gender & Age:27, Male

Profession:A mercenary at times but mainly a well-known bounty hunter.

Items:two 1873 Colt revolvers, Bowie Knife, some grenades, some C4, 5 or 6 stimpacks, a 1894 Winchester Repeating Rifle, Pack of cigarettes, a map of the Mojave and 500 caps.

APPEARANCE: a 5 o'clock shadow beard, has a tall and strong looking build, standing at 6,1 and weights 260 pounds plus armor, a fair few scars on his face and body, thick black short hair and blue cold eyes, usually wears a white undershirt, a metal breastplate covering his torso, dark brown jeans, brown boots, a black duster and two pistol holsters, as he always carried two revolvers. He accessorized himself with a wide brimmed hat, two bandoliers and a pair of fingerless gloves, his armor is that of a knight's chestplate he found not long ago it's not bulletproof but it's resistance is about 75% chance of protection.

History/How you came to be in Vegas: Not much know a few legends and myths passed around...Legends mostly say his hometown was raided and his mother and sister raped and killed in front of him. He grew up alone learning traits to survive in the cruel world. Then one day he finally found the gang that destroyed his childhood and decided to join in. When he finally got the trust of all the members he waited till nightfall to slit all of their throats. That was a long, long time ago, now he drifts aimlessly across the wastelands and has entered the Mojave just recently looking for work if it pays well.

Spoiler: Clothing and Armor

I'm thinking the shoulder armor,the Chest armor and um everything below the chest armor.

mixed with the clothing, the weariness and the bandelier.

PERSONALITY: when he's in town he's usually is quiet but if something terrible and soul shattering is happening he will not hesitate kill the person responsible instantly too, and on his judgment, he is a bounty hunter takes all bounty and always brings them and he likes to smoke as well, He has been known to lighten up from time to time, showing a sense of humor through sarcasm, as well as being very compassionate to people he believes to be good and he does have a 'soft' side; loyal to those he considers friends and willing to stand up to a threat to defend them. He also has a soft side for the little guy, just trying to get by.

Perks: Terrifying presence, Cowboy, Gunslinger and Lawbringer.

Skills: Guns, Lockpick and Speech.

Traits: Good Natured, Heavy Handed.

Strengths: good with any gun you hand him but prefers with a revolver, not bad at lock-picking but could use some practice, a master of hand to hand combat but now fighting like he was in a bar fight you know smash a bottle over someone's head something.

Possible weaknesses:John's primary Achilles' Heels is his surprisingly reliance on instantaneous executions and the 30% chance of armor being penetrated

Pretty good, and yes I realize that, I honestly dont know how it happened. just a minor mishap nothing to worry about.

 

[Superlative]

This seems interesting, I'll give it a shot. Please give me feedback regarding the character sheet.

Spoiler: Bob

Name:Bob

Age:37

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Bob is a short and skinny man, his dreadlocks kept in a topknot. He wears dirty white robes and leather sandals designed to keep him cool in the desert. around his waist he wares a black leather belt with various pouches and two Chinese swords in excellent condition.

Personality:Bob is a warm, kind person with a particular soft spot for children.while not particularly outgoing, Bob rarely turns people away who come to him in good faith.

History:Bob was more than likely raised in a small village somewhere in the pacfic northwest but his memories were lost due to an injury he suffered as a small child. his memories begin at age ten, waking up in a crater with two swords and two books: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword Style and The Manual of Tai Chi. he began to wonder south, studying the manuals and improving his skills, helping those who need him along the way.

Entering the Mojave, Bob saw the brutality of the Legion and vowed to end their reign.

Perks: Toughness, Super Slam, and Slayer

Skills: Melee, Medicine, Unarmed, Survial, Repair

Traits: Small Frame

Strength: Bob is a master swordsmen and unarmed fighter with skills on par with the old masters of his styles. He is also incredibly fast and agile, allowing him to close the distance between himself and a gunman far faster than others.

Possible weakness: Bob has terrible aim with fire arms and lazer weapons. He also is very unskilled in science and computers.

Weapons: Two Chinese Swords

Items: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword, Tai Chi Manual, Purified Water, Jerky, Antiseptic Salve, bandages, Small Hammer, Whetstones.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

Who could say no to Fallout? Especially New Vegas!

Spoiler: Twitch

Name: Twitch

Age: Late teens, early twenties, he can't recall any birthdays.

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: In a word, dirty. A hot bath is a rare thing in the Mojave. Twitch keeps his rusty blonde hair short, not because it looks good, but because anything longer runs the risk of getting tangled. Tangled hairs tear and leave a trail, trails can be followed, followers are death. The skin beneath the thin film of desert dust is probably fair if somewhat tanned and the boy's eyes are certainly clear enough, a bright, frantic blue, always watching, darting about the area, scanning for any potential threat. Of course, when the psycho and jet are pumping through the kid's veins, the eyes become something else entirely. Bluer than blue, bright and brilliant, like diamonds, terribly calm and terribly still. Twitch's nose is a bit crooked, broken too many times by too many beatings, but generally speaking his features are gentle enough, retaining some traces of boyhood even with the scruff on his chin and warmed by a sad, simple smile. All the hope that's left in the boy lingers in that smile, a tentative prayer, a wish for a world that still has beauty, still has joy.

Twitch is a lean, wiry little savage. He seems a bit small at 5' 8", but a great deal of desperate strength is bound up in his bones. He wears a sleeveless duster with an old world flag on its back in direct emulation of the man who saved his life.

Personality: They don't call him Twitch because he's twitchy. Oddly enough, so long as he hasn't gone too long without his chems, the kid has the remarkable ability to keep perfectly still. No, they call him Twitch because the violence in him exists on the finest hair trigger. Move too quick or speak too loud and the boy's liable to take your head off or fill you full of holes. It weren't nothin' personal, its just instinct, the instinct that kept a child alive during a nightmare that lasted more than a decade. Twitch actually likes people, the way they move, the way they laugh, the stories they tell, he's just not very good at talking to them, and he stutters somethin' fierce when he gets nervous. He's not dumb but he's not terribly cunning either, easily deceived or lead astray by a smooth enough talker. He maintains a strange sort of balance though, even without an ounce of guile in his bones. What a silver tongue might rob him off he can steal back with feather-light fingers, and he's walked out of more than one ambush richer than when he came. While not bright enough to handle most numbers or computers, Twitch is naturally curious and inquisitive, quick to sit and listen to even the wildest tales. Something deep down in Twitch knows that people can be kind and that the world is full of wonder and beauty. It just that those things are buried real deep and to get to them you have to cut away all the rot and filth and sickness, even if it leaves your hands covered in blood.

History:

In the beginning there was the tribe, a mother, a father, sisters. There was snow and there was traveling, fleeing from the cold to the warmth of the southern lands. There was the knowing of plants and beasts, what to eat and what to avoid, what was a cure and what was a poison. In the beginning there was joy, and the joy lasted seven years.

Then the tribe was gone, and in its place rose the Raiders. Blood and death and gunfire, every trace of the old life burned to ashes. Mother and father died quickly, the sisters lingered and died slowly, and Twitch... Twitch lived long enough to wish he'd died with them a thousand times over. Among the Raiders he was toy, plaything, slave, little thief. Among the Raiders there was blood, agony, shame, humiliation, and more pain still, all bound up in beating, jeers, and carnal cackles. Yet in this there was learning as well, how to be quiet, how to disappear and escape the worst of it, the sweet taste of chems, and yes, even the taste of human flesh. Twitch hated the meat, but he hated the pain in his stomach more. After the tribe came the raiders and the pain, and the pain lasted seven years.

In time, even the Raiders fell, and before them rose the Legion. The Legion was death, the Legion was hell, and with the Legion, Twitch knew horror on a scale he never thought possible. Hell was in the slave pits, twenty souls, boys and men, one machete, one survivor. Twitch survived. But Twitch was broken, an addict, nearly feral, and he was nearly thrown away. But one man saw use in him, a man of the Frumentarii. Twitch learned of the shadows, learned that his ferocity could be sharpened and directed, a blade to stab into the soft, secret places of Cesar's enemies. Twitch learned to kill without question, without thought, without noise. After the raiders came the Legion and the hell of the slave, and the hell lasted seven years.

Then came one act of disobedience, a breaking point. Then came crucifixion. Then came mercy, mercy from a dark skinned man with twisted hair and an old world flag on his back. Twitch met a courier, Twitch met God, God set him free and gave him a Pip-Boy. Twitch has been free for 492 days, 21 hours, and 17 minutes, and each minute more is precious. He's made his own way, sometimes as bodyguard, sometimes as mercenary, sometimes as bounty hunter, sometimes as assassin. His skill set is limited and revolves around violence, but a man has to make a living someway. But Twitch will do more than live, he's decided to cut and cut and cut away at the world, to slice and tear and rip away the ugliness and horror. Cut deep enough and surely the beauty will come through.

Perks: Slayer, Nerves of Steel, Grim Reaper's Sprint, Ninja, Silent Running

Skills: Stealth, Melee, Survival, Guns

Traits: Kamikaze, Claustrophobia

Strength: Twitch is exceedingly skilled at short, quick burst of intense, savage violence that seem to materialize from out of nowhere, like fire licking up gasoline, like a hurricane on tip toes. Give the boy a hit of Slasher and Rocket and behold death incarnate, scything through the world for one glorious minute. Out of combat, the boy knows how to melt away, into shadows or into a crowd, and if it's not locked away tightly or nailed down, Twitch will steal it. If he doesn't need it, he'll probably give it back.

Possible weakness: Twitch has no stamina for a prolonged brawl or shoot out. If any sort of engagement lasts longer than a couple minutes, its time to run away and try again later. The boy's speech skill probably rests somewhere at about a -15. Couple that with a trusting nature, and a few quick words (especially kind ones) are apt to remove all thoughts of violence from his head. Additionally, Twitch suffers from an addiction to Psycho and Jet. He'd love to be free of the habit, and he keeps a few doses of fixer on his person, but the drugs offer him a sort of trump card should a job go horribly wrong. He can go about three to four days between doses before the shakes start to set in.

Weapons: One Silenced .45 Auto Pistol, One Katana

Items: 5 Stimpacks, 12 packs of bubble gum, 5 hits of Slasher, 5 hits of Rocket, 3 Rushing Waters, 2 bottles of purified water, 2 doses of Fixer, a leather belt, a teddy bear, brahmin jerky, gecko jerky, coyote jerky, several herbs, 64 Legion ears, 455 caps.

 

[Clade-170]

This seems interesting, I'll give it a shot. Please give me feedback regarding the character sheet.

Spoiler: Bob

Name:Bob

Age:37

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Bob is a short and skinny man, his dreadlocks kept in a topknot. He wears dirty white robes and leather sandals designed to keep him cool in the desert. around his waist he wares a black leather belt with various pouches and two Chinese swords in excellent condition.

Personality:Bob is a warm, kind person with a particular soft spot for children.while not particularly outgoing, Bob rarely turns people away who come to him in good faith.

History:Bob was more than likely raised in a small village somewhere in the pacfic northwest but his memories were lost due to an injury he suffered as a small child. his memories begin at age ten, waking up in a crater with two swords and two books: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword Style and The Manual of Tai Chi. he began to wonder south, studying the manuals and improving his skills, helping those who need him along the way.

Entering the Mojave, Bob saw the brutality of the Legion and vowed to end their reign.

Perks: Toughness, Super Slam, and Slayer

Skills: Melee, Medicine, Unarmed, Survial, Repair

Traits: Small Frame

Strength: Bob is a master swordsmen and unarmed fighter with skills on par with the old masters of his styles. He is also incredibly fast and agile, allowing him to close the distance between himself and a gunman far faster than others.

Possible weakness: Bob has terrible aim with fire arms and lazer weapons. He also is very unskilled in science and computers.

Weapons: Two Chinese Swords

Items: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword, Tai Chi Manual, Purified Water, Jerky, Antiseptic Salve, bandages, Small Hammer, Whetstones.

Overall good character, but it would seem you have the rules for your Perks, Skills, and traits mixed up a little. I clearly posted that you can have no more then 5 perks, 4 skills to be considerably good at, and 2 traits. But everything else seems to be in order

 

[Superlative]

I edited the sheet.

Spoiler: Bob

Name:Bob

Age:37

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Bob is a short and skinny man, his dreadlocks kept in a topknot. He wears dirty white robes and leather sandals designed to keep him cool in the desert. around his waist he wares a black leather belt with various pouches and two Chinese swords in excellent condition.

Personality:Bob is a warm, kind person with a particular soft spot for children.while not particularly outgoing, Bob rarely turns people away who come to him in good faith.

History:Bob was more than likely raised in a small village somewhere in the pacfic northwest but his memories were lost due to an injury he suffered as a small child. his memories begin at age ten, waking up in a crater with two swords and two books: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword Style and The Manual of Tai Chi. he began to wonder south, studying the manuals and improving his skills, helping those who need him along the way.

Entering the Mojave, Bob saw the brutality of the Legion and vowed to end their reign.

Perks: Toughness, Super Slam, Slayer, Intense Training

Skills: Melee, Medicine, Unarmed, Survial

Traits: Small Frame, Good Natured

Strength: Bob is a master swordsmen and unarmed fighter with skills on par with the old masters of his styles. He is also incredibly fast and agile, allowing him to close the distance between himself and a gunman far faster than others.

Possible weakness: Bob has terrible aim with fire arms and lazer weapons. He also is very unskilled in science and computers.

Weapons: Two Chinese Swords

Items: The Manual of the Wu Tang Sword, Tai Chi Manual, Purified Water, Jerky, Antiseptic Salve, bandages, Small Hammer, Whetstones.

 

[deathbydeath]

If you don't mind me asking, is a Legion-aligned character possible?

 

[Clade-170]

If you don't mind me asking, is a Legion-aligned character possible?

Sure I guess you can, go ahead and post what you have in mind.

 

[The Harkinator]

Hi, this looks like a promising RP, so I thought I'd submit something.

Spoiler

Name: James Harewood

Age: 33

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: James stands at a less than imposing 5'7 and has a weight of 160lbs. Therefore he is slim and average to short. His skin is tanned by the Mojave sun and scarred in a few places from the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world (these include being shot, stabbed, slashed, clawed, zapped, beaten and blown up... sort of, he was near the explosion). His hair is brown and untidy (nobody touches the mane) but his beard is well kept, kept short and hugging his jawline, James shaves the hair on his neck. His eyes are green as the dwellers of Vault 22.

His clothes are practical, hard wearing and covered in armour. James might claim he made it himself but substitute the word 'made' for 'scavenged' and you'll be somewhere closer to the truth. It's not quite Desert Ranger Combat Armour but its close, made with scavenged and adapted riot armour. Many of the original components have been scrapped in favour of lightness. Most of the original chest pieces are still there though the neck guard has gone. Some armour has been adapted for protecting the legs but the arms and back remain unarmoured. The traditional Desert Ranger coat was too big and abandoned in favour of a smaller, tighter coat with no additional shoulder material. The coat is kept in place around the waist with a pistol belt and held tightly to the chest with a bandolier, this bandolier goes over the right shoulder and presses down on one of the coats lapels (one of the reasons James picked the coat). Rather than making him seem bigger than he is, the armour hugs his form tightly to reduce the target. James has no head armour, he couldn't find a helmet that fit or didn't smell horrible, instead he wears a pair of authority shades to keep out the glare of the Mojave sun.

James doesn't stand out too much. Coats like his are commonplace, people are wearing armour more and more each day and nobody pays attention to another stranger just passing through.

Personality: James is not a friendly person. Recent events and his reaction to those mean James often prefers his own company. Hunting down Legion members does not lead to a cheerful disposition. He can work with others, especially if they share his desire to kill legionnaires but often prefers no assistance. His thoughts usually run to tactics to use against the Legion and thinking where the next safe place to eat and sleep is. In moments of peace he might open up to somebody nearby for a while, though this usually requires alcohol and trust. James is possessed of the foolish belief that fighting the Legion is his job and others trying to help would not help at all.

The obsession with the Legion makes him close to a psychopath when dealing with them. He no longer feels any remorse for killing them, having justified to himself that the Legion are less than human.

History: James Harewood was a Mojave wastelander living in Westside with no prospects and little to enjoy about life, most of his adult life was spent defending Westside from the Fiends. James became a proficient shot with a sniper rifle and an adequate member of the town, he could look forward to the day a lowlife would get a shot off at him and end his boring existence. The most interesting thing that ever happened in his life is when Vegas awoke from a long sleep, securitrons patrolled the streets, walls were built and old tribes became new families in charge of casinos. Soon after that, the NCR, the Legion and all their hangers on were circling around Vegas, looking for a way in. A happy addition to this was the caravan trade, with nowhere to go and feeling like a burden living in Westside, James signed on as a caravan guard for the Gun Runners, learning how to survive in the big bad world. He was mostly employed as the groups spotter, using binoculars, the scope on his sniper rifle and his eyes to spot threats and plan routes around them. It was a good life, good enough. James learned different kinds of combat, becoming adept with a pistol and knife, all while accumulating his own armour out of scavenged parts, emulating the Desert Rangers.

The First Battle of Hoover Dam provided a boom in trade for the Gun Runners, the demand for weapons rocketed in preparation for another Legion assault. All the while, the money kept coming in. Until the Legion started raiding across the Colorado. This was a new threat, one that was organised and deadly. Some caravans wouldn't make it or lose people on the way. Fortunately, the Gun Runners guards were well trained and well equipped, James and his colleagues were able to survive the dangers of the road.

The Second Battle of Hoover Dam changed all that. Things were looking up for the Mojave, an individual known as "The Courier" had strengthened the NCR for the battle with the Legion, Mr House had fortified Vegas to take on all comers and everyone in the Wasteland tipped the NCR to win.

But they didn't. Nobody knows exactly what happened, accounts from NCR soldiers claiming to be at the battle differ. Some say the Legion found another way into the Dam and overwhelmed the entrenched NCR, others claim the NCR was caught napping and the Legion won a decisive victory with very little loss, one tale claimed the Legion's field commander Legate Lanius was invincible to the guns of the NCR and could kill entire squads with a sweep of his sword. All that is truly known is the NCR lost. Nobody knows what happened to the Courier though reports differ, some claiming the Courier died in single combat with Lanius, or was hacked to pieces by legionnaires or downed by gunfire. Others insisted they helped evacuate settlements from the Mojave and might still be alive. The aftermath of Hoover Dam was swift and bloody, the Legion kept advancing towards Vegas, where Mr House was waiting with a Securitron army. Stalemate.

James now had no job. The Gun Runners had pulled out of the Mojave with everything they could carry. Whether they made it to Mojave Outpost was another matter. The group James travelled with didn't. Their Brahmin were shot and most guards killed near the 188 Trading Post. Just a few traders and guards remained. All but one decided to press on to Mojave Outpost. James stayed behind with his rifle, pistol and knife to wage a personal campaign against the Legion. In the early days he tracked other caravans, picking off Legion raiding parties that tried to stop them reaching Mojave Outpost. Once the days of evacuation were over, James chose to remain in the Mojave indefinitely. If the Legion could spread terror among the people of the Mojave he would spread terror among the Legion. He got his supplies from the newly formed resistance and worked in their name, slaughtering Legion patrols. Once or twice he attempted to attack Cottonwood Cove but was driven off quickly. The Legion would dearly love to find him, ask him where the resistance is and kill him. The haven't got him yet though.

Perks: Commando, Sniper, Nerves of Steel, Silent Running, Better Criticals.

Skills: Guns, Melee Weapons, Medicine, Repair.

Traits: Trigger Discipline, Small Frame.

Strength: James knows the ins and outs of how the Legion fights. He knows how to defeat them at long range with his rifle, short range with his pistol and in hand to hand combat with his knife.

Possible Weakness: The Lone Wolf. James sees himself as this and doesn't work well with others. Perhaps it is better to say he doesn't incorporate others into his plans when they could be helpful. If planning an attack James would not bother thinking of something for an ally to do. He assumes he can do everything himself and doesn't have to think about others.

Weapons: Silenced Sniper Rifle with Carbon Fibre Parts, 9mm Pistol (unmodified), Bowie Knife.

Items: Legion Hunter Armour, Authority Glasses, 238 caps, 3 bottled water, 2 cram, 4 mac & cheese, whiskey. 47 .308 rounds, 84 9mm rounds.

 

[Captain Anon]

updated with one of John's tactics

Spoiler: John Matthews

Name:John Matthews

Race:Human

Gender & Age:27, Male

Profession:A mercenary at times but mainly a well-known bounty hunter.

Items:two 1873 Colt revolvers, Bowie Knife, some grenades, some C4, 5 or 6 stimpacks, a 1894 Winchester Repeating Rifle, Pack of cigarettes, a map of the Mojave, 300 caps and an old guitar he uses to earn money in his spare time and for something else [see Other].

APPEARANCE: a 5 o'clock shadow beard, has a tall and strong looking build, standing at 6,1 and weights 260 pounds plus armor, a fair few scars on his face and body, thick black short hair and blue cold eyes, usually wears a white undershirt, a metal breastplate covering his torso, dark brown jeans, brown boots, a black duster and two pistol holsters, as he always carried two revolvers. He accessorized himself with a wide brimmed hat, two bandoliers and a pair of fingerless gloves, his armor is that of a knight's chestplate he found not long ago it's not bulletproof but it's resistance is about 75% chance of protection.

History/How you came to be in Vegas: Not much know a few legends and myths passed around...Legends mostly say his hometown was raided and his mother and sister raped and killed in front of him. He grew up alone learning traits to survive in the cruel world. Then one day he finally found the gang that destroyed his childhood and decided to join in. When he finally got the trust of all the members he waited till nightfall to slit all of their throats. That was a long, long time ago, now he drifts aimlessly across the wastelands and has entered the Mojave just recently looking for work if it pays well.

Spoiler: Clothing and Armor

I'm thinking the shoulder armor,the Chest armor and um everything below the chest armor.

mixed with the clothing, the weariness and the bandelier.

PERSONALITY: when he's in town he's usually is quiet but if something terrible and soul shattering is happening he will not hesitate kill the person responsible instantly too, and on his judgment, he is a bounty hunter takes all bounty and always brings them and he likes to smoke as well, He has been known to lighten up from time to time, showing a sense of humor through sarcasm, as well as being very compassionate to people he believes to be good and he does have a 'soft' side; loyal to those he considers friends and willing to stand up to a threat to defend them. He also has a soft side for the little guy, just trying to get by.

Perks: Terrifying presence, Cowboy, Gunslinger and Lawbringer.

Skills: Guns, Lockpick and Speech.

Traits: Good Natured, Heavy Handed.

Strengths: good with any gun you hand him but prefers with a revolver, not bad at lock-picking but could use some practice, a master of hand to hand combat but in small rooms he likes fighting bar fight style you know smash a bottle over someone's head etc.

Possible weaknesses:John's primary Achilles' Heels is his surprisingly reliance on instantaneous executions and the 30% chance of armor being penetrated.

Tactics:John uses a old guitar he found to not just earn a little money but to lure thugs, scum or anyone that might hurt an innocent and kill them if they try to or try to steal the caps he earned, it's also to put a little hope in people and some fear in others for example Hurt, Ain't No Grave, Gonna Cut You Down, Wayfaring Stranger and Far Away by Jose Gonzalez

 

[Clade-170]

Alright cool, It seems we got a decent amount of people to start. because of what I'm doing tomorrow I wont be starting it that day. Ill probably end up starting it either Monday or Tuesday sometime after 3:20 pm. Just letting you guys know whats up...oh and I may make a group for this, seems to be working out for another RP I'm doing.

 

[Not Matt]

Hey everyone, sorry about being a little late. hopefully my sheet holds up and i can still be accepted

Spoiler: Thomas

Name: Thomas Godfeather

Age: 41

Gender: male

Race: ghoul

Appearance: His face is ghoulish but still looks relatively human. his nose is gone though, A small handful of long black hair stretching out from the top of his head and swooped down towards the neck. he is missing 3 fingers(both ring fingers and left thumb)and minor scars and scratches from the battle of hoover dam are scattered around his face and body.
The Duster, hat and glasses hides what little skin he has left.

Personality: Conflicted and still trying to deal with his ghoulification. He is slightly schizophrenic, on the one side he is the kindhearted and helpful guy he was before the legion took over. And on the other he is the angry soldier with one mission in life. To see to it that every single legionnaire dies a horrible death. And while he tries his best to be the legion killing commando but his former self shines trough his facade. He will help anyone who ask for it, but his loyalty to the NCR can not be matched. He refuses to let go of his past in the military and has even proclaimed himself a veteran, NCR ranger commander. Whether or not he is actually losing it or is just forcing himself to think that the NCR is still going strong intentionally is uncertain.

History: He had a normal childhood with his parents who were traveling salesmen and scavengers. Or as normal a childhood in the wasteland can get E.I. death, fear and horror. When he turned 18 he joined up with the NCR where served as a soldier in the NCR for 20 years until the battle of hoover-dam. When the message that the legion won the dam, He decided to flee from the battleground with what was left of the NCR. He was nearly by the edge of Novac when the legion caught up with him. Instead of killing him, the Legion took him prisoner and forced him to fight other ex-NCR soldiers in the arena. When he and a small group of other slaves rebelled against the legion?s imprisonment, Tom got severely injured and was rendered unconscious. Thinking he was dead, the legion threw him in to a radiation pit in one of the dried out lakes. There were more NCR corpses there, the legion had used it as a dumping ground. He was down in that toxic pit for almost one week before he had gathered the strength to climb out. While in the pit. He had undergone the transformation in to a ghoul. But he had also scavenged a few things from the corpses for when he got out of the hole in the ground. He have spent the next two years on a legion killing spree in south Nevada and is now on his way to New Vegas for a vacation.

Perks: Rad Child, Sniper, Silent Running, Hunter and Friend of the Night.

Skills: Speech, big guns, survival and science.

Traits: Good Natured and Trigger Discipline.

Strength: sharp shooting and stealth. As a ghoul, 90% of the waste won't care whether of not he lives or dies. So he have had to learn to go unnoticed and to make every bullet count.

Possible weakness: hand to hand combat. He is a good shot but he can just barely survive a battle of fists (or melee weapon). And an addiction to whiskey that makes him utterly unaware of his actions

Weapons:
1X sniper rifle
1X silenced pistol
30X .308 rounds
8X .22 bullets
2X frag grenades
1X kitchen knife

Items:
1X Scavenged NCR ranger combat armor (just the chest plate and duster, no helmet)
1X lighter
1X grey prewar hat
4X bobby pins
540X Bottle caps
3X stampicks
1X deck of cards
2X pre-war books
1X sunglasses
1X nuka-cola truck
2X fancy lad meals
2X Poker chips to the Vault 21 casino (Left overs from his last day of before the battle of Hoover Dam)

Please tell me if there is anything you want me to change. i am open to constructive criticism.

 

[Clade-170]

[HEADING=1]Start[/HEADING]

The sun was merciless as usual, one would expect nothing less from the godforsaken Mojave. I must have seen 50+ people latched to crosses wile scavenging throughout the desert, if I were still Human and a hell of a lot younger I would have puked. But, I seen my share of fucked up shit to be used to it all by now. But it don't meen I don't care, on the contrary, it weighs heavily on my heart. The world has gone to hell since the bombs fell, and I had the misfortune of surviving. I think I was 22...no...26? when they fell, I remember it like it was yesterday like a nightmare I cant seem to get out of my mind. The gate of New Vegas came within view, and standing in front of it were two securitrons armed to the teeth. As I approached one of them confronted me saying, "NO ONES ALLOWED IN THE CITY WITHOUT A PASSPORT OR DOCUMENT OF ENTRY, ALL VIOLATORS WILL BE KILLED". I sigh, "cool your circuits robot, I have it right here" and I show it my little passport. The securitron studied it a moment then said, "YOU MAY ENTER FREE SIDE" and the gate opened. I say sarcastically, "Wow...today must be my goddamn lucky day" and walk into freeside.

 

[Captain Anon]

Freeside. crowded as usual with refuges from just about everywhere because of The Legion, a group of cold blooded mass murdering slavers but enough about them, I arrived a two days ago wasted most of my caps getting a damn passport I've sleeping just outside The Fort, don't know why but I guess I'm acting as a Guard dog or something, anyway throughout the day I spend it in the middle of lower freeside with the Fort in front of me just me and my guitar, I take off my hat laying it upside so people can put caps in it, thought I'd sing one about pain and then started to play "I hurt myself....today, to see if I still... feel, I focus on...the pain........The only thing that's real, The needle tears a hole.....The old familiar sting, Try to kill it.... all away, But I remember...everything.

What have I become.....My sweetest friend, Everyone I know.....goes away..in the end......And you could have it all.....My empire of dirt, I will let you down,......I will make you hurt..........I wear this....crown..of thorns, Upon my liar's chair,.....Full of broken thoughts,....I cannot....repair. Beneath the stains of....time, The feelings....disappear, You are someone else.

I am still....right here,....What have I become.....My sweetest friend Everyone I know..goes away..in the end.......And you could have it all,....My empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt,.......If I could start again.......A million miles away.......I will keep myself I would find a way" I sing for a good few minutes loud enough for people on both sides of freeside to of heard it

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

Twitch tensed slightly as the young woman in front of him sloshed about the black liquid in the empty soda bottle he'd given her, "Careful, bad if it spills, worse if it touches you."

The woman drew out a portion of the liquid with a syringe, and dropped a bead onto a strip of testing paper. She noted the color change and let out the breath she'd been holding for the past minute, "Christ, it's Tremble alright, high purity stuff too. Where'd you get so much?"

"Made it," Twitch shrugged, it was an old trick. He knew many would pay quite the sum for a reliable source of the stuff, enough to keep him in chems for life, but he'd never done it for profit. The world was full of enough poison as it was, and this sort was too dangerous in the wrong hands. Besides, cazadores were a ***** to kill. Even handing it over to Followers felt... wrong, like he was dirtying them somehow, "Wh-w-w-why did you need it?"

The young woman chuckled and shook her head softly. Her name was Sammi, half the reason Twitch had took the job was because it came from her. Twitch respected the Followers of the Apocalypse on general principle, but Sammi he genuinely liked. She was kind, patient with him, and she understood the pressures in him better than most. Besides, she called on him sometimes to keep her company when she was feeling lonesome, and that scratched a whole other sort of itch. A smile from her put his mind at ease a bit, and the words settled the matter," It's alright, Twitch, the Followers aren't goin' to war, that's not what we're about. Hell, when I put the call out I never thought we'd get this much, I was hopeful for a vial or two, but all this... you're a man of many talents."

That remark colored Twitch's cheeks and sparked another chuckle from Sammi. It was easy enough to get a blush from the boy, that was half the appeal to be honest, "Now, why do you put tremble on your blade?"

"Makes a man's hands stupid. If the first blow doesn't end it, ma-m-m-m-makes the second easier," Twitch wasn't fond of talk of killing, not around Followers at least, pacifists that they were. But again, Sammi understood better than most and she didn't judge too harshly.

"Exactly. But maybe, just maybe, in the right dosage, or combined with something else, we can use tremble to do just the opposite and help folks born with the quakes or those who catch bad spirits from too much radiation. Often times, the only difference between a poison and a cure is the dosage," Sammi beamed at him, typically gentle brown eyes filled with a rare sort of fire. Twitch perked up a bit and offered the girl a grin. It seemed like magic, healing with a poison, but Twitch had seen plenty of miracles amongst Followers and other folks good with medicine and the like. Sammi pressed a little cloth bag into his hands and he took it without too much fuss after a moment's hesitation. He didn't typically take caps from Followers, it never felt right, but he knew he'd have a powerful need to eat sooner or later. He and the young doctor had come to an agreement, he'd only take 20% of the caps for a Follower job, but they'd supplement it with a few stimpacks and a couple doses of fixer. It worked out best for the both of them.

"Thanks Twitch, good work," Twitch grinned, offered a little nod and turned to leave. A slight tug at his arm stopped him, "I've got day shift, stop back by after dark... you could use a good scrubbing."

The blush on the kid's cheeks managed to reach the tips of his ears. He tried to stammer out a reply, gave up and offered a crooked sort of smile and a frantic nod before shuffling on out the door.

~~~~

Twitch made his way through the Old Mormon Fort's massive gates and paused a moment, perking up at the sound of music. He loved a good song. He cherished the radio on his Pip-Boy but not even Mr. New Vegas quite matched a live performance. He hunkered down against the wall of the Fort and listened. His enthusiasm waned a bit as the song went on, the eager smile replaced by something a bit more thoughtful, a bit more reflective. The song was a melancholy affair, and talk of a needle's prick and lost friends hit a little too close to home. Twitch shuddered slightly and felt a bit of moisture build up behind his eyes, but shed no tears. The man's singing was fine enough and his fingers fluttered over the guitar strings with ease, but it was too early in the day for bleak thoughts and old sorrows.

The kid roused himself and rose to his feet. He trotted over towards the singer, and dropped a few caps in the man's hat. He didn't have much in the way of money to spare, but he'd offer what little he could. He waited for a break in the man's singing and fished a bottle of water from the knapsack slung across his shoulders. The water was pure, still slightly cool, only recently pulled from Freeside's underground wells. He held it out to the man, an offering of thanks for the music.

 

[Captain Anon]

I look up at the teenager with sad but also cold eyes as he drops a few caps in my hat I nod, as he hands me a bottle of water I say in a young sounding voice to my old singing voice "thanks kid I was starting to get thirsting" Before taking a long sip "aaaahhh much better" I said twisting the lid back on and placed it on the floor next to me, I look back up at the teenager "got a song request kid?" I said tuning my guitar a little

 

[Clade-170]

As I walked about freeside one of the most imediate thing I notice are all the refugees, it was a sad sight to see. This place was pretty bad before the legion's victory, now, just a hell hole. Next thing I knew I felt a gun being pressed against my head, "gimme all your caps or...o-or Ill blast your brains out". The voice sounded young, and his arm seemed to be trembling. No doubt the boy was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. slowly I raise my hands into the air, only to come back around to quickly disarm the would be thug and hold the gun to his head. "NO PLEASE...!!!" begged the young man, as every one looked at me as if I was doing something wrong. I professionally dissemble the gun and threw the parts away and walk off, the young man gasping in relief. Going down the road I recognize the old Mormon Fort, and passing it up some music. Real guitar strings, and not from an old radio. I turn to see a individual just sitting down and playing some tunes, I have to admit hearing a real guitar brought back some good memories from before the Atomic war.



A smile slowly stretches across my ghoulish face, something that hasn't happened in a while. I approach the man and the teenager who seemed to be enjoying the music as well. I reach into my pocket only to find just a few caps and placed it in his hat " god bless you sir...".

 

[Viking Incognito]

Spoiler: My character Brother Saturday

Name: Louie Labeaux (Luh-bow) A.K.A. "Brother Saturday"

Age: 42

Gender:Male

Race: African-American

Appearance:Louie is 6'3 with bright green eyes, thick slicked back raven hair, and skin the color of a dark oak coffin. He likes to dress in a variety of snazzy outfits, but his favorite is a "blood red" formal coat with tails that reach just above the back of his knees and matching red pants. He wears a black silk button up shirt under the coat, and red neck tie, plus a pair of dark tinted sunglasses and shiny black alligator shoes. To cap it all off, he wears a red, 7.5 inch tall top hat with a black band above the brim. He also smokes hand made cigars regularly.

Personality: Louie gives off the impression of a predatory animal; not a feral beast, but a laid back and in-control hunter, like a panther. His casual and swanky nature may be a bit disarming upon first meeting him, but he will make it very clear that he is not someone to be taken lightly. When necessary, he can be ruthless and terrifying. Finally, he and his followers speak Haitian, and when speaking English, have Haitian accents.

History: Louie was born and raised in the Bayou Wasteland of southern Louisiana. Life there was relatively stable compared to other parts of America, due to the economic sustainability of the Gulf of Mexico. His father was a business man and his mother was a surgeon, and they raised him to be a follower of the lost religion, Voodoo. They combine their resources in secret to keep the faith alive, sacrificing wayward wastelanders to the Baron Samedi, Loa of death. As he grew, his natural charisma swayed others to join the worship until they had a cult of roughly 50 people, worshiping the various Loa. Learning the tricks of coercion and persuasion from his father, and medical expertise from his mother, Louie eventually turned the cult into a religious gang he named the Sons of Samedi. They took hold of the local economy and never let go. Louie became a rich man, owing all of his success to the favor of the spirit of death, Baron Samedi. He took on the name "Brother Saturday", in tribute to the Loa, and began to expand. The Sons of Samedi used ancient Voodoo recipes and rituals to create a special drug called Loa Dust, a substance similar to marijuana but enhanced by the irradiated swamp soil in the Bayou Wasteland, meaning he is the only man in the world who can make it. When he became bored of life in New Orleans, he moved north west, and made his way to New Vegas. With his unique set of skills and resources, he went far in New Vegas. He and his Mojave Branch of the Sons of Samedi struck up a partnership with the Omertas, he provided the Loa Dust to them and their customers exclusively, in exchange for 55% of the profits, and a permanent place on the Strip inside the Gomorrah Hotel. The Omertas came to trust him more than he trusts them, so he keeps a small posse of some of his more devout followers, not trusting his regular paycheck employees in a town like Vegas. With prime real-estate, a hotly demanded product, and a gang of religiously devoted followers that see him as their prophet, Brother Saturday has become one of the most powerful people on the strip. People with their ear to the ground on The Strip are aware of the rumors about his faith and his followers, but no one has yet proven anything.

Perks: 1) Chemist: he has memorized dozens of voodoo recipes, including Loa Dust, and is a qualified Pharmacist 2) Terrifying Presence: When he shows his true character, and takes on the role of a voodoo witch doctor, he can be one of the most intimidating men in the wasteland 3)Ferocious Loyalty: His voodoo disciples will die protecting their prophet if they have to 4)Educated: He is very well read and can easily outsmart the common wastelander or New Vegas tourist 5)Cannibal: some voodoo rituals call for the eating of human flesh


Skills: Speech, Medicine, Barter, Melee weapons


Strength: He is intelligent, ruthless, charismatic, wealthy, and his surgical training gave him deadly skill with small blades

Possible weakness: He can't shoot worth a damn (that's what his men are for), and aside from his percision with small blades, he isn't particularly formidable as a fighter. He is tall, but not very muscular and he has lived a very easy life compared to most wastelanders, so he is not a hardened veteran of the wasteland like many of the people in the Mojave.

Weapons: He keeps various small blades like scalpels and needels hidden on his person, and he always carries a vile of incredibly potent poison called "The Baron's Liqueur" on him, as well as a small pouch of coma inducing "Zombie Powder"

Items: He keeps his handmade cigars in his coats, as well as a brass lighter and a flask of old fashion southern bourbon, imported from New Orleans via his trade route.

 

[Viking Incognito]

Brother Saturday strolled down the Strip, flanked by four beefy men with SMGs hidden in their coats. Radio New Vegas was playing through the streets as always, but there were less people on the street to hear it during the day. Everyone knew The Strip really came to life at night. Saturday's jaunted red top hat caught the sunlight as he approached the entrance to the Gomorrah Hotel and Casino.

It was well known for being the biggest den of vice in New Vegas, and it had earned the reputation. Saturday and his men strolled passed the security without being searched, and headed upstairs toward Big Sal's office. Saturday had his men stand outside the door while he went inside. Big things were being set in motion. People would die, money would be made, and power would shift. That's just a day in Vegas after all.

"'Ello Sal. Ya look good bruddah." Saturday said, pulling a cigar from his coat and lighting it.

"What am I, chopped liver?" asked Nero, the Omertas' second boss.

"Let's not get off on dey wrong foot 'ere. We got some mey-ja business to discuss, aye?" Saturday replied before taking a puff of his cigar, leaving it sticking from his mouth, held by his teeth.

"All right Labeaux, we have our own shit to take care of, what do you want?" Big Sal said impatiently.

"I's sure by now you 'eard dah Khans is havin more trouble den dey cahn take. Dey got no where to put dah people runnin from dah Legion, and since dah Legion don't take kindly tah drugs, dey killed all ah de Khans clients. Dey used to be dah biggest drug runnahs in dah desert, but now, dey got one foot in dah grave. If your men and mine went tah Red Rock and stirred up a riot, Dah Khans would be dead and gahn in a week. Dat would make dah Sons Of Samedi de only mey-ja drug runnahs in town. We already got dah tourist market on dah Strip, but wit de Khans gone, we would get everyone outside dah strip in Freeside and North-Side too. So wacha wanna do frens?"

Brother Saturday grinned a wide toothy grin before he blew out a large cloud of cigar smoke. His confidence was electric.

Sal and Nero talked quietly back and forth for about a minute before turning back to Saturday.

"Alright. But we got some conditions." Big Sal said. "We'll let you keep 55% of the profits made on The Strip, but it's gonna be the other way around for business outside the gate. We take 55% and you get 45%, and your men have to do the dealing."

Brother Saturday put his cigar back in his mouth and stuck out his hand. "We gotta deal."

They shook on it.

-------------------------------

Later on, in the penthouse suit, Brother Saturday was talking to his right hand, Luke. They were speaking Haitian, in case the Omertas were listening.

"**When the fighting is over, I want you to bring me Great Khan's heart.**" Saturday said. "**I will eat it, and with it, the strength of the Great Khans.**"

"**Of course Brother Saturday. But when do we deal with the Omertas? Those idiots trust us completely already. Why are we still waiting? We could have killed them dozens of times by now.**"

"**Not quite yet. We don't know how Mr. House will react. But their time will come. Everyone meets the Baron someday.**"