The REALLY Wild Wasteland. (The Fallout RP!)


Bah weep grah nah neep ninny bom
Nov 20, 2008

[HEADING=2]It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...[/HEADING]​

In the Kentucky wastelands, there is a well-known gang of Raiders known as 'The Heads'. They were called this for their unusual capacity to USE their heads instead of their asses. Not a common Raider trait. Here was the great and wonderful plan: It was gonna be Road Warrior 2: The Humongus Strikes It Big. All this time, there's been this fort, see. It's stacked with alot of automated defense turrets that work even today, keeping out the riff-raff. But to a well-organized crowd with a little know-how, plus LOTS of missles and sniper action, it was almost too easy. After all, the world's gone to shit! Who's watching Fort Knox now? Nobody! Who's gotten in since pre-war days? Nobody but the Heads. And that's how it goes. A number of rigged cars, trucks, and cycles pull into the place, having neutralized its perimeter. This place was once a brilliant military base famous for its huge gold deposits. Now, it was just a dead place of old memories...and still yet the gold.

The group is large, like three-dozen men ready to haul ingots out of there. This takes time, care, and precision...on account of this vault being harder than stuff from Vault-Tec. But as the Heads are using their eventually comes open and swings free into that lovely room filled with oodles of gold! They lie nestled together behind additional bars - bars that they can handle, easy - and fail to notice the sensors that they just set off, expertly-hidden ones kept in a room that has not changed in probably YEARS. The floor is tiled with big square tiles. To the average observer, it seems almost normal, except...that one of the guys stops as the others get to work on the bars. He shrugs it off, they bust in, and get gold loaded on a wagon to be pulled out by a few of the guys. Same guy who stopped before stops again, same place.

"Hey, I think there's something hollow under here."

"Under the gold? Don't be ridiculous. If that were true, they'd have TAKEN the gold."

He insisted, though, and took a crowbar to reveal...a hidden stepway hatch, the kind you press a button to activate. They saw this and stopped working. He opened it, went on down, and...was met with the glowing eyes of power-armor down a dark hallway, shortly before a plasma rifle went off! The Raider was burned through and then gooified before he made it back up the steps, and then there were similar hatchway sounds from two other spots as a pair of black powersuits BURST through more tiling to pull out Super Sledges and start swinging! Instant madhouse! The two Enclave soldiers made every Raider go for his or her gun, many of which were not that helpful in this situation as a whole mess of troops exited the middle steps with a command unit giving orders.

Commander: Operation Clean Sweep! GO GO GO!!

Despite the fact that some missle launchers and grenades had been brought in, most of the soldiers remained intact, especially since the sledge-users leapt right out to take hits! WHAT?! A few of the other Raiders who figured it was time to cut and run just went and DID. They headed on outside, where it was their intention to go back, tell the rest of the gang what happened, and come in bigtime to handle this Enclave parade without mercy. That would have been brilliant if there weren't smoldering craters where quite a few vehicles had once been, gold bars scattered everywhere and SOME remnant of the men who brought that stuff out here. These last few men then heard something rumble-shudder from the left as what looked like an old building brought to ruin with abuse uhhh...fell apart. They looked up...quite shocked under the circumstances.

[HEADING=3]Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk![/HEADING]

The last thing they saw was the barrels spinning, and the last sound []...was self-explanatory. The soldiers came out soon after, taking note of the damage done both by the Raiders and by...IT. The Commander got on comms, then...

"What is the situation, #31?"

#31: Under control, Number One. Intruders eliminated 100%. However...


#31: Fort defenses are kaput, all auto-turrets ruined with the gold vault broken into. I can salvage the door, but...someone's gonna notice eventually.

"I'm inclined to agree. Very well. We make our move. Utilize field camp defenses to bolster the Fort Knox perimeter, including OUR turrets. Move forces upstairs, but keep the sub-station well-stocked. Oh, and get the doors ready. The Enclave is officially open for business."

#31: Yes, sir!

[HEADING=2]FalloutJack Presents:[/HEADING]​

Several explosions raised dust all over the base area, revealing heavy-armored bulkhead doors which either slid or were raised open. From out of them came a few tank-like hovercraft, troop-carriers or load-haulers, as well as vertibirds [] and...a strange helicopter design that was like the marriage of a Jigabachi [] and Warhawk [].

[HEADING=2]Something We Like To Call...[/HEADING]​

"Soon, my greatest experiment will be completed! HAH HAH HAH! Mad, they called me! MAD!"


"Very true, BUT I DID NOT ASK FOR YOUR INPUT! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha haaa!!!"


"I...was once a man... ONCE...a man!"


"Yes, master. Yes, master. Yes, a'master! Yes, a'master! YES, A'MASTAH!!"

[HEADING=2]The REALLY Wild Wasteland.[/HEADING]​


Bah weep grah nah neep ninny bom
Nov 20, 2008

NAME: Shifty Thomas McGee
AGE: 24
RACE: Caucasian
Tall, Slender and Pale. Those would be the primary adjectives that would describe Shifty McGee if you were one of those person of few words type of characters.

For those of you, like he is, given to the gift of gab, Shifty would be best described as a tree among men, with arms and legs that stretched out like a vines and has skin the color of Brahmin Milk.

Being proud of his rather pale skin and given the condition of the Wastes, Shifty keeps it covered in a rather ole timey undertaker's outfit complete with top hat.

Underneath that hat and those glasses that he wears are brown eyes and amusingly, a mohawk of black hair, a throw back to his childhood choice of hair styles.

Talkative. He'll talk your ear off if you let him. He'll talk night and day as if the only way he is sure that he's alive is the sound of his own voice hitting his eardrums.

His parents were both in the rather unpopular business of undertakers. When you live in the wastes, however, there's never a shortage of business for a good undertaker. He's got this rather nasty habit of taking a measuring tape to people when he first meets them. Don't be offended. He just wants to make sure that you're properly cared for in the event of your untimely demise.

When he's not out riding from town to town in search of new business, you can find him at the local saloon, tavern, bar or Pub. His job doesn't make him very popular with the ladies but his bottle caps help when dealing with the occasional waitress looking for a little work on the side. Ahh to be 24 again...

While usually using his profession as a means to keep people from messing with him, when push comes to shove, he's got a nice 357 Magnum in his jacket. For the upclose and personal stuff, he's got a Combat Knife and a Short Sword

A few bottles of Purified Water, a tape measure and a few spare parts for his bicycle. He also has bag containing a few days worth of Brahmin Jerky, a medkit, a few doses of Rad-X and Rad Away.

Enhanced Stamina If you spend all day riding around the wastes on a bicycle. It helps to have enhanced stamina.

Undertaker's Aura The last thing you want to see coming over that hill when you're setting up an ambush is an undertaker. It gets you wondering if you're his next client. Most people will hesitate to attack someone who's so intimate with death

Luck isn't a Lady Yeah... ladies don't like Shifty for the most part... until they see the guy beneath the suit

A bicycle.

Name: Sylph (No Familial name known)
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Race Human
Appearance: Sylph trudged through the cracked streets of Arlington, or should I say happily trudged through the cracked streets of Arlington, for no one could have mistaken the happy little tune that she hummed to be anything but reflective of someone who was eternally happy. The fact that the blue haired waif of a girl, just barely Five foot Six Inches, was wearing a red dress with a red ribbons that kept her otherwise unkempt hair in two evenly placed ponytails, made it obvious to the Chinese Remnant Captain in Mama Dolce's that this American girl was one that could be easily dispatched; like the many other American Dogs that they had sent to Hell. Besides that, the gem on the choker that he spotted around her neck through his cracked binoculars looked to be valuable, something that he could trade for valuable supplies that he and his team were running low on.

While he did note the rifle that the girl had strapped to her brown leather knapsack, strangely enough, he missed the combat boots that the girl was wearing, something that should have tipped him off that something wasn't right about her. His greed and perhaps, something else had inflamed him.

Personality: Sylph smiled and waved at the ghoul in the strange uniform that approached her. Aside from the Brotherhood of Steel, this was the first time she had met anyone wearing a uniform before. She decided that if it wasn't for the fact that he was a ghoul, that the Chinese Remnant Captain might have been considered dashing.

"Hi mister! How ya doin'?" Sylph said as she continued to wave at the man and smile, her blue eyes reflecting her enthusiasm to see someone out on the road after all those weeks of drudgery and trudgery, someone in a position of Authority and perhaps someone that could help her out.

Of course, we all know that with the Chinese Remnant, this is never the case, as demonstrated by the straight up brutal backhand that sent the girl flying to the ground.

"Ow Ow Ow! Was it something I said?!?" She screamed, her voice filled with confusion, though it lost none of the sing song tone that it had moments ago when she was greeting her soon to be wanna be violator.

"I. I. I. I don't understand what you're saying! Maybe you could say it in English, please?" The blue-haired-girl continued to say as she was beat upside the head with another backhand.

The Chinese Remnant Officer had to admit that this was going to be one of the easiest heists he had committed in a very long time. Ah, but how very wrong we was as he grabbed the choker that was around the girl's neck; it came off with a quick and easy snap.

That wasn't the only snap to come however as the Girl's demeanor instantly changed. The first snap was the Ghoul's wrist as the girl expertly twisted it until it was naught but bone dust inside of skin. The second snap that was heard was the snapping of the Officer's knee joint. The third snap was more of a thud as the officer hit the ground and found the girl instantly on top of him, smiling a rather creepy and sadistic smile, the smile of someone who not only enjoyed the beating that he had just dished out, but the pain she was about to administer.

If you thought that the wrist and knee breaks were painful, you thought wrong compared to the thumbs she was slowly pushing into the ghoul's eye sockets.

"Thanks for this. I really needed some time away from that *****. I mean, you met her right? Always so happy and positive." The formerly friendly girl said, her voice devoid of the blissfulness that had saturated it not too moments ago. If there were any other words that she said, they were eventually drowned out by the screams of the Chinese Remnant officer.

Weapon: All good things have to come to and end however and in the end a simple twist of her wrist ended things for the Captain as the spring blade mounted on her right forearm entered the Captain's brain pan.

You would think at this point that Sylph would have been overwhelmed by other Chinese Remnant Soldiers by this point and that might have been the case were it not for the rather brutal method in which the biggest and burliest of them had just been killed. A few well placed .22 Caliber bullets from the girl's .22 Rifle, previously strapped to Sylph's Knapsack, entered the Ghouls junk and exited through the trunk, causing major hemorrhaging issues.

Items: Looking through the bodies of the now dead Chinese Remnant Captain, Sylph added the ghoul's few caps to her meager cap stash (202). It didn't take too long to tear through the rest of the Ghoul's inventory either. Extra .22 Ammo to add to her ammo supply, a combat knife, a few spare hairpins, A medical pack, a few Radaway and Rad-X.

Placing the choker back on her neck, Sylph continued to search what was left of the Captain's inventory.

"Ooooo, Rad Scorpion Meat!" The Girl exclaimed, quite happily in fact, as she bit into the crab like meat, ingesting a few rad in exchange for the mouthful of yum.

Seeing that there was nothing else of worth, she sighed gleefully as she felt gnawed on more of the touch Rad Scorpion Meat and continued on towards the her destination, a tear at the back of her dress fluttering open to reveal a crisscrossed network of scars.

- Gratingly Charismatic: Cheerful as she might be, others might find it grating after a time. So much so that she's been known to have been left on the side of the road after a few minutes of travel. =(
- Dual Survivalist: Sure she's chipper, happy, charming, a darling, a bit naive and such but mind you, there's always a flip side to the coin. With a single flip of the switch that little survivalist's smile will be the last thing you see.
- Ditsy Luck: Sometimes lady luck isn't fickle, she's just a ditz.

Transportation: Sylph looked down at her combat boots and looked at Frank's feet and decided that they were much too small for him to wear and that she would be safe from any random boot jackings for a while.

NAME: Lucy Black

AGE: 22 - turning 23 very soon

GENDER: Female

RACE: Human (Caucasian)


APPEARANCE: Asymmetrically cut black hair tied into one very long but loose pigtail hanging over her shoulder - a stylistic choice and a reminder of her childhood.

Standing below average height, the petite female made her presence known with a striking blue eye. Yep, you read that right - due her most recent patch of dangerous encounters, she wore a black eye-patch over her recovering left eye.



A few years ago: Life seemed fine, living with her Father, Isaac Black. Growing up, her father's presence was scarce due to the nature of his work.

He would often return from trading excursions to bring home various trinkets, perhaps even a broken weapon that the two could repair and sell later. You see, the father and daughter bonded over their fascination with energy weapons. It was natural for the two of them to practice with the repaired energy weapons.

One day, her father's prized possession arrived at their home, a Gauss Rifle. A small supply of ammo was bought over time, while the rifle itself was kept hidden in a secret compartment under the floor...-it was too late to realize just how valuable that accursed weapon had become.

Springvale, their neighborhood and home, was attacked fairly soon after the arrival of the accursed weapon. By an organized and highly-skilled group: The Enclave, no less.

Lucy had suffered through the horror of her Father's public murder, the destruction of her home and the torture that soon followed. She was left for dead, or so she had thought. It was unclear as to how she survived. Her weakness at the time of the attack had infuriated her and was just the very beginning of her motivation to find the answers to the many questions that were left unanswered...

Currently: Having infiltrated The Enclave under the disguise of an "Asset", Lucy had fundamentally changed from the idealist she was once before. Having grown slightly detached and more fierce in her interactions, Lucy still possessed a passionate and fierce nature when her temper was struck, (un)fortunately.

She was not above the use of manipulation or betrayal towards her perceived enemies, with the odds stacked against her, she had to fight dirty. Having learned the truth and being lead to the heart of the Enclave, Lucy was preparing to strike.


WEAPONS: A Gauss Rifle that belonged to her Father, now known as a bitter keepsake and treasure. It's become Lucy's favored ranged weapon.

ITEMS: Slim-fit reinforced leather-armor, (Modified) Gauss Rifle* and a small backpack brimming with ammunition. A few stimpacks were kept on her person in case of medical emergencies.

PERKS: Rapid Reload, Comprehension, Ferocious Loyalty
TRAITS: Small Frame, Trigger Discipline

Notes: Dexterous and an excellent shot with her Gauss rifle makes Lucy somewhat of a force to be reckoned with at range.

Anything closing that range would soon discover just how vulnerable that left her. Her hair-trigger emotions would often make her exceedingly reckless in a combat situation.

Studying human behaviour from her bookworm days had lead to Lucy ideally fighting her battles with that of a silver-tongue, the successfulness of this act would often depend entirely on her emotional state.

TRANSPORTATION: In good physical condition, Lucy tends to travel by foot.

*The rifle was capable of charging up a single devastating and penetrative round. Via the voice command of the owner, the rifle would release it's mechanical restraints, expend a great amount of heat and the moving parts would essentially bond itself to the user's wrist painfully. Each shot requires a full one minute cool-down, leaving her completely exposed. Accuracy was thrown out of the window for sheer damage while in "Beast Mode".

NAME: Abraham Stein (Or Abe)

AGE: 26


RACE: Human

APPEARANCE: Abe stands around 5'6, has a lean body type and is unfit (Really doesn't work out all that much). Without his mask, he has a very youngish looking face cover in some scars. His left upper side of his face, around his eye, looks burnt due to his profession. While his right side as a scar slashes in an angel from his cheekbone down towards his chin.

If anyone ever sounds his body without his clothing, they would see more scars here and there which he feels a bit self-conscious about. When he does wear clothes, he has on a black t-shirt that is a bit rip in areas. A dark green long overcoat that hangs just a bit off the ground, which he keeps unzipped most of the time. A gas mask that covers the front part of his face and an Aviator helmet that 'helps' protect his ears and hair from his chemicals. He wears dark black pants, thick socks, dark brown gloves, and heavy work boots.

PERSONALITY: Abe is an introvert type person. He really hates large crowds, prefers to work alone and away from everyone else. His goal is to one day have enough money to build a house on a far away island and never have to interact with anyone every again in this fuck up wasteland.

To start with Abe story, he was the son of chem addict family. His parents did merger jobs and then waste most of it on chems to get high at night. Abe didn't really remember much about his childhood. Just knowing his parents let the grandfather watch over him while he was young. Which was perfectly fine to the young Abe. He didn't really like anyone in his family and his grandfather was too old to really watch him so he was free to go anywhere to be by himself and away from his sad excuse of a family.

That was until his parents had a bright, stupid idea to have Abe learn how to make chems from the local chem maker. Abe was placed in his care to be trained to be the next chem maker. While at first Abe thought this was going to be horrible, he soon realizes that hardly anyone bothers him at all while working. Abe was quick to take up the mantle of chem producer. Though within three weeks at his new 'job' he accidently blew up his batch of the week and burn the left side of his face a bit.

His teacher was going to punish him for wasting supplies but seeing how badly he was in pain from the burns, let him be. With this, Abe started to wear layers of clothing and mask to protect his face. Within a few years, Abe was actually starting to outpace the Chem teacher. Which had upset the teacher and he almost murder Abe in his sleep. On the run, Abe thought about returning back home but went against the idea. If his druggy parents ever found out how well he was making drugs, he would never hear the end of it. Packing what he can and stealing a few caps from the bums of the town, Abe sent off to find his own place to call home.

That didn't last long as, within two weeks of traveling by foot, Abe nearly died of starvation and dehydration. It was only a miracle that a passing caravan saved him and nurse him back to a somewhat decent health. He travels with the caravan as he helped them out with their wares. Even making a few chems to sell on the side whenever they stop at a town and he finds supplies he could use.

That too, change when a raider group chases after them during their travels. The group of raiders ending up killing his companies and capturing him after he told them he could make drugs for them. With their own chem maker, Abe was soon put in a cell within the Raiders settlement.

A few weeks go by and Abe was going crazy from all the fumes from the chemicals and poor living conditions. So he works out a small deal with the Raider leader. He would make twice the product if he was given his own little piece of land in the wasteland. Now every two weeks, the raiders come by to trade with Abe. Giving him food, water, and supplies for the chems and Abe would give them their chems they so desired.

Abe finally got his own place to call his home within the wasteland. Working daily to make quota for the raiders. While at the same time exploring his new found area. He never wonders to far away from his home and he always brought protection with him in cases he ran into anything worst then a rad roach. Though his shooting skills aren't the best.

During on his travels around the area. He came upon a junkyard, believing he found a score of old loot he began his search. After a few hours of digging around, he found something he believed to be worthwhile, an old Securitron. It took hours to haul that thing back, but Abe was able to get the big robot back to his little shop of chems. If he could get one of the raiders to fix it, he wouldn't need to worry about anything attacking him.

Abe kept the robot in a corner of his home until a raider or someone else could fix it up. It wasn't until morning until Abe found out that the Securitron wasn't fully broken. It was just in standby mode, waiting for his old master to return. Though since it's been years (The Securitron had no idea how long it has been as it was told not to keep count.) Abe offer to be his new master. Which the Securitron eagerly agreed.

Turns out, Abe would regret this as he soon found out why the Securitron was abandon. It was like a child almost. Always asking questions and always seeming amazed by anything new. Though Abe wasn't going to give it up that easily, oh no sir. If it couldn't be a great attack dog (or bot.) It can at least look like a scary mother fucker.

So now Abe works away in his little house. Spending time with his new found companion and trying to live his life peacefully within the waste.

WEAPONS: Abe has a few different weapons with his home. Though he either can't use them or doesn't know how too. The only weapons he keeps on him at all times is a 9mm pistol and a baseball bat. He keeps any weapons he finds in his stockpile room where he trades them off whenever he see a passing caravan or trades them to the raiders who come back every now and then.

ITEMS: Abe is a bit of a hoarder within his home. Keeping things he believes will be valuable one day. So at the moment, his home is filled with either goodies or just pure trash. What he keeps on his self is a few medkits, 9mm ammo, and some cheese.


Ohhh, look what I found!: You are masterful at finding useful(Or trash depending to SOOOME people) items to help gain your own goals, keeping you alive or at least getting more supplies to make those psycho raiders happy. its a win/semi-win situation!

Holy shit! Aren't you lucky!: You surive so much within the waste, I'm wondering if you have a guardian angel watching over you, or perhaps god just laughs at your misery like a bad comdey show. Have a high amount of luck, good or bad you have a lot of it.


Hey, are these drugs legit?: Being a master of chem making, you are able to tell which drugs are good, bad, and have been temper with. Good if you have friends and they got chems, bad that your friends are ditching you and getting another chem dealer. Assholes.

Chem Maker: Abe is a master at making chems and is willing to sell all kinds to make a living. Hell, he would even make some new drugs up if he got the chance, and wasn't worrying about blowing up the place.

TRANSPORTATION: On foot or by his trusty robot companion.

NAME: PW035, She however knows her name as: Trixie Jane Franko (first middle last)

AGE: 7, physically seems to be mid 20s

GENDER: Female

RACE: Android (Caucasian)

APPEARANCE: She has rather pale white skin, yet it can tan and burn artificially. She stands at 5ft 8inch, with a slender build. She wears either Leather Armor with a Shady Hat and Shades or in formal occasions she has a Pre War Bonnet and Pre War Dress. Her hair is black and hangs down in a reasonably sized ponytail.

PERSONALITY: She does not know she is an android, and very much believes herself to be a normal human female.
She is capable of emotion as most androids, but she is quite cold in that regard, finding it difficult to become emotionally attached to others or even show remorse or pity. In conversation she does not speak a great amount, only really talking when need be. Being a traveling tradesman does mean she is quite good at closing a deal however.

BACKSTORY: One of the large amount of androids to escape the commonwealth after hearing the story of another escaped android, she too received facial reconstruction and a memory wipe, now living as a roaming caravan trader. As all escaped androids however, she is still being hunted, she does not know this however due to her memory wipe, so to her she is a normal human lady born in the capital wasteland. Her phrase of activation is: The silent cow goes moo at the dawning of the black sun falling to the north.

WEAPONS: To her left side she has a Large Kitchen Knife, her right holster holds a .44 Magnum, and on her back is a standard Assault Rifle.

ITEMS: (Armor posted on Appearance), Repair tools around her belt such as spanners etc, a few mines she sets up when resting, medical basics such as stims, bandages, and radaway. A low inventory of various ammunition, weapons, and armor on her pack Brahim before she meets the group.

PERKS/TRAITS/SKILLS: She has been built to excel in Science, Repair, Small Guns, and Barter. She also is trained in basic Medicine.

TRANSPORTATION: Pack Brahim (Jesse).

NAME: Rath

AGE: Depends on how one would measure it. Since his creation? Old. Since he woke up? Fifteen years...roughly.


RACE: Deathclaw (With an F.E.V. mixer of 'human')

APPEARANCE: A Deathclaw...everyone in the wasteland knows of them, every sane (and most insane) people fear them; and with good reason. Only somebody who is familiar with Deathclaws, and who is not currently part of one's lower G.I. tract, would notice anything physically different between Rath and another of his so called 'kin'. While he shares the same mottled grey/brown skin tones as many other Deathclaws, his body is a bit 'off'. Compared to others he is for lack of a better term 'stocky'; a shorter, thicker body with corresponding shorter and thicker limbs and head.

Though his body may only be slightly different, there is a much bigger indicator that he differs from other Deathclaws; he wears so far as an old tarp fashioned into a hooded cloak can be called 'clothing'. Aside from that he carries a pair of large bags, one to carry food, and the other to hold interesting things he finds along the way, as well as an old portable holotape player and his ever expanding collection of tapes.

Things began with noise, cold and confusion. He awoke on the floor of a bunker to the sound of alarm klaxons and flashing lights, so cold it was hard to think straight; but as he began to warm up, his head began to clear and he looked about.

That lead to his first big shocker, was that he knew the names of things, door, chair, table etc., but nothing of himself. Staggering down corridors too small for his frame, he went looking for answers...and maybe away to shut off that blasted alarm, but all he found were long dead bodies. His first surprise came almost immediately as he reached for a door handle and saw his hand; brown scaly skin covering thick claw tipped fingers...a hand obviously not designed to easily use the various fittings around the facility he was in. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to open the door and set off to continue his investigations.

Eventual exploration took him to a series of offices, and their associated computer terminals; unfortunately many of them had ceased to function, but eventually he found one that was still working and set to work trying to figure out just what was happening. Typing was more than a little frustrating but eventually he gained access to the system, learn a bit about the facility, his creation and most importantly, turn the bloody alarms off.

He learned he was an attempt to make a US Army close combat experiment more controllable, apparently with the heavy use of human D.N.A. and something called the Forced Evolutionary Virus, and that this facility was buried somewhere in a government facility called Fort Detrick. There was more information to be found, but he was rapidly growing agitated at the close confines and more than a little hungry. A bit more probing of the old computers lead him to locating the exit, and with that he made his out of the concrete and steel hole in the ground, and out into the world...or what was left of it. He'd surmised something must not be right on the surface, given the decayed bodies and dilapidated conditions he found, but this was worse than he'd thought. Setting off into this new, fractured, world, he went to first find a meal, and then maybe piece together what had gone on.
For several years he stayed pretty close by, sleeping in the remains of a library, reading what books were left, and returning to the base from time to time to investigate the computers. There were no 'real' humans in the immediate area, though at times he did encounter groups of them that reeked of decay and seemed to attack anything they saw with a suicidal fury. While they posed no real threat, they were a nuisance and tasted awful, so he avoided them when he could. Mostly he ate strange looking deer, cattle and the occasional bear or dog. From time to time in his farther ranging explorations he'd encounter other humans; though his first time went rather poorly.

He'd caught scent of a small group of them, two males, three females and one of the two-headed cows, while he was exploring North of his usual 'home' and decided he should make contact. He was down wind, so tracking them was not too difficult and he stepped out on to the roadway well ahead of them, as to not startle them, but that didn't seem to help. All five seemed to panic at once, and actually opened fire on him with crude firearms; this confused him greatly. Part of him did want to attack them, it'd been awhile since he'd eaten, and he was hungry, but he dismissed that as just an instinctual reaction; their bullets where only slightly more damaging than the bare hands of the rotten feral humans, so they posed no real threat to him. Confused and disheartened he turned away too look for his next meal.

Similar things happened the next few times he tried to interact with bands of humans that he encountered, until he eventually gave up and settled on just getting as close as he could unnoticed so he could listen to and observe them. Some groups were family units, some were just individuals grouped together for safety, and some...some were predatory and almost feral themselves. He grew to dislike the last kind, they stank of chemicals and old blood, and seemed to enjoy death and slaughter for no reason. They rarely ate the humans they killed, and bafflingly they sometimes tried to mate with females they had captured after they killed them. Confused as he was, by both these 'near' ferals and the other humans, with the help of what he'd read, and what he overheard, he was able to piece together the world around him.

The world had been broken by a nuclear war between two great powers, this rubble was what remained of a country once called 'America', the bad tasting feral humans were called 'Feral Ghouls', the 'near feral' humans were generally referred to as 'Raiders' and that he was something called a 'Deathclaw', a beast that any even marginally sane individual feared. This information both explained the previous interaction he'd had with humans, and saddened him; it would be hard to get to know people if they all thought he would eat them as soon as he saw them.
Returning to his solitude, he spent more years alone exploring his 'home' range and expanding his knowledge whenever possible. During one of these explorations he found a working holotape player and a small collection of 'tapes. A couple were personal log entries, which while interesting, were of little use. The ones that really got his attention where a couple of music 'tapes and a spoken recitation of a book called 'The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde'; the duality of the Jekyll/Hyde character speaking to him. With the acquisition of the 'tape player, he began gathering up all the 'tapes he'd previously passed by, some were of little use, but others were fascinating; more music, other stories or snippets of pre-war life, the recorded voices made him feel a little less alone.
Not too much later came the most significant encounter of his life. While out exploring and hunting, he caught wind of Raiders ahead of him, so stepping into cover he waited to avoid confrontation. After a while the band of four males came into view, but immediately he noticed something was off about their behaviour; most travelers he'd observed would poke and inspect various things as they travelled, but these four were methodical, like they were hunting something.

As that thought occurred to him, the wind shifted slightly and he caught another scent. A male and a female, both young and between himself and the Raiders, not far from where he was standing. He was wondering about what was going on when one of the men entered what was left of a house and shouted, which set the other three running to the same place. At the same time the air was filled with terrified screams, a sound he knew well, and the thumping and banging of a fight. Moments later all four men emerged, one carrying a small boy and the other carrying a slightly older girl. The children fought against their captors, but the men were far too strong.

Watching the scene before him, he felt his libs begin to curl, and a hand that had been resting against the ruins of a house began to flex, his claws carving furrows in the old wood; he knew what these men would do, he had seen it often enough, and while some of their words were unknown to him, he could understand the threat they were making to their young captives. Part of him said that interacting with humans was always more trouble than benefit, and his more primitive side, like always, just wanted to kill something, but his conscious mind told him he couldn't let what he knew would happen, happen.

With a roar, he lunged out of hiding and towards the group, all six reacting exactly as he thought they would. One Raider went for a weapon, but as he did so he stopped, and that just meant he died first; a quick slash and he fell to the dirt with his entire front torn open. The second hadn't gotten very far, and he easily caught him with a short jump, ramming his claws through the man's back before casting him aside. The third, in his panic, had tripped over some broken road and was still struggling to his feet when he caught him. He simply brought his foot down hard and carried on. The last one he saw scramble under the rusted remains of a car, and on top of the usual odors was emanating a distinct smell of urine and feces; crouching down he stuck an arm under the wreck and began feeling about. The Raider began opening fire with his crude weapon, but it was of little consequence and once he felt his claws touch something soft, he grabbed hold and dragged the screaming Raider out by his leg, before slamming him into the ground a few times.

With the problems dealt with, he turned back to where they had dropped the children, expecting them both to have run off in the confusion. Instead the girl was still lying face down on the road, while the boy tugged at her and cried for her to move. He'd seen other humans react in similar fashion when one of their own ceased living, though as he got close he couldn't smell any of the distinctive human death smells. At this point the boy noticed him, and was frozen in fear, but that was something that could wait. Hunching down, he sniffed the girl and then cocked his head slightly to listen; though it was nearly overpowered by the boy's rapid heartbeat, he could hear the girl's slow and even. Leaning back, he pondered what to do, more Raiders could come looking for the others, and human young where particularly vulnerable. After another moment or two of thought, he tried something he'd always wanted to, but never had the chance, he spoke'or at least tried to.

When he opened his mouth all he managed was a rasping hiss. This was all he managed for the next few attempts, until in absolute frustration he focused on the most basic break down of the words he could imagine. [
C-An Y-ou H-Ear Me!?
] To his surprise the boy blinked and looked around briefly before focusing back on him. 'Y-y-yes' I...umm think so..M-Mist-t-er D-Deathclaw.' He let out a sigh of relief that left the boy coughing. [
Girl okay. Just sleep. Hit head in fall.
] He went on slowly. The boy relaxed, a tiny bit. [
Where adult humans? Not safe for young alone.
] At this point the boy began to sob. 'T-the Raiders caught us a week ago. I-I think they killed Mom and's only me and sis now.' He said looking at the girl. 'A-are you going to eat us?' [
No. You safe. Need you off street. Good house that way.
] He said, pointing off to his left. 'I can't move her.' The boy said softly, still crying a bit. 'I'm not very strong, and she's heavy.' [
I help then.
] Carefully scooping the girl up so he didn't cut her with his claws he carried her to a mostly intact house while the boy nervously followed. He was too big to fit inside, but the boy was able to drag her on to an old couch. 'P-p-please stay? She'll never believe me?'
The trio ended up staying together for close to a year. The boy and girl, a brother and sister named Roger and Samantha, named him 'Rath' after the sound he made when he yawn, and told him as much as they could about the world that they knew, as well as helping him explore places and buildings he couldn't fit into. Rath protected the children, hunted for them while they grieved, and actually taught them to read a little bit with the materials he had gathered; but as content as he was, and they seemed to be, he knew they belonged with their own kind. Early on Sam had said they had been going to a place called 'Megaton' where her mom had said she had a sister, so eventually Rath proposed that they continue the journey.

After much thought and with some obvious sadness, the children agreed, so long as Rath would come with them as far as he could. He readily agreed to that, and they set about getting ready; Sam found an old tarp, that with a little modification, Rath could throw over himself to make his exact appearance less obvious, and Roger found a pair of pre-war bags so he could bring his collection with him, as well as a length of chain for a rather brilliant idea. Looping the chain into a loose collar, it could be tucked out of Rath's way most of the time, but if necessary Rath could shed his cloak and they could use the chain as a 'lead' to fool possible threats. Roger assumed, rather correctly, that no sane person would want to mess with children who had a 'pet' Deathclaw.

So equipped, they set off towards Megaton, though it was a bit slow going as Rath would have to hang back while one or the other talked to other travelers to get directions, but all in all they made decent time. After an uneventful, for the Capital Wasteland, trip, the entered the ruins of a small town called Springvale, and from the shelter of a surprisingly intact house they could see a sign pointing the way to Megaton, and the tops of its wall sticking up over a low rise. After a few tearful 'goodbyes' on the children's part, Sam and Roger pulled the chain free from Rath's neck and set out towards the town by themselves. Rath was sad to see them go, but there was no question that they were going to be better off. Still, he waited behind the building for close to an hour, just in case, but once he was sure that everything was fine, he set off way from the town.

WEAPONS: Claws, teeth, brains and phenomenally bad breath.

ITEMS: Meat of various types, because sometimes hunting is a pain in the ass.

Nightmare Presence: You are a God. Damned. DEATHCLAW! Anything with two functioning brain cells wants to put as much distance between you and them as quickly as possible.

You're going to eat that!?: As long as it's meat, its food. That said, some types are preferred more than others.

Smarter than your average Deathclaw (or Wastelander for that matter): Between some F.E.V. induced modifications, a pile of neurological imprinting and a whole library to yourself, you're a well-rounded individual with an education surpassing any wasteland 'school'.

Oh God, it won't stop...: Though they're a bit shorter than most, your claws can still rend soft tissue with the best; and while they look like smooth knife blades on the end of each finger, the claws are actually serrated, meaning if the victim somehow survives that initial swipe, they're now bleeding pretty badly.

Fist full of can openers: Your shorter claws backed by your considerable strength means nothing short of power armour, or high strength building materials, can resist them.

Can you hear me? You can hear me!?: The Deathclaw's vocal cords are rather unsuited for human-type speech, but thanks to an F.E.V. related side-effect (intentional or otherwise), you now have a limited from of telepathy. Unfortunately you can't read minds, and it's pretty short ranged, but assuming you can find someone who doesn't flee in terror right away, you can actually talk to them.

Tougher and Slower: The F.E.V. mutations have made your hide tougher beyond the most frenzied nightmares of the average Wastlander, but the trade-off is speed; a fit individual with good stamina, or a good supply of Jet, could out pace you.

Do you think it saw us? YES, YES IT SAW US!: While typical Deathclaws are known to have rather poor eyesight, more of the F.E.V. tampering seems to have solved that. It's not perfect, but it beats trying to find glasses that fit.

Technical Lizardry: With increased intelligence, and nothing better to do, interacting successfully with an old classified computer system has made you rather adept at dealing with those machines (Even if typing can be a bit of a pain).

TRANSPORTATION: Walking. Tried riding a Brahmin once, was too terrified to be steered... got hungry.


Bah weep grah nah neep ninny bom
Nov 20, 2008
NAME: Kristin Blamco (Blamco being the family name. BlamCo would refer to the actual products/business)

AGE: 25

GENDER: Female

RACE: Human (Caucasian)


APPEARANCE: Kristin has unnaturally long, wavy, silver hair which is parted down the middle and worn loose over her shoulders.

Blessed with the traditional kind green eyes, a habit of perpetual smiling and a healthy complexion lends credence to a disposition of unmatched sincerity.

(Some might question her silver hair.)
(- Some have never taste-tested one of the many experimental Blamco products that never reached stores.)

Standing just above average height, Kristin carries herself with immense pride and bold enthusiasm.



"Feel not sympathy for the lactose intolerant. They live in a godless world without cheese." - M.F. Blamco III

Born and raised in New Vegas, Kristin did her part to keep the family business alive and well. Working as a cook by day and determined to revive the Blamco name, Kristin tested her experimental dairy creations by feeding them to the impoverished community with varying degrees of success. Successful new recipes often inspired a sharp increase in business, meanwhile the failed experiments very rarely left any survivors. To her delusional mind, her experimental meals must have been so overwhelmingly good to have resulted in death.

The New Vegas BlamCo branch developed a curious balance of notoriety among the impoverished and heaped appraisal from the mid-to-upper class citizens who received only the highest quality products.

Blamco family tradition stipulates a strong ethical and spiritual code:

1) Praise the Gods of Dairy, for they will provide you with strength.
2) Respect the cheesy properties that hold this world together.
3) Spread the gospel of Blamcoism to the ignorant; they do not know the warmth of milky bosoms just yet.
4) The abominations of this world are clearly not tolerant of the milky sugar. Show them mercy through death.

When there is not any food to be made or people to enlighten. The Blamco's took to month-long mutant-hunting excursions. Primarily to pay their respects to the milky world by the way of purifying the perceived impure, the Blamco family regarded themselves as holy warriors, normal folk regarded them as highly-efficient and overly-preachy "pest control".

Upon Kristin's 25th birthday, tragedy struck as her father was killed in the rare celebratory Super Mutant Behemoth hunt. The New Vegas Blamco branch fell apart due to Kristin's vast inexperience with the managerial aspects of the business.

Death was but an irritation for the proud Blamco family! Condemning New Vegas as unfit to further be blessed by her milky products, she took her inheritance and travelled to the East Coast in hopes of reviving the Blamco Empire elsewhere.

Kristin Blamco, heiress to the illustrious Blamco family fortune, of "BlamCo's Mac & Cheese" fame has arrived in the East Coast of the United States. The Capital Wasteland or so it is called.

BlamCoism is upon you.



Whether it was the influence of her family or the myriad of experimental "food" that Kristin has eaten/tested in her lifetime, there is no doubt that her delusions of Dairy Gods are very much real to her.

Provided that Kristin has fulfilled her daily dairy diet, she is eccentric at best...and delusional at worst.

Kristin is a proud and enthusiastic woman, known to delve into the preaching of dairy products while she cooks. With a passion to entertain and an honest joy for cooking, she will often offer a complimentary meal cobbled together with the nearest ingredients to new company in hopes of spreading the teachings of Blamcoism and creating goodwill for her family's name.

Kristin is also no stranger to combat, having earned her first brutal Super Mutant kill in melee combat at the tender age of 17. With joyous and passionate declarations of pure nonsense/divine fury from an alleged "holy warrior", Kristin laughed at the notion of "fear" and upheld utter recklessness as a badge of honour.

Keeping with tradition, Kristin makes herself available as a hunter of mutants and abominations to get by financially.


- Modified and reinforced Bumper Sword.

The Bumper Sword claimed from her first Super Mutant kill, the weapon's "blade" has been layered, sharpened and a proper grip was integrated into the sword. Whether it bludgeons or slices, the results are never pretty. It's also covered in Limited Edition Blamco stickers, cat stickers and smiley face stickers. Holstered across her back outside of combat.

- Cleaver

Every cook has a favoured utensil. Holstered in a thigh-pouch.


- (Dyed Silver to match her hair.) Basic leather armour with plate armour reinforcements; steel vambraces, pauldrons and greaves. Boots included.

- Courier bag worn over one shoulder containing:

1) Limited Edition BlamCo Mini-Microwave! (Energy Cells not included)
2) A range of spices, ingredients and "Emergency ingredients" (Chems).
3) Limited Edition BlamCo Utensils
4) The one-and-only Grand BlamCo recipe book.
5) Flasks of purified water.
6) 250 caps.

PERKS: Super Slam! [], Presence [], Ferocious Loyalty [].
TRAITS: Heavy Handed [], Kamikaze [].
TAG SKILLS: Melee Weapons, Survival, Speech.

Notes: Despite the ridiculous nature of Kristin's speeches during combat, certain individuals might find themselves oddly inspired and gain a boost to morale.

Kristin's Dairy God delusions will worsen if she is deprived of a BlamCo meal for too long. She won't necessarily become hostile, but you might find her preparing meals from rust-shavings and dirty spiced water with absolute glee. On the flipside, a fulfilled Kristin will provide you with heavenly meals.

Highly skilled with her heavy Bumper Sword, she can carry the weapon with ease and deliver extremely punishing attacks. This is offset by her lack of formal training, which limits her defensive capabilities.

Kristin possesses very limited to no knowledge regarding computers, conventional firearms, energy weapons, explosives, sneaking and medicine.

TRANSPORTATION: In good physical condition, Kristin tends to travel by foot.

NAME: Arizona (Formerly Sergeant Amanda Butcher)

AGE: Older Than You (Pre-War Ghoul, Age 24 when the bombs fell)

GENDER: Female

RACE: Ghoul (Formerly Caucasian)

APPEARANCE: Arizona is a rather wiry Ghoul of average height with the kind of build that speaks of endurance more than strength, and like all Ghouls, her skin is noticeably peeled and patchy, with what's left being leathery and off-colored. Her face, once sharply defined, looks more rough now with it's missing nose, patchy skin, and her missing left eye. Her remaining eye is narrow and a clear spring green, while her scalp still has long tufts of red hair. Her left eye isn't the only thing she lost however, with the ring and little fingers of her left hand being missing as well, due to a bad experience with explosives back before the bombs fell.

Her clothes are reminiscent of her time in the military, consisting of a loose black t-shirt, brown fatigues and a pair of durable, black army boots. She also tends to wear a red bandana around her head, tilted to one side so that it covers her bad eye, and another, blue bandana wrapped around her right forearm.

PERSONALIT: Arizona is defined by her jaded, seen-it-all outlook on the world, her biting sarcasm, and her philosophy to look out for number one. She's also loudmouthed and highly opinionated, particularly after she's been drinking, which she tends to do off-and-on throughout any given day along with smoking. This means that she prefers to be something of a loner, though she usually won't mind being around others if it means she'll have a better chance to survive or get a larger paycheck.

It's because of that mindset that some people think of her as nothing more than a raider-for-hire, but she prefers to think of herself as a woman with 'moral flexibility' and mercenary sensibilities. As such, if it involves her using a gun, there isn't much she won't do for the right amount of caps, though even her 'moral flexibility' draws the line at rape and slavery. However, she isn't above thieving and smuggling, though she finds most chems, and the addicts that take them, to be distasteful, preferring old-fashioned alcohol and nicotine.

Arizona takes some measure of pride in her marksmanship and the fact that she's handy with a blade, though she's hardly a crack-shot. She's also surprisingly good at playing a harmonica, a skill she took up after the bombs fell, unlike her skills with weapons and with an armorer's kit. In fact, whenever given a free moment in a bar, she'll often play her harmonica between drinks, usually getting a few caps for the entertainment.

HISTORY: Amanda Butcher, born in Arizona, was the daughter of a single father, with her mother having died in childbirth. A problem child practically from the beginning, Amanda was fiercely independent and felt the need to do things her way even at a young age. She seemed to coast through school up until her high school graduation without too much trouble, but after her graduation she had gotten into a parking lot brawl defending a friend. In the process, she ended up maiming several of her attackers with a handy pipe, and was arrested shortly after.

The hearing resulted in the Judge giving her a choice: Either a prison sentence for multiple counts of Assault with a Deadly Weapon, or Military service. She chose the Military, and didn't regret it. Enlisting into the Army, she found that she fit right in, enjoying her time with firearms of all kinds, especially tinkering with them. Explosives were another thing entirely however, since she managed to lose part of her left hand thanks to an incident with a grenade. She was eventually trained to be an armorer, maintaining the weapons of her fellow soldiers as they fought against the Red Menace.

Unfortunately, when the war with China had come to a head, both sides launched nukes at one another. Thankfully, Amanda had had enough forewarning to manage to escape the immediate blast radius of the nearest nuke, stealing supplies from her own armory in the process. She wasn't lucky enough to get out of range of the fallout however. Heavily irradiated, the meager radiation meds that she had stolen weren't enough. As she wandered the wastes that the U.S. had become, she was sickly and weak as her skin began to peel and her hair slowly fell out.

The process was slow, and despite how debilitating it was she managed to survive, defending herself from the first raiders that popped up, losing her eye in the first encounter. But she wandered, drifting from place to place until she joined a roving raider band that was recruiting survivors to bolster their numbers. Knowing that there was a better chance of her living another day as a raider, she joined them. By the time she was fully transformed into a Ghoul, the raider band she had joined flourished into a small nomadic tribe, and she abandoned her given name in favor of calling herself Arizona, after the state she was born in.

She stayed with the raider tribe for a few years before she took to drifting across what was left of the country. She would occasionally join other raiders, and even hired herself out to protect a few of the towns that grew after the worst of the fallout settled. While her travels took her throughout the remains of the United States, they eventually led her to Rivet City in the Capital Wasteland, where she looked for an easy way to make some extra caps.

WEAPONS: After the bombs fell, Arizona didn't waste time raiding the weapon stores of the fort she was stationed at, and managed to get away with it.

-Light Machine Gun, modified to have larger (200 Round) magazines. Jokingly nicknamed "Lester".

-Bowie Knife, well cared for and sharpened. Named "Jackie".

ITEMS: Besides, her weapons, Arizona always keeps a few things in her duffel bag, namely:
-A spare change of clothes.

-Three packs of cigarettes and her old First Cavalry Zippo lighter.

-A bottle of Scotch and some Bighorner Jerky.

-An incomplete set of basic armorers tools.

-Spare magazines for her Light Machine Gun, including the single magazine full of the last of her Armor-Piercing Rounds.

-Her slightly beat-up harmonica and a deck of cards.

-Three Stimpaks and a single Med-X.

-Almost 800 Caps.

Old Enough To Know Better - "Almost two centuries of wandering the wastes has made you wily! You detect most hidden traps nearby and can usually avoid them."

Booze Hound - "You sure know how to hold your liquor, drinking alcohol not only has no negative effects, but your drink of choice can make you feel that much tougher."

Grunt - "You're an Army girl through-and-through. Prior service makes you particularly adept with service rifles, light machine guns, and combat knives, so long as they used to be the standard issue."

Walking Armory - "Maintaining arms and armor is old hat to you! Even on the move, the weapons and armor of you and your companions degrade slower, and are easier to repair."

Positively Rad! - "Love the nuke, baby! Anytime you're being actively irradiated, your health regenerates and you get none of the drawbacks those smoothskins do!"

Strength: 6
Perception: 6
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 1
Intelligence: 9
Agility: 8
Luck: 2

'Tagged' Skills: Guns, Repair, Melee
'Secondary' Skills: Survival, Barter

Name: Fiona Callahan
Title: The Deathclaw Whisperer
Age: 18
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Place of Origin: Vault 127 (now Claw City, located within Maryland.)
Appearance: (this picture is a very good reference.)

Long and luxurious, silky red hair frames a face that seems almost fey in nature, with green eyes that seem to almost glow and take in one's soul, this woman could pass as an elf if she had pointed ears, tho she is human.

Her body is curvacious and very well endowed, curving and filled out in all the right places, she bloomed early, her figure means that she would not look out of place in somewhere like Gommorah, she tends to turn heads because she is a genuinely beautiful young woman in the wasteland, and that is a rare sight indeed.

Her attire is designed for traveling, shirt, skirt, with survivalist gear around her waist on a belt, traveling cowboy boots with raised heels, stockings, leather gauntlets. Her attire is designed for ease of movement and to allow stealthy movement when it counts, various pouches exsist both on her belt, and around her shirt and back.

Personality: Fiona was born in Vault 127, the second child of the Overseer (after her brother, Wallace). The two of them were very close, but of the two Fiona was more focused and driven. Her father had designs to make her next Overseer, yet it was a kind and generous nature within her that steered her more towards medicine. She studied this and biology along with the Big Book of Science to excell towards becoming a rank physician, which - while she was well-loved around the Vault - began to strain her relationship with her father. You see, Wallace had no desire to become a leader, nor her, in fact, so that left their father with nothing but anger while their mother supported them from then on.

It wasn't as though her position as a doctor didn't carry its own responsibilities, though. The medical unit was important in Vault 127, a Vault whose social experiment was to determine how an isolated group fairs in a long-term desperate struggle for survival against an unstoppable force. Her studies were important to her because Vault 127's cave was filled with Deathclaws, an entire colony which has not moved the entire time. Every now and then, the Vault Door - whose mechanisms are sealed from tampering and automatic - malfunctions and opens wide, allowing deathclaws - should any be in that part of the cave - to come inside. During one attack, Wallace was killed. She never even got the chance to TRY and save him.

It had always been Fiona's opinion that Deathclaws were intelligent, at least a little. Maybe enough to understand that they were being talked to. When her brother was killed, she fell into a huge depression, unable to move on from the loss. It was at that time that she decided there was nothing else for her to lose and she strode out into the cave when it next opened. The curious thing was...rather than running into any hostiles...what she found was a monstrous wail leading to a chamber where the Matriarch sat hunched over one its babies. The young Deathclaw was barely hanging on, looking like it'd been struck by a powerful weapon. The marks reminded her of a tape on Gauss weapons, but she couldn't be wholly certain. Without even thinking, she came into the room and pulled out her gear. Fiona's life was one of kindness. Even when they killed her brother, she couldn't bring herself to hate them.

Once the youngling was stabilized, she fully expected to die on the spot and just sat there, waiting for it. What she didn't expect was for the Alpha and the Matriarch to bunt her affectionately! From there on, she began to use her research and what she hoped was a bond forming to open up channels with the Deathclaw colony. It was hard at first. In order to keep the things from wandering in, she had to go out and occupy them somehow. What she did was begin to teach them things, get them to retain knowledge and use it, and ultimately become more accepting of her and to leave the people of Vault 127 in peace. They wouldn't exactly leave, of course, but Deathclaws wandered at times. And since the Vault Dwellers had to come out sometime, they established Claw City, Maryland...though their Deathclaw Whisperer was going to live out her brother's dream, which was to see the world and what it had become.

-Salvaged Chinese Assault Rifle, modified with a scope for better accuracy and less recoil.

-Ripper: Usually used as a bone saw, sometimes used in melee.


-Deathclaw Scent Markers: Designed by Fiona to help her communicate with her deathclaws, changes the scent mark to signify her mood and if she is in danger, also used in other methods of communication. These range from bullets specifically designed to mark a target with a scent, to vials of pheromones that tell them to ignore an area.

-Pipboy 3000: Pristine Pipboy 3000 used by Vault Dwellers. Acquired from her time in Vault 127. Has a picture of a kitten on the screen.

-Spare change of clothes incase she needs em.

-Vault Doctor's Kit, includes various things such as tubing, syringes, various doctor's tools including medical sutures and surgical cutting tools.

-Survivalist Kit, includes foods, stimpacks, med and rad-xs, radaway, and also various herbal remedies and anti-venom.

-Pure Water, bottles of pure water straight from Vault 127.

-Spare Ammo for her assault rifle.



Deathclaw Whisperer: "You can talk to and befriend one of the most feared predators on the wasteland, convincing them to follow and aid you. Many people fear you for this."

Good Natured: "You are a kind-hearted soul who is happiest when she is helping people, but at the same time, you are not very good at combat."


Vault Doctor: You bring the knowledge of pre-war medical capabilities and tools to the wasteland, because of this, any companions that follow you get more use out of Stimpaks and other medical chems, as well as a chance of fatal wounds being taken care of due to the advanced medical knowledge from the vault, companions are also more resistant to venom due to advanced medical knowledge.

Educated: "You are highly educated, having been taught inside of a Vault most of your life, You tend to learn faster especially in skill-related area."

Hypnotic Beauty: "You are one beautiful young woman, which give you an advantage in speech checks and barter checks, allowing you to charm your way into what you need."
Note: Cannot actually hypnotize, this is just a charisma check.


Strength: 2
Perception: 7
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 10
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 3
Luck: 5

'Tagged' Skills: Medicine, Survival, Speech.
'Secondary' Skills: Science, Barter

Transport: Totally badass looking motorcycle, also carries a storage thing on the back end that she uses for various stuff.

Note: Fiona is very much not designed for heavy combat, she lets her deathclaws do much of the fighting for her, while she tends to help them with medicine and whatnot.

Note 2: The Deathclaws that Fiona utilizes, behave more intelligently, (much like in fallout 4, yes, this even means they move side to side like roller skaters and dodge bullets.), they are not invincible, and they are there for her defense, not to ravage the countryside.

Note 3: Here is a good image of her Deathclaws.

Nightmare Fuel yet, bubs?

Deathclaw Number: 3

NAME: Dr. Jenna Sorenson

AGE: 25

GENDER: Female

RACE: Human

APPEARANCE: To most, Dr. Sorenson's appearance is simply that of her All-purpose Science Suit: A white Radiation Jumpsuit fitted with various black hoses and a small black device below the collar, with an orange domed helmet and the symbol of the Followers of the Apocalypse emblazoned on the left breast, and a red medic's armband, complete with white cross, wrapped around her upper right arm. She also, strangely enough, has a beat-up Pip-Boy 3000 on her left arm, painted a matte black with the screen tint modified to be red.

The black device below her Science Suit's helmet is a jury-rigged holographic projector, set to emit holographic expressions just in front of her helmet. Each expression is clearly feminine and looks like a simple cartoonish version of a frown, smile, etc., in red light, and is linked to her Pip-Boy. However, due to her Pip-Boy being salvaged and tampered with, occasionally her "Expression Generator", will malfunction and flip through several expressions at once or flicker at odd moments.

Beyond that, her real appearance is a complete mystery, though it is easy to tell that she is a tall woman standing just over six feet with an average build, if rather buxom.

PERSONALITY: Dr. Sorenson could easily be described as a very cheerful, very perky Doctor, determined to find the silver lining in almost any misfortune. While some find her "Look on the bright side!" outlook to be grating, her patients tend to find it both encouraging and endearing, but even Jenna's stubborn optimism can wane. Though she does what she can to hide it from the public, particularly any patients of hers, she's nervous in crowds and just a little shy. Due to the fact that it helps her cope with said nerves, she rarely ever leaves the confines of her Science Suit unless she absolutely has to. Since no one can see her facial expressions behind the helmet, she tends to trace simple frowns or smiles along the helmet with her finger to get some emotions across.

Having been a Follower of the Apocalypse practically since birth, she believes in their ideals wholeheartedly and is a generally compassionate woman, ready and willing to help anyone who is in need, though she will draw the line at helping someone who will promptly go on to hurt innocents. She is also an intensely curious woman, and whenever she encounters any new and unfamiliar technology she immediately regards it with a sense of wonder and fascination. More than once has that caused her to take apart something that she shouldn't.

While intelligent, dexterous, and generally well-educated, especially in the Wastes, Jenna is anything but graceful, and has almost no stamina regarding physical activities, making her poorly suited for being a survivalist. Her place is ultimately in a lab or clinic and she knows it, but the allure of the field, with untapped caches of lost tech and the needs of those who have to live in the wastes are too hard for her to resist or deny.

HISTORY: Jenna Sorenson was born and raised in the Angel's Boneyard in the New California Republic, her mother being a member of the Followers of the Apocalypse with her father was a local prospector, picking over the few abandoned buildings left in the area of hope of something valuable that was passed over. Throughout most of her childhood, she spent most of her time with her mother, often left to read in the Boneyard Library while her mother saw to patients, with her father abroad searching for fortune in the rubble. As a young girl, Jenna turned out to be immensely curious, and thought that perusing the books on offer at the library was always a new adventure, something her mother actively encouraged.

By the time she had turned 10, she was already becoming a voracious reader, and had started to make noises about following her mother's footsteps as a Follower of the Apocalypse. It was around that same time that her father, off looking for lost treasures and salvage, had failed to come back from his latest expedition like he normally would. Despite the worry, the two simply put it off as him taking longer than usual to return.

When it came time for proper schooling, ostensibly as preparation for becoming a proper Follower of the Apocalypse, Jenna and her mother had all but given up on her father's return, as several years had passed with no word. And by that point, one of Jenna's other quirks had come into play: Her uneasiness in crowds, specifically the other students. Despite her natural hunger for knowledge, her studies suffered from her actively trying to avoid being around too many people at once, often spending most of her time in a quiet corner away from the rest of the others.

Over time, she managed to push through her nerves and simply focus on learning, which she took to with vigor after she shut out the world around her, often for long stretches of time. When the time came for graduation, Jenna was easily at the top of her class, showing quite the aptitude regarding advanced technologies, handling Energy-based arms, and was a competent medical physician.

Earning her place among the Followers, she launched into helping with relief efforts abroad, making her away across the West Coast into what was left of the Central U.S., with particular focus on finding and restoring lost tech that would help rebuild civilization. Along the way, she had stopped off at the Old Mormon Fort in Freeside and collaborated with a fellow Follower, a charming man by the name of Arcade Gannon, who helped make a holographic projector to give her a "face" while in her Science Suit. What came as a shock to her was hearing about Caesar's Legion, a massive tribal nation from the East, founded by a Follower of the Apocalypse bent on power and conquest, absorbing every tribe they could into the fold on their journey West.

Learning about the Legion from trading caravans, she made a point to avoid them as much as possible, though thanks to the NCR, as well as reports of walking corpses, cyberized by the Enclave, the trading routes East were largely free-and-clear of the Legion. But those trading caravans that were coming from the East Coast had given her another piece of very valuable information: News that in what used to be Washington D.C., there was a massive water purifier being used to clean up the entire Potomac River of filth and radiation, with the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel actually distributing the water to the public.

The very idea of a water purifier being made on that scale and working was astonishing, and Jenna couldn't help but wonder at how much it could improve the quality of life in the Wastes, if only it could be reproduced elsewhere. And the other applications were potentially groundbreaking for the Followers: RadAway was all well and dandy when it came to removing radiation from the body, or when added to irradiated food, but if one could somehow remove radiation from soil? Or even groundwater?

Making up her mind, she immediately began her journey Eastward into the Capital Wasteland, making her way to the first stop that the caravan had recommended to her: Megaton.

WEAPONS: Despite the fact that, as a Follower of the Apocalypse, Dr. Sorenson is generally pacifistic, the Wasteland is a dangerous place. Trained with Energy Weapons, she took to modifying them as well.

-The "AER9.6" Laser Rifle, modified with a high-intensity focusing lens and an electronic scope. The body is painted a matte black, like her Pip-Boy

-Ripper, usually used as an automatic bone saw, only used in the most dire of situations with no other options at hand.

ITEMS: Besides the Doctor Variant All-purpose Science Suit and "AER9.6" Laser Rifle that she carries with her, her Follower's Pack includes:

-A spare change of clothes, likely never worn.

-A salvaged Pip-Boy 3000, modified specifically to aid in Scientific and Medical pursuits. A little glitchy and prone to malfunction.

-An "Expression Generator" holographic projector, jury rigged by a fellow Follower and herself, linked to her Pip-Boy. As such, is also prone to glitches.

-A Follower's Doctor's Bag, including a Ripper that doubles as a Bone Saw, Surgical Tubing, Syringes, etc.

-A Follower's Tool Kit, meant for maintaining and interfacing with abandoned and derelict tech.

-A small supply of Stimpaks, Med-X, Rad-X, RadAway and a Blood Bag.

-A Caravan Lunch and several bottles of Aqua Pura.

-Spare Microfusion Cells

Trust Me, I'm A Doctor - "You're a Doctor, you're there to help and everyone can just tell. You get a boost to Speech and Barter whenever it relates to your humanitarian efforts."

Very Model of an Apocalyptic Scientist - "If you know how it ticks, you can fix it better than ever! You can patch up people and fix broken tech more effectively, so long as you learned about them beforehand or handled it personally."

Set Lasers to Fun! - "Energy Weapons are just better, Lasers specifically! Any Laser Weapon you use get's an automatic tune-up, making it fire more intense, more accurate beams."

Wasteland Healthcare - "As a medical professional, you care about your patients. Any companions that travel with you benefit from having any medical chems (Such as Med-X and Stimpaks) being more effective with you around, as well as being harder to cripple."

Vigilant Recycler - "Don't let those spent Energy Cells go to waste! You know all of the tricks to recharging and recycling spent ammunition for Energy Weapons, as well as knowing how to optimize the basic variants."

Strength: 3
Perception: 10
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 6
Intelligence: 10
Agility: 3
Luck: 5

'Tagged' Skills: Science, Medicine, Repair
'Secondary' Skills: Energy Weapons, Speech


Bah weep grah nah neep ninny bom
Nov 20, 2008
NAME: Charlie Cannon

AGE: 19


RACE: Human (Caucasian)

Standing at around 6'1, Charlie is a slender fellow. He is leanly muscled with no fat on his frame at all.

He has wide blue eyes and keeps his light brown hair cut short. His face is very youthful and heavily freckled from working long days outdoors. He has grown some patchy stubble in an attempt to make himself look older (unsuccessfully). Small burns cover his calloused hands, with the left missing both ring and pinkie fingers.

His standard attire consists of grey trousers, a light tan shirt and a brahmin leather jacket. Usually seen wearing a red baseball cap and tough work boots.

Generally very friendly and easy going. Always willing to lend a hand to someone in trouble, which has resulted in him being taken advantage of more than once. Despite his honest nature he struggles with conversation, especially with females.

He won't back down from a fight and will often rush into one if he feels that someone is being threatened. He has very strong moral views and doesn't react well to bullying and violence. He's assisted in defending his home numerous times from bandits and raiders.

Explosives are fascinating to him and he loves to tinker with them and make his own. The burns and missing fingers are testament to this dangerous hobby. His dream is to one day own a workshop where he can make his own explosive weaponry. Energy weapons also interest him greatly yet he has never succeeded in acquiring one.

Growing up on a brahmin ranch in the Capital Wasteland, Charlie always dreamed of travelling the wastes. His father's tales of the Brotherhood of Steel with their mighty energy weapons and power armour in particular caught his attention, and he longed more than anything to find and join them. He had always loved tinkering with and creating explosives and he imagined energy weapons would be even more enjoyable. His father made the Brotherhood sound wonderful too; according to him they would lead the world into a bright new future with their miraculous technology.

Charlie knew he couldn't leave until his younger brothers and sisters could help their parents run the ranch without his help though. It was an agonizing wait for several years, until finally he felt that he wouldn't be leaving the family in jeopardy without him. That night he stuffed enough food and water to last him several days into his rucksack, along with a large quantity of his homemade explosives and supplies to make more. Grabbing his trusty machete and leaving his goodbye note on the table, he stepped out into the dark wasteland and set off on his journey.

- Sack of homemade dynamite
- Weathered machete

- Several days worth of brahmin jerky and purified water
- Battered old Zippo lighter and spare fluid
- Various bits and pieces used in his explosives (duct tape, cans etc.)

PERKS: Mad Bomber, Demolition Expert, Animal Friend
TRAITS: Hoarder
Very fit and agile, can run for miles. This makes him a surprisingly quick melee combatant, although his technique is a little clumsy. Fairly intelligent and lucky (otherwise he would have blown himself up by now). Has terrible charisma though and gets nervous around females (especially attractive ones). Prone to getting conned and paying more for things than what they're worth.

TRANSPORTATION: A set of good work boots

Name: Constance Sorrowfeld
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Race: Human-ish

Appearance: said:
Standing at Five Foot Seven Inches tall, Constance Sorrowfeld is actually only Five Foot Five Inches tall if you exclude the two inch tall shiny and metallic cat ears that have been surgically implanted amid her black with blue streaked head of hair, worn short. This is not to say that they make Constance Sorrowfeld looks like some sort of anime humanoid cat, it's her long catlike vestigial tail that makes that particular illusion complete. Also, it should be noted that she does not have cat eyes. Her brown eyes look a bit hazy, like she is blind, which she is.

And what, pray tell, does one wear when one has a tail sticking out of one's rear? Well it does not matter when one is a member of the American Enclave Scouts of America. You wear what everyone else wears. The all black female uniform consisting of a black heavy wool jacket, black badge sash and black skirt. Let us not forget the standard issue matching black knee and elbow pads that offer what little comfort they can whilst a member of the American Enclave Scouts of America is crawling about on one of the training courses, earning which ever flavor of badge is available that day.

This does not mean that they are not allowed a small amount of liberty with their uniforms. An American Enclave Scout of America is allowed to customize their pack as a means of cultivating their own individuality, though it is more for psychological evaluation than anything else. In Constance Sorrowfeld's case, she has opted for a pack that looks like a large teddy bear hugging her from behind.
Personality said:
Cool, Calm, Professional. Those are the words that Constance would use to describe herself though her Scout Master would use other not so nice words to describe her. Extremist Fan-Girl would be the first phrase the Scout Master would most likely use since he made the mistake of having Natsuki Manriki address the Scout Master's Troop. Ever since that day, Constance has been doing everything that she would to be like Natsuki, or at least what her idea of Natsuki is and at times has become almost a Natsuki stalker. Rumor is that Constance made a shrine to Natsuki and FalloutJack somewhere on the outskirts of the American Enclave Scouts of America Troop Barracks (This is true).

When she is not acting like a Natsuki wannabe, Trooper Sorrowfeld is looking for ways to further the Enclave's mission of bringing order and love into the Wastelands. She spends much of her free time preaching the Word in various towns. This has resulted in many people sitting long sharp objects into their ear canals just to get Constance to be quite (Lies!). This is all in the hopes that some day when she is old enough, she will be posted in the same unit as her idol, Natsuki.
Weapons said:
12 Gauge Pump Action Shotgun: It packs quite the kick for a girl Constance's size but the fact that she can hit the side of a barn with just one shot suits her just fine. Plus it comes with various ammunition types from Slugs to Buckshot to Explosive to Utility.

Short Sword: Mostly for chopping things.

Deathclaw Gauntlet: Back in the troop, she heard the rhythmic charge of an oncoming Deathclaw first and alerted the others, wherein they all proceeded to blast at it until dead. For this, the scoutmaster converted the beast's right hand into a weapon as reward for the act. NOTE: Jack added this.
Items said:
Teddy Bear Backpack: It is a backpack that looks like a Teddy Bear.
Purified Wafer: Colorless, odorless, tasteless. Good old water
Enclave Issued MRE: Just like mother used to make, at least it would be if Constance remembered her mother at all.
Medical Kit: In case of boo boos.
Rad-X and Rad Away: The last thing anyone wants is a second tail.
Perks said:
Sonar Vision: The cat like ears grafted the the top of Constance's head are not just for show. They are, in fact, millimeter wave radar dishes that allow Constance to see the world around her. They are far superior to normal sight in almost every way save one. They do not allow Constance to see in color, making the girl legally color blind: A disability that would prohibit Trooper Sorrowfeld from joining the military branch of the Enclave - a fact that no one has had the heart to tell her.

Amateur Shotgun Surgeon: With superior sight come superior aim, so much so that Constance has been known to perform ad hoc amputations with her shotgun.

Super-Balanced: The Tail is not just for show either. While no one has tried to drop her off the side of a cliff to see if she would land on her feet, she does manage to stay on a balance beam for quite a while.
Transportation: said:
A Short Black Bus: Typically used to transport a Troop of American Enclave Scouts of America, Constance was able to convince the Troop Master to let her borrow the Bus for her upcoming secret mission:

NAME: Dudley Sullivan

AGE: 26 and a half.

GENDER: Male, last time he checked.

RACE: Human

APPEARANCE: Mountain of a man, at around 6'7 and 350lbs, he's about half muscle and half fat. Normally wears a Merc Troublemaker kind of outfit, with long, combed back dark blond hair and a rather large beard as well. Has dark blue eyes and is missing a tooth on the side, thanks to that one girl in a bar he insulted. (he can't remember which one.)

PERSONALITY: He's pretty cool-headed, and always one to try and crack a joke, especially when drunk. But he can get violent fast if something pisses him off. Also one to try to hit on ladies, especially older ones and those who are quite different than him. He had a ghoul for a sweetheart back in his hometown. Living with 13 brothers and sisters would make anyone nuts, but he was actually one of the least troublemaking of all, but still ran afoul of the local sheriff once or twice thanks to his mouth.

WEAPONS: Normally carries around an old avenger minigun he picked up from a merchant who said he came from the West Coast, and had bought it from a salesman in San Fran himself. He would've bought a Vindicator, but he didn't have the kind of cash on him. Aside from that, he normally carries around a fireaxe with the handle snapped in half, and a bowie knife in his boot.

ITEMS: Has a bunch of tools in a pack that he keeps his food in, normally used for fixing up his transportation and other things for money, when he can't get merc or guard jobs. Aside from a deck of cards to mess around with when he's bored, he travels light.

PERKS/TRAITS/SKILLS: He can sing and play a guitar, which seems like it's a rare thing in the wastelands nowadays. He also believes he's skilled in the fine art of verbal persuasion (otherwise known as BS), and is quite strong and sturdy. Aside from that, he can't really move all that fast, and prefers to stay in one spot and spray bullets at whatever's his target, but if he has to he'll hit it and hard with whatever object seems to be nearby. Also quite mechanically inclined, judging by how well his vehicle has held up and the fact he gets some pretty good mechanical jobs.

TRANSPORTATION: Jury rigged a form of a three-wheeled motorcycle from the parts of two abandoned motorcycles and a Corvega, and also using the motors from a couple of old rippers. He keeps it running with microfusion and energy cells, the same thing that keeps Rippers running.

NAME: William Knight.

AGE: 25


RACE: Caucasian, Anglo-Saxon

APPEARANCE: Height of 5'8 and weight of around 9 stone. This gives him a slim build. Short-ish black hair and green eyes. Mostly clean shaven but when there isn't time, a stubbly beard develops. Has a posh, if cold accent that would be closest to British. Tries to keep a mostly clean and presentable look (as much as possible in the wasteland anyway) so wears a shirt, tie and waistcoat scavenged from a clothes shop, wearing dark blue jeans with a few scratches on the right knee. Would be considered handsome, if his face wasn't normally fixed in a glare.

PERSONALITY: Used to be rather upbeat and cheerful, talkative and persuasive, it was William's job to be an ambassador for his community to other tribes and towns, organising trade and friendly relations. However, after slavers attacked his community, murdering, raping, pillaging and taking their prizes, William has become much colder. Being part of a 16 person group that fled the community shattered William's previous naive nature as a nightmarish journey ensued. With the slavers in hot pursuit, the group had to scavenge and steal most of their supplies. But with such a large group, no amount of scavenging could sustain them. William became more desensitised to death as the group was ravaged by starvation, disease and predators. The group was reduced to ten haggard wanderers without a purpose, unsure if the slavers were still pursuing. With no true goal, infighting and petty disputes stretched the group to breaking point. When three of the groups most able members were killed by a grenade bouquet trap the fragile peace shattered. Words were spoken, punches thrown and guns drawn, then William talked them down and in the morning each went their separate ways realising how much they hated each other after their ordeal. William kept walking, wandering, until he found another settlement where he stayed for a while, yet could not settle. He eventually left the town for pastures new, even though he doubted he would find anything better.

WEAPONS: William uses a Katana replica which he "relieved" from a shop. The blade is still very sharp and could certainly do lethal damage. He also uses a 45. pistol, but he is not that accurate with it and mainly uses it for threatening people. He carries 23 rounds for it.

ITEMS: 87 caps, Anver Ambassador's Outfit, a 'lucky' dice and a backpack to store his gear in containing two bottles of purified water and enough food for a few days. 2 Fission Batteries. It also contains a gift given to him by on of the Anver residents, but he shows the gift to nobody.

PERKS/TRAITS/SKILLS: Has the Good Natured trait to represent his slant towards speech. Has the 'Terrifying Presence' perk and the 'Light Touch' perk. Very good at resolving problems with words and if the situation demands it, can fight well with his Katana. Is not bad with his pistol but certainly not a famed marksman. Tag skills would be Speech, Barter and Melee Weapons with a reasonable Guns skill.

TRANSPORTATION: Since wandering the wastes, has acquired a motorbike that has been modified to run on Fission Batteries, yet often needs repairing and since William is no mechanic, needs help with.

NAME: Tracy the Chem Fiend

AGE: 27


RACE: Human, Caucasian

APPEARANCE: Tracy is a tall young man with the slight emaciation that's standard for any barely-nourished Wasteland junkie. Even if he wasn't addicted to every chem under the sun, he would still have a skinny build with little to no real muscle tone. His skin is lightly tanned but otherwise fair, while his hair is a golden blonde, but had clearly seen better days with patches of long locks on an otherwise barely-fuzzy scalp. Tracy's face could almost be considered sculpted and classically handsome with a strong chin, high cheeks and pointed nose, heavy-lidded and dreamy blue eyes under well-shaped eyebrows, and full, if chapped, lips. The only blemishes on his face are the dark circles under his eyes, gaunt cheeks, and a very prominent scar between his eyes. However, those blemishes, while covered with white face-paint depicting a skull, make him appear more devilishly handsome, befitting an alluring bad boy.

His clothes and armor consist of a brown leather harness and leather pants, with scrap-metal armor plating on his left arm, wrapped with bright red neon tubing connected to a power-pack on his hip, a spiked tire pauldron on his right shoulder, worn down bikers boots and spiked knee-pads, and lastly a prominent and polished metal cod-piece with a yellow smiley face painted on it.

PERSONALITY: Tracy is first and foremost a hedonist, usually concerned with nothing more than his next high, his next lay, or his next profit. He is selfish and narcissistic, which only gets worse when hopped up on chems to the point that he feels like an invincible warrior and a genius. As such, he rarely ever considers the people he tends to run roughshod over as anything more than momentary distractions at best, or in his way at worst.

After an encounter with a one-eyed Ghoul wielding a light machine gun, however, his brain was lightly scrambled with a bit of lead that resides in his skull to this day. As a side-effect of that not-quite-fatal bullet, he has become, in his own words, "moody", which is to say that his own disposition can vary widely depending on the chems he takes. While before, he wasn't swayed so much by the high, his tenuous grasp of reality and sense has been thoroughly shaken to the point that he may as well be a completely different person when he happens to be on Psycho, or Mentats, while Jet seems to make him resemble his old self the most. He has even become prone to hallucinations when not on some kind of drug.

Another side-effect of that encounter, however, was a sudden violent hatred toward anyone and anything that isn't a untainted human. Even those with a sixth toe will set Tracy off. This hatred towards mutants has focused itself to a far more palpable urge to seek revenge on the one responsible for his cranial lead-poisoning: The Ghoul named Arizona.

HISTORY: Growing up in The Neon, a Raider City built from the "ruins" of Detroit in Michigan, Tracy was the son of a now-nameless junkie whore that worked in the bazaar district of The Neon called Heaven's Marketplace, and some unknown customer of hers. While for the first few years of his life, he was taken care of by his mother who meant well but had the maternal instincts of a radroach, he was eventually given to one of the local chem dealers of Heaven's Marketplace as a way to settle her ever-increasing debts, as well as relieve an ultimately unwanted burden from her.

The man who had effectively adopted him wasn't much better, being a mid-level dealer who had no interest in a brat of his own. Still, he resigned himself to taking care of the boy, whom he named Tracy. Which meant educating him on the chem trade when he grew older. Math involved profit margins, while English meant reading warning labels and mixing instructions, while Chemistry was the most fun. That was when he got treats in the form of Jet, cigarettes, and beer. And while it was clear from the start that young Tracy wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he had a knack for chemistry.

He used that knack to split away from his foster father not long before the man was killed on the streets by a desperate repeat customer, and started his own business, one that had just begun to flourish. And it would have been truly successful if it hadn't been for the competition: A mangy little ***** named Sweet Sue and her own personal crew of enforcers, cooks, and dealers. What little turf he had, he was being muscled out of by Sweet Sue, to the point that he had to hire an outsider to solve his problem: A female Ghoul carrying a big machine gun.

And she did the job too, Sweet Sue and her crew all lay dead in their chem lab, some of them in mangled, bloody chunks. But when the outsider returned to take her pay, she turned on him the moment the caps were handed over. She put a single bullet in his head, but before she could plug another round into his skull, his own crew proved to be far more pressing. He woke up half-an-hour later with a bullet in his brain, his entire operation destroyed, and the person responsible gone.

It took him months to fully recover, patching himself up and liberally self-medicating, but he was never truly the same again. He began to see Super Mutants and Ghouls as disgusting things, less than the mud and shit he had to step on in The Neon, and he wanted payback on that Ghoul *****. Only he had no idea where she went, and the Wastes were huge.

It took him the better part of eight years to finally find her trail and stick to it. He asked everyone he encountered if they saw her, knew where she went. Bartenders, local drunks and junkies, traveling caravans and whores. Then he found a rather gnarly dude who said he was from some Undertaker's Union who seemed to immediately clue in on who he was talking about. The man said to look in the Capital Wasteland, and even handed him some caps for his trouble, which Tracy was more than happy to take off his hands.

His first stop? Rivet City.

WEAPONS: Hailing from The Neon in Michigan, Tracy is armed with a motley assortment of weapons that speak of how he was a big-shot chem cook back home.

-Syringer Rifle modified with a Precision Recon Scope, named "The Good Shit". Loaded with either Pax, Lock-Joint or Bloatfly Larva syringes.

-Rusted Makeshift Machete called "The Point. Does not actually have a pointed end.

-10mm Pistol, crudely painted black and red and modified with a custom comfort grip branded with a bright red Devil, appropriately named "Lil Devil".

ITEMS: Being surprisingly unused to surviving in the roughest parts of the wastes, Tracy travels light with only what he considers the essentials in his bag.

-A Vault-Tec Junior Chemists Science Set, complete with just enough supplies to make one or two batches of various chems.

-10mm Ammunition and his weaponized Syringes.

-Various chems including: 13 inhalers of Jet, 2 syringes of Med-X, 10 tablets of Mentats (6 regular, 2 Berry, 1 Grape, 1 Party Time) , 5 pills of Buffout, 7 doses of Psycho, 2 inhalers of Steady, 2 inhalers of Ultrajet, 1 inhaler of Rocket, 1 syringe of Daddy-O, 3 tablets of Day Tripper, two bottles of Absinthe and one bottle of Tequila.

-Various used-up inhalers, syringes and empty bottles.

-Three packs of hand-rolled cigarettes laced with Daddy-O and a cheap throwaway lighter.

Fear and Loathing in the Wastes - "If it's a chem you can drink, snort, inject, inhale or even shove up an orifice, you're addicted to it. In fact, you have so many addictions, even your body can't keep them all straight. When affected by any chem, you can avoid any forms of withdrawal you otherwise would suffer from, but when you aren't, you suffer all of them at once."

Make the Wastelands Great Again - "You know what's putting the Wastes in the shitter? Those filthy muties. You despise Super Mutants and Ghouls of all stripes, and they despise you in turn, giving you a permanent Speech penalty in exchange for doing even more damage against them."

Handsome Devil - "You've got a bad reputation, but folks are suckers for the 'Bad Boy'. You have obviously negative karma and are disliked by reputation, but you get a bonus to both Speech and Charisma checks, and you might get lucky with the right man or woman."

Too High to Die - "When you're high as a kite, it'd be shame to let it go to waste with an untimely death. When under the effects of any chem, you find it easier to ignore all but truly debilitating wounds."

Idiot Savant - "You know that it's better to be lucky than smart. Your uncanny luck and outside-of-the-box thinking make you the perfect candidate to come up with some ideas or discoveries that no one else could, because they weren't dumb enough to think of it."

Strength: 3
Perception: 5
Endurance: 10
Charisma: 6
Intelligence: 3
Agility: 5
Luck: 8

'Tagged' Skills: Medicine, Speech, Melee Weapons
'Secondary' Skills: Guns, Barter


Name: Morgan Bloom.
Race: Ghoul (Formerly Caucasian)
Age: Pre-war ghoul, but he won't give an exact number.
Apperance: Ghoulified, but very well dressed. (Top hat, monocle, walking cane, the whole shebang)

Weapons: Fighting is for the people he pays to do it for him. Do hired mercs count as a weapon?
Items: A sizable supply of caps, pre-war money, and whatever supplies are valuable at the time.
Transportation: A refurbished and armored limo that runs on microfusion cells, because walking is for peasants.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L. 4, 8, 4, 10, 8, 5, 9.
Tag skills: Barter, Speech, Leadership (Homebrew stat increases the effectiveness of followers)

Traits: Ghoul. Motivated buyer. (Each follower in your party improves prices you get through intimidation)
Perks: Ferocious Loyalty, Fortune Finder, Master Trader.

Bio: An old-money industrialist before the war, Morgan knew the nuclear war was coming and decided that hiding in a vault was not befitting of a man of his stature. Instead he planned to rule the wasteland through financial control. He reinforced his house so he could survive the initial exposure and stockpiled anything that would be valuable.
Flash forward to now.
Even if raiders cannot be bought off, the people who can shoot them can.

Name: Liberty Minor.
Race: Robot.
Age: 2.
Appearance: A miniaturized (Man-sized) Liberty Prime.
Weapons: Scaled-down Liberty Laser, Back mounted mini-nukes.
Other items: None at the moment.

Bio: After the destruction of the original LP, the Brotherhood decided rebuilding it would be too much trouble, and instead decided to copy its software into a scaled down prototype for mass production. During testing however, it ran off in search of "Communists".

NAME: Isaac Black

AGE: Indeterminate adult age


RACE: Human, but...

APPEARANCE: Isaac is a Caucasian dark-haired male with deep-brown eyes, minor scarring due to some of his...interesting times. Nothing that marrs his good looks, overall. The hair is short and generally smoothed back. His physique is that of a soldier, tried-and-true in most times of action. His body is...a little odd right now, which he is lately finding out since...he has been recently brought back to life in a weird radioactive coffin. Until he finds something decent, his clothes are scavenged from whatever dumbass attempts to kill him, which will be VERY hard to do.

PERSONALITY: On the surface, Isaac Black is a decent man, dedicated family man, and a decent trader. Below the surface...he is STILL a decent man, but one who has first come from a secret organization that ISN'T so decent and second had dealings in the dark to deal with that because of the way that he is. Isaac is a man of careful precision combined with a reasonable amount of guts to do what must be done and risk his life for the sake of others. He has done so already on a number of occasions. He is also a caring individual who will not be wasting his newfound life.



BIO: FalloutIsaac...

The sooner you get your head around that, the better. He was once a member of the Fallout Sector within the Enclave. That is his true origin. Mentor to FalloutJack, he is skilled in many fields and forms of attack. It was, however, his act against the Enclave - the theft of the weapon that would prove they were back - that began the terrible story for one Lucy Black, his daughter. Isaac was out to stop them from nflicting hell upon the wastes. He knew that Number One and the weapons development vault would spring them back into power. He tried to get the local powers of the Capital Wasteland and everywhere else the proof, so they could be put to rest for good, but he was too late. They found out, they followed him, they killed him, and they only allowed Lucy to go so that she could do their work on some capacity. Lucy was left alone in the world. The Brotherhood of Steel recovered the body, kept it safe, and used an opportunity to trick some strange ghouls into enacting their radioactive rite on him instead of Frank Rose. Now, Isaac is back...

[HEADING=2]How Did It All Come To This?[/HEADING]​

It all started when there was a sudden break-in at GNR by several vertibirds. Three guesses who was behind it. A number of black armored troops led by a particularly-strong Tesla Soldier of the Enclave stormed into GNR in the middle of a Three Dog broadcast, where he forced the man to get off to make his own broadcast. The soldier identified himself as FalloutGreg and that a new regime in the Enclave had passed, one that wanted people in the public to be a part of it. This was to be their one and only transmission on an open frequency and the apparent member of the 'Fallout Sector' left soon after delivering his message...having gone through a load of Brotherhood of Steel Paladins to do it. The Enclave appeared to be up to something, publically up to something, and not fearing the retribution. You could see their vehicles moving openly sometimes, and while there is no official word on their combat maneuvers, they've been dropping these "ENCLAVE WANTS YOU" posters all over the place, urging people to join up. You can guess what open opposition meant, and ever worse what wearing any BoS material made you. And that isn't all. There's something funny going on with some of the super mutants, AND the ghouls. Hell, there's even some question of trouble with some of the Nuka Cola. But enough about my schtick. Tell me something.


Pink Gregory

New member
Jul 30, 2008

Since last interview, Abe has resolved to set out for the nearest sign of human settlement, after complaining of "Abe's ol' poor leg givin' me the jip again." Although he currently is lacking enough bottle caps for a Follower-certified full treatment and redressing, he hopes to, in his words, "find me some uh dem magic pills that make it feel no heavier'n the Rocky Mountain breeze."
It's entirely possible that he means painkillers, it is unknown whether Abe, like many other inhabitants of the wasteland, has a taste for Great Khan 'chems'; but given his apparent reliance on his 'Special Reserve' liquor, this reporter believes that it's more than likely.

-UPDATE- Apparently unable to bear any sort of load, Abe has tasked me with ferrying an apple crate of bottled moonshine (I have not seen the still, as is Abe's tradition, it's no doubt already in parts and buried, but the batch is most likely a recent one) along with him, likely in the interest of trading; although if reports are anything to go by Abe is historically untroubled by the concept of wealth. In addition, the identity or even the description of the individual that carried the 'shine to his current (no doubt temporary) residence is unknown; Abe continues to evade questioning, although 'evade' is an odd word to use, considering his wandering tongue.

Although this reporter is unused to a role as a pack animal, his journalistic integrity will hold fast in the interest of documenting such an...interesting...specimen of post-war civilisation.


New member
Jan 25, 2011
The metro tunnel was dark. Extremely so. Most had an occasional working light or a caved in ceiling that allowed sunlight in. But not this one. Radraoches could be heard scurrying about and there was an incessant dripping that was hoepfully water and not something worse. Silent as a whisper Fishspear crept through the darkness, quite a feat considering the pack on his back. He always made sure everything was secure to minimise rattling. He looked around, peering into the darkness ahead. His eyes were accustomed to the dark and could pick out surprising detail. This metro looked a lot like every other one, disused and ruined. A railcar was wrecked ahead, collapsing the tunnel. Another dead end.

What a waste of time this had been. This tunnel didn't appear to be connected to any others and he couldn't find any exists bar the one he'd used to get in. Even better, it had been picked clean. Not a single peice of food and no hats. At least there weren't any ghouls down here either. Fishspear sighed and made his way back to the surface, taking significantly less caution seeing as how he'd scouted every square inch of this place.

He left through the metro entrance gates, taking care to make as little sound as possible. The sun was high in the sky, it was around midday. D.C. was much the same as it always was, broken and eerie. But it was home. Footsteps. Fishspear ducked down and pressed himself against a wall, listening. No doubt about it, something was walking around up there. It didn't seem to be moving very fast whatever it was. He couldn't quite place the sound though. It was familiar was too light to be a super mutant, there wasn't any growling which meant it wasn't a feral ghoul, it didn't sound like a quadruped...Fishspear removed his .223 pistol from it's holster and waited, praying that whatever it was would walk the other way...


New member
Mar 15, 2012
Somewhere in the wastes of Virginia, a little ways east from the Kentucky border, Marlon van Graff was halfway through a bottle of whisky in a little town's drinking hole.

It was a nowhere little town, the sort you see all over the place in the wastes. The kind with more buildings than people, just another pitstop along the road. For now though, he'd set himself up in an abandoned garage while combing the surrounding area for good finds to bring back home, or potential future customers. He'd had to drive off a few pests, but the locals had stopped trying to poke around after a live demonstration of Lasers vs. Some-Chump-Trying-To-Pick-The-Locks-On-The-Car. He grinned at the recollection. It'd been good publicity and some entertainment all at once.

Either way, the garage and car were locked up tighter than a paladin's asshole and none of the other locals had been daft enough to try and get in a second time. Hard to say for sure how long it'd be before he moved on again though and had to find a new temporary base of operations. So far there'd been pretty slim pickings around these parts, though from what he'd heard, there was a lot of old tech out east, but on the other hand, plenty of the Brotherhood's goons as well...

...But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he had whisky and music from a jukebox. That was good enough for today.

Time Travelling Toaster

The Toast with the 'Tache
Mar 1, 2009
She was small, that was how she hid from the black metal men. They came in the night as her cousins wandered around their base. They hate us all! she thought to herself, pulling a hole in the closest pile of rubble and dragging herself inside.

It had been days since the voom of the metal men's guns had stopped but that didn't mean they were gone, until yesterday voices still drifted throughout the compound. She didn't understand what they meant but she listened anyway, hoping they had left someone else alive, but like all of Vikki's hopes, it turned to ash in her hands.

After another day of total silence, Vikki removed the rubble from herself, stretching out her muscles and checking her weapons were still in working order, a habit she'd picked up from her cousins in the past few months, after finding both items in working order she set about searching for her cousins, hoping to at least say sorry and farewell to them before leaving. But nothing remained bar green goo lying in strange piles in one corner of the compound. Weeping blood, Vikki wished them a peaceful rest and turned her back on the compound, amazed that her bike was still in one working piece.

With one final look at her home, she kicked the bike into life and gunned her way towards the roads, she'd always heard that the museum in this town was a ghoul refugee, something called the Underworld, hopefully it was still safe there.

Pink Gregory

New member
Jul 30, 2008
-EDITOR'S REPORT- Our first encounter since setting out!

By using surviving local landmarks and roadsigns, this reporter places our trail along pre-war Interstate 95, heading north, although the identity of the area from which we set out is currently unknown.

The clink of Abe's 'Shine in the crate rings up with each heavy trudge, and doctors our pace maddeningly; somehow Abe has, up until now at least, maintained a cheerful disposition, commenting in a rambling tongue on the odd roadside jetsam as if he remembers more than any man could possibly forget. As if.

However, his lame leg saw to anything but a forced march, and, after much cajoling, we took our rest at an empty truckstop.

Although water is scarce, I continue to politely refuse to drink the 'Shine, although Abe continues to preach its virtues, "good fer th' humours, great fer the hands, y'can have one on ol' Abe, he don't mind none."; another thing of note is that Abe doesn't drink the stuff himself, only from his flask, which never seems to run dry.
Could it be possible that Abe's secretive supply of 'Special Liquor' is more widespread than reports show? This reporter deems the idea of anything remaining hidden unlikely, but will continue to investigate.

At late afternoon, judging by the sun hanging low, lazy and red, as if the atomic fire had never come; Abe suddenly became excited upon sighting a dust cloud to the south, following our tracks north on I-95, and hobbled out into the middle of the highway, rambling loudly about 'tubes'.

The vehicle passed at pre-war illegal speeds, and the cloud enveloped the hunched figure out on the highway; clearing to reveal a felled Abe, wide-eyed lying next to his thrown crutch, "A motorcycle! Vincent Black Lightnin' 1952! A motorcycle! TUBES! oh what a man couldn't do wi' so many TUBES!" I helped him up and his excitement turned to silence and resignment almost immediately; he hobbled back to the truckstop, slumped against the door and continues to stare into space, periodically drinking from his flask.

The motorcycle had missed him by a hair; it seems Abe hasn't much of a sense of self-preservation.


New member
Apr 26, 2011
The door looked rotten and so did the rest of the building, still this was where he was supposed to go. Brandon checked the lock to see a very good lock if a bit rusty, He smiled they would need more then that to keep him out. He made his tool appear and he shoved it into the lock, after a few seconds a soft sound could be heard as the door unlocked. He stood up and opened the door with his left hand he held his pistol in his right hand. The interior looked even worse then he had excepted, the room he entered was quite big and he saw all kinds of rotten wooden things. They had lost their shape so it was hard to tell what they had once been. Brandon heard an cracking noise he pointed at it with his gun, to see an confused looking raider looking at him. The raider acted quick as he charged at Brandon with the knife that he had been holding. Brandon didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger, the bullet ripped right through the raiders skull leaving an big hole in its head. Brandon was silent for a few moments too listen for any other activity, but after about 10 seconds he decided that this was the only raider that was here. He didn't have anything valuable on him and the knife looked ready to snap if it was used one more time. Brandon closed the door behind him as he walked deeper into the now presumed deserted house.

He walked upstairs to look around for any sign of live, before he would search for the clue that was hidden in the house. As he passed one of the smaller rooms he heard an war cry, and someone charged at him holding a knife. He grabbed the arm of the person that was attacking him, and he dropped his gun to block the mans punch with his other hand. He was forced back towards the ledge he was only 1 step away from falling down. The man looked like your average crazy drug user, the problem was he had just used psycho and Brandon was feeling how much stronger that made him. But it also made him crazed and lose his mind. Brandon hit the man with his knee in his gut and he felt him weaken for a moment. He quickly released the hand holding the mans fist, as he placed it on his back pulling him forward. The man was pulled forward and Brandon quickly side stepped out of his way, he shoved the man with his 2 hands and the man fell over the ledge. A loud scream could be heard followed by an sickening creaking noise. Brandon looked down to see that the man had split his head open on the ground below, he looked very dead. Brandon searched the rest of the house to find nothing of value and no other living people or animals.

But when he opened the final door he found an computer. He quickly grabbed a nearby chair as he tried to look what was inside the computer, it was locked but the lock proved to be no match for Brandon?s hacking skills. There was only 1 file on the computer it was an audio file. He hoped that it was the clue he had been looking for he opened the file. He heard an strange song that he didn?t recognize. That was all that was in the audio file, Brandon was unhappy to find nothing else but he still downloaded it into his device. After that was done he deleted the audio file and he left the home, spotting 40 caps that he had missed earlier, he grabbed them from the table. Must have been stolen from a couple of travelers. He walked outside to see a town in the distance. He decided that he would go there to try and find out what the song really meant. Brandon holstered his pistol which he had picked up after the fight, and he began to walk the town. The town wasn't that far he would probably reach it in 20 minutes tops. Brandon missed the 2 red eyes looking at him from inside the building. Seems like I finally found you Brandon.


Not So Despicable
Jun 8, 2012
Michael had awoken from another one of his blackouts; the doctor in the last town he had visited had told him that they happened when there was too much stress on his fragile mind. They happened so frequently during his travels in the wasteland he had gotten used to it. The remains of raiders littered the ground around him, he must of been fighting them we he blacked out. He searched them for anything useful: some ammo, a few stimpacks and bobby pins.

He got back onto his brahmin and resumed his journey at the usual pace. He thought that the best way to find the Brotherhood of Steel was to go from town to town asking the locals if they had seen anything. However the only information he got was about the damned Enclave. How they were recruiting member from the public and acting more openly, attacking raiders, super-mutants and ghouls. To tell the truth it brought some peace to the wastes, but that wasn't the half of it-they had been attacking non-feral ghouls as well. He made a mental note to check on the ghoul city Underworld if his travels brought him near it.

Any good citizen of the wastes, well any not-so-bad citizen of the wastes knew that the Enclave was against anyone who wasn't pure bred human, but they were offering a good deal, food, shelter and some armour for a lifetime of service. The Brotherhood of Steel had offered the same things, to anyone who was sane, but a lot of people he encountered thought that they were jerks only interested in fighting the Enclave. It was hard to say otherwise really, he hadn't seen a fellow brother since his accident, he would have to tell them that they needed to place more patrols around the more exposed settlements.

He pressed his brahmin on, he hadn?t thought of a name for it yet. Maybe with his memories his imagination had also left him, he felt guilty though, everything deserved a name. He only knew his because the dogs tags that were on his neck told him, without them he would be as nameless as his brahmin. He looked around him to try and conjure some inspiration, but nothing. Then a thought came to him, I know what your name's gonna be, it?s gonna be Brahmin.

The Harkinator

Did something happen?
Jun 2, 2010
The man lay face down in the middle of the road, tattered clothing stained red by blood. One arm outstretched, almost grasping a pistol, the other had been blown off at the elbow and lay several feet away, blood trailing from the former limb to the stump.

William stopped the motorcycle, dismounted and drew his blade. He gripped it tightly, the familiar feeling of the handle comforted him. He surveyed the scene and his mind came up with one answer: 'Ambush' This man was all alone, shot dead in the middle of nowhere. He had tried to go for his weapon, so he knew his assailants intention immediately. The blood, it came from the stump, but the stain went over half the width of the road. The body had been dragged into clear view so nobody would miss it.

William tensed, crouching behind a ruined car. He edged round the car until he could see the body from a different angle. The man's face was ruined, giving him the appearance of a ghoul. His body was draped over something, a large metal disc, a fragmentation mine. This poor soul had been claimed by the wasteland, yet his corpse was a trap ready to claim another.

William sheathed his blade and drew his pistol, making sure it was loaded. He backed off, making certain the blast would not reach him, then fired.

The mine exploded, ravaging the corpse and flinging it up into the air. William sighed with relief, then felt something press against the back of his head.

"Drop your gun and put 'em up!" William had no choice but to comply, "Ok, now turn around, I want you to look at me when I kill you."

"This really isn't necessary, it's a waste of a bullet." William tried to sound calm and collected, his dignified tone might put the raider on the back foot.

"Not wasting my bullet, I'll waste you with yours! Now back up, slowly does it." Said the raider, who began to crouch and reach for William's pistol.

William stepped forward and looked at the raider with his coldest glare, "I bet your gun isn't even loaded. Otherwise you would have just shot me." The raider took two steps back and gulped. William drew his sword, "Now drop your gear and run away or I'll hack you limb from bloody limb." he spoke in a quiet, threatening tone. The raider immediately dropped his gun as if it was a radscorpion, then let his pack fall from his shoulders. The raiders next words came out in a torrent.

"This is all I have, I'm telling the truth! Please don't hurt me....." he wailed.

"You heard me, run away and don't come back." whispered William. The raider turned tail and fled.

William smiled, as he took the raiders ill-gotten gains and returned to his motorcycle.


New member
Apr 10, 2011
Canterbury Commons has been quiet, too quiet. Little of note has happened here since the defeat of the AntAgonist some years back. Together with my faithful Protectrons I have vigilantly guarded the town from any whom would dare bring CHAOS to our peaceful home.

Daily we patrol the outskirts of our fair town to keep both the innocent citizens and travellers safe from the vile raiders that plague these lands. Yet there have been no sightings of these nefarious criminals for several days now. It is likely that I have finally been able to put the fear of justice into the hearts of the scum and lowlife, but I must remain ever watchful.

An alternative theory however must be mentioned, a week or so ago Three Dog's broadcast was interrupted by the Enclave. Whilst the journalistic integrity of Three Dog is very much in doubt, he has made little mention of my continued efforts to secure the wasteland, I am duty-bound to remain open to any and all sources of information that could aid me in my fight against evil.

The decline in raider activity after this message may have been more than merely coincidental as another clue presents itself. Whilst doing maintenance work on my Robobrain I found a curious note stuck in his propulsion systems, an Enclave trooper in power armour and the words "The Enclave wants you".

In order to ensure that the peace and prosperity I've brought to Canterbury Commons and the rest of the wasteland persists I feel I have little choice but to investigate further. I have determined that GNR, where Three Dog resides, shall be the first thread of this web of mystery to be unravelled.

Web... Spiders... Insects... Ants... Could it be? Could she have returned? I must depart at ONCE!



The Mechanist kept a keen eye on his surroundings as his Mech-Mobile sped through the wasteland at a speed that would make a crippled Brahmin nervous. Having left his Protectrons and Robobrain behind in Canterbury Commons to protect the town in his absence he had only a single Mr. Gutsy strapped into his back-seat in addition to his trustworthy laser pistol.

The ruins of Washington DC loomed ever closer and the Mechanist gripped his steering wheel tighter. What amazing adventures, precarious perils and vile villains would be lying in wait for him on the road ahead?


Je suis joined jewels.
Jan 19, 2009
The flies were back.

*****-Breath growled angrily as they spewed that awful stuff on Master. Just because Master was dead doesn't mean they can do this to his corpse! *****-Breath waited for one of the bloated flies to come closer to Master, and then he sprang. His powerful jaws sank deeply into the fly, killing it nigh-instantly. The other flies fled a short distance, clearly waiting for the dog to sleep.

*****-breath devoured the dead fly hungrily. His master had done that as well, but he had always used a weird bag of liquid afterwards. "Cleans Rads", Master had said. *****-Breath had never used it.

They ran out of the liquid three weeks ago.

Just over two weeks later, Master was dead.

*****-Breath looked at the partly eaten, bloated corpse of master, and knew he couldn't stay anymore. He had to go. His pack was light, and Master had stuffed things into it with no command before he had died. Maybe he was supposed to deliver it? Maybe he was supposed to find a new Master?

With great difficulty, *****-Breath turned and padded slowly away from his post of the last four days. He wasn't *****-Breath any more, now he was just a dog. A dog with no master. A dog with no direction. A dog that, hopefully, no one would shoot at.


New member
Apr 26, 2011
Brandon walked along the road he had found . It was old and dusty still it was better then the wilds where he would encounter god knows what. He had luck with animals they liked him for some reason, still he didn't want to try his luck with an death claw again. The last time had been horrible that thing just didn't want to stay down. He kept walking as he saw an dog walking along the road, the dog looked to be unhurt and sad.

He was surprised and confused he saw no people nearby, he figured that he might as well try to interact with it. Maybe it was lost? He could help him find his owner if he was lost. Brandon grabbed a small piece of meat out of his bag as he called out to the dog. He slowly moved closer making clear he intended no harm and he offered him the piece of meat. He was crouching, as he had learned from previous times dog seemed to think people that were crouching were less threatening.


New member
May 20, 2009
It was a rare sight, nice and humbling.
The murky clouds above DC opened up for a few moments the stars to shine through.
It was nice but not important.
Small flames licked across Sully's tired face as he dragged his eyes down to the new and thriving land beneath him. Spotted lights appeared in the huge cradle of ruins beneath his camp on the side of mount Rainier. The dregs of the city named Washington spluttered in and out of life before him. Although he'd never admit it, he was excited. Excited to move excited to fight, excited to eat something other than the bloatflies he'd found a day ago. More importantly it was something new. As tired as old legs came to be in the wastes there needed to be a damn good reason to keep Sully from moving. Those reasons included guns, death claws, repurposed bear traps, mine fields and a litany of other insane scenarios one expects from a world that was gone mad. Far more concerning was the fact that his already staggering list had recently recruited a new enthusiastic addition... The Voices. He could never quite hear them, not that he expected to like what he heard if ever he managed to listen, instead they seemed to wait along his peripherals leaping in with hidden intentions at the oddest times. A recent example was the large shaped rock on the other side of the peak. He would usually never concerned himself with history and less still with the found less patriotism that seemed to ooze from some of the people he'd ran into in the west once but something about the plaque attached to the stone had him riveted. Approaching cautiously he peered at the aging bronze from over the hand rail that surrounded it, 'This plaque-
'Was! ...its the! tur-' the words became mixed in his head as the tiny chorus added a new verse to its latest song, from its latest holodisc, to the already seam-busting repertoire that was Sully's subconscious.
Shaken by the memory Sully looked back at the dying embers in the small camp fire beside him. 'Best not to dwell' he muttered aloud to no-one at all and with one final look at the curiously lively ruins below him he kicked the fire out and went to sleep


Je suis joined jewels.
Jan 19, 2009
The Dog No-Longer-Named-*****-Breath plodded for a few hours, meeting nothing and seeing just as much. Just desert.

As he was about to lay down for a bit, he saw a figure not too far off. The dog's ears perked up, then went down again. The figure had the armor. The dog didn't know what the armor meant, but Master had always avoided people wearing it. "Goddamned faction wars", whatever he meant by that. The dog knew that "Goddamned meant anger and disgust, and that "war" meant fighting of some kind, but faction? He assumed "faction" meant "armor", so master must have been disgusted with the fighting of the armored ones.

He was mentally rambling. He instinctually knew that dogs aren't supposed to do that.

The dog knew one thing very clearly, he wasn't about to turn around. Maybe he could walk by the armored figure and it wouldn't do anything.

Putting his head down, he turned course to avoid the figure, planning to follow the road after circling around, but then the man in armor called.

"Hey! Dog!"

The dog looked directly at him. He was crouching, and holding something. A smell of fresh meat wafted by. The dog decided to risk it, and walked slowly towards the man.

He stayed crouching, a sign of non-aggression. When the dog was close enough to see the man's face, he liked him instantly. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

When the dog came within arms reach, he grabbed the meat and bounced back, waiting for the man to respond.

Dr. Crawver

Doesn't know why he has premium
Nov 20, 2009

The walrus cried out in frustration. Having lost his previous companions only a few days before due to a raider strike, the endless barren of the wastes was starting to get to him again. He had no food and had been resorting to eating sand and dirt just to stave off the hunger.
There must be some village somewhere, maybe even a travelling trader perhaps? Anything besides this nothingness. He felt a sudden jolt as the platform he sat on started to shake. He reached forward and slowly stroked Udders on one of the heads. His gruff, slurred voice sounded out.
"Easy girl, I know it's been a long time, but we'll find someplace to stay." The brahmin started to calm again, coming to a stop. The walrus slowly slid off his companion, landing with a flop. He gave a loud sniff, surveying the ground for anything. A few meters away he saw a small puddle. Not much, but maybe enough to quench Udders thirst.
Slowly leading the brahmin to the puddle, the brahmin reached forward and started lapping at the water. While she seemed content at the moment, Crawver knew it wouldn't last long.
"I envy you sometimes Udders. I sometimes wish I could have the burden of knowledge lifted from my shoulders. You probably think I'll find something to eat any second now." One of the heads looked up and stared into the doctors eyes, while the other continued to lap up the water. She almost seemed to smile, as if to say 'don't give up'. Crawver knew that she couldn't understand what he was saying, but couldn't help but reply.
"I wish I had your optimism." The cow just gave him a soft moo as he turned around to look at the horizon as the sun was rising. He withdrew the gold pendant from his labcoat and let it lay flat on his flipper.
"Something as beautiful as you doesn't belong in a world as damaged as this. Why do I feel compelled to hold onto you? What secrets do you hold?" The pendant remained silent and motionless.

The walrus quickly stuffed it back into his coat pocket, huffing lightly. His ears picked up as he heard an unusual noise, as if something was beating the air with a bat repeatedly. He turned around, looking up to see a strange black machine flying overhead. He gave out a call, but it went unanswered as the thing just kept flying onwards.
"Well, looks like my luck might be improving after all." He turned back to his Brahmin, climbing back up on top of the custom built platform on Udders. He gave her side a light slap.
"Come on girl, forwards. Wherever that thing is going, there must be people. With luck we might make it before nightfall." Both Udders heads moo'd as she started to plod forwards.

"Might even find a home this time."


New member
Apr 26, 2011
Brandon was crouching and the dog slowly walked closer. Brandon made sure not to move to avoid scaring the dog. The dog was quite close now and he looked up at Brandon, he then licked Brandon's face. Brandon was surprised and the dog grabbed the meat and jumped back, it looked like he was waiting for an response. Brandon smiled brightly as he slowly did a step forward towards the dog which name he didn't know. Brandon as slowly extended his hand he then began petting the dog behind his ear. Something which most dogs seemed to like for some reason, he hoped that this dog also liked this. This dog was different he just felt it something about the dog just made him feel strange. A gust of wind made a note fall out of the bag of the unamed dog. Brandon picked it up.

Dear whoever finds this dog:

I'm dying of radiation exposure. Please take care of my baby. He's brilliant and will be able to help you out immeasurably. Take the water and food as a dowry of sor

The note stopped there, whoever wote this must have cared for the dog deeply that he used his last moments alive to write this. Brandon looked at the dog, he then began petting the dog with 2 hands. "So you are all alone just like me... Well If you want I can take care of you." Brandon was smiling brightly, the last 10 years had been lonely. Even if he preferred to be alone there was nothing wrong with some company. He smiled at the dog hoping he would agree to travel together. He somehow knew that the dog understood what he said.


Je suis joined jewels.
Jan 19, 2009

The dog quickly ran through his internal dictionary. Was this man offering to be a new Master? The dog could overlook the armor, if it meant there was someone to be with.

The dog barked happily and jumped to lick the man's face again.