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Futuristic Road to Safina: a Post-Apocalyptic road trip through North America (CS)

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EdwardDewey98

EdwardDewey98

Professional Argentine
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Welcome to the Character Sheet thread! where players can create their characters or ask about certain elements of the setting for the character. To create your character, you must use the character sheet down bellow. If you have questions regarding where your character comes from, you can ask me. Players can play as nearly any mutant or android written down bellow, but new mutations can be added if you have any suggestions! If you have any questions, you can ask them here and I'll gladly answer them. Once you are done with your character sheet, post it. And if everything is in order, you are free to send me a private message about joining our discord group where I'll constantly update the players on new posts.

Character Sheet​
  • Picture / Face Claim:
  • Name:
  • Species:
  • Gender:
  • Age:
  • Bio:

Example:
Priest (ALT).png
  • Name: "Priest"
  • Species: Human (Black American)
  • Gender: Male
  • Age: Unknown, mid 50's
  • Bio: Priest is mysterious wanderer and religious leader, known across various settlements for his unnatural kindness and good heart but also for his impressive combat abilities. He identifies himself as a Christian preacher and a "shepherd", guiding souls to the path of redemption, but nobody knows if he's an official minister of the protestant church. Priest rarely talks about his past, so much of it is unknown. He does, however, often talk about past adventures, or rather, misadventures, each more outlandishly impossible than the last. Based on these stories: he traveled from Las Vegas to New York on his own two times in his life, a trek considered impossible by many, he rode among Tejanos for two years and is considered an honorary Tejano, was the minister in the wedding of two raider warlords after being captured, got into a shootout with Dixie soldiers over a misunderstanding and somehow ended befriending their sergeant, had a deep and intricate religious debate with a Freak warlord who was terrorizing southern Alabama, was asked his hand in marriage by the current leader of Las Vegas Marauders, defended a fishing village from New English cultists by himself, met with a scout party from the Empire of Brazil while traveling through Florida, was offered a sail boat to Éire by an adventuring group of Gaeilge sailors, among many other insane stories.
Down bellow are the different races the players can play as, if you have any questions regarding the sheet, or if need to know more about the setting to further develop the biography of your character, please feel free to contact me through PMs!


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  • Human - The most common species to arise from the war, humans have remained (mostly) unscathed from the aftereffects of the horrible weapons that were released during those times and thus remain mostly unchanged from their pre-war counterparts. However, due to the regression of civilization and the loss of industrial capabilities the human lifespan has reverted towards the 50s and 60s for the most part. A great majority of settlements and factions are created by in large by the remnants of humanity as they muster on forward to either rebuild or simply survive. A jack of all trades, and a master of none, humans are versatile yet unspecialized in their capabilities to deal with the wastelands and the ruins of the Old World.
  • Mutant Variant - Not all of humanity is unscathed from the radiation and bioweapons that were used however, as a substantial minority of people hold uncommon mutations related to these weapons. While not mutated to the points of being considered Freaks, they are treated poorly among them and Humans. And because of the effects of radiation and bioweapons, Mutants have a lower life expectancy than regular humans. The range of mutations range from beneficial and/or benign to somewhat detrimental, but it varies wildly on a case by case basis.
  • Cyborg Variant - The legacy of cybernetics in the pre-war era remains in limited fashion as some of the products of those times remain in the world. Those few lucky enough to find such valuables that are then grafted onto their bodies find themselves with powerful boons that accompany the specific model and type of cybernetic they’ve managed to implement. However, such cyborgs are rare due to the amount of material lost in the war and additionally cyborgs face the prospect of losing control of their minds and bodies due to the unnatural ways these technologies interact with their biology and psychology through the coined term of “cyber-psychosis”.

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  • Freaks - A byproduct of generations of inbreeding and mutations from radiation and bioweapons, freaks arise to be one of the most common forms of violent wasteland life. Not exactly human anymore, these beings live in their own insular communities or clans and live violent and brutish lives due to their greatly decreased intelligence that is then exchanged for raw strength. They also procreate rapidly, leading to a continued problem for many normal settlements and communities to have to deal with what is an endemic problem. However, many Freaks don’t live beyond the age of 40 due to the amount of tumors and diseases that riddle their bodies which makes them live short and brutal lives. They are found nearly everywhere except Middle America, where they are less common due to the war not touching those regions as much.
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Goliaths - The origins of the Goliaths stems from the pre-war American special forces, who injected their marines with a mutagen meant to boost and improve combat capabilities against hostiles. This in turn led to a mass increase in height, muscle mass, and bone density to become very strong outwardly and incredibly deadly forces of nature; however, despite their intimidating appearances, many retain a level-head and friendly demeanor common among a regular human. Their intelligence also received a boost from the mutagen, but they still retain their original marine-grunt like mannerisms from the war. They are rare, however, due to their inability to procreate much with low fertility rates and thus they are a rare sight in the ruins and wastes of the Old World.

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Half-Goliath - A byproduct of a union between a Goliath and a Human, the half-Goliaths retain strength, speed, and intelligence that is greater than a normal Human but are weaker than their Goliath parents. They still remain a powerful force to be reckoned with however in a fight because of the Goliath influence on their physiology. While considered oddities and, in some cases unwanted, by Humans, they are treated very well among Goliath groups which leads many to adopt the same mannerisms and level-headed natures as them.

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Mistfolk - Also known as the Mistborn, are descendants of survivors in the major cities hit by the “Miasma”, a pink-like mist bioweapon that kills nearly everything that it touches, the Mistfolk live often in the ruins or even partially rebuilt metropolitan areas (such as New York City). Capable of breathing and surviving the Miasma just fine, the Mistfolk are able to traverse areas inflicted by this bioweapon safely but trade this boon with a difficulty to breathe normal air than normal Humans, but they can survive and tribe outside of the Miasma with the help of gas masks. They also take on distinctive physical traits such as pale hair and skin, some with visibly dark veins, and eyes that glow in the dark. While rather weak, with their bodies appearing somewhat emaciated compared to a healthy human, the Mistfolk are capable of regenerating wounds inflicted upon them at an unnatural speed; additionally, they host incredibly developed senses with excellent vision and hearing that make them natural scouts and snipers.

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  • Nosferatu - Very little is known about the Pale Ones, except that a large concentration of their population is found around the ruins of the CDC at the ruins of Atlanta. Given the nickname of “Nosferatu”, these creatures are unnaturally pale, with white eyes and sclera and are incapable of vocalizing without screams and yells. They have a violent nature that is paired with a sadistic insanity, leading them to brutally kill and consume their quarry which usually are Humans but sometimes animals as well. But perhaps the most terrifying trait of theirs is that they can infect humans with a less powerful strain of the disease that afflicts them, leading to the creation of Dhampirs.
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  • Dhampir - Created when a Nosferatu infects a regular Human instead of eating them, the strain that afflicts the victim turns their skin gray and their eyes become shining orbs when exposed to the light. They begin to lose their minds as well, and become as violent and insane as their masters with many having a compelling need to follow and do their bidding regardless of their past life. They are stronger and more well built than a regular human because of the virus strain. Dhampirs are rare because of the tendency of Pale Ones to kill rather than infect, and also Dhampirs are attacked by many settlements on sight because of their reputation.
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  • Automaton - Relics of the pre-war era and the war itself, automatons are the mechanical creations of Humanity made to do its bidding in various roles across society back then: military, civilian, service, and more. Regardless of their former functions, they are very sturdy and difficult to take down as the materials they were made with prioritize durability and strength more often than not. Even service models hold non-lethal force protocols that can be used to incapacitate and subdue a threat. Their AI programing, if still functional, drive them forward to continue doing tasks regardless of the situation but have no personality or free will of their own. They can understand and interact with others, but cannot form attachments nor understandings of deeper philosophical concepts. Many automatons did not survive the post-war era due to a lack of power or just the sheer amount of damage done to them, however they are found in large numbers in the Los Angeles and San Fransico due to the defense arrays still operational there. Additionally, they are easy to hack to change protocols or even to disable entirely.
  • Awakened - It is unknown how these Automatons obtained sentience, but what is known is that they are incredibly few in numbers with some estimates putting them at perhaps a few thousand globally. Yet what is known is that any automaton, regardless of model or function, can “awake” from their slumber and become able to perceive the world through understanding eyes. An extremely rare sight, many wander the wastes to ponder their meaning of existence and search for purpose.
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  • 3460c898c8de6244ebbe5dd4a0ef6f3a.jpg
    Name: Marisol Cabrera
    Species: Human
    Familail Affiliations: Union of Free Cities of Mexico, Tejano Tribe
    Gender: Female
    Age: 24

    Bio: WIP

    Relations:
    Lucero Cabrera, Elder Brother:
    TBA
 
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Name: IU-K4Z
Species: Awakened
Gender: None
Age: ???
Bio:

**Integral memory files corrupted, cannot recover data. Information prior to initial shutdown unavailable.**
**Subroutine Data Found: Listing...**
Dr. Fatimah Al-Lajmi; Personnel File - Unknown.
Task Given: U̴͈̝͔̭̬͋̔͗̏N̵͍̘͔͍͖͓͐̓Â̴̠͍̰̬̞̲͛́͂͝B̶̟̝̩͈̘͊̈́L̶̮̗͕̖̇E̴͉͗̾̑̒͒͝ ̵͖̋͐͐̚T̸̜̜͋̄̓̕O̴̲̝̜͚̤͑̉̂ ̸̳̠̩͆͋ͅR̶̗͈̒̊̿͠E̷͉̣̔T̴̢͕̬͗R̸̙͍̖̟̾̀͝Í̵̹̉͌͑̕E̸̫͎̠̍̿V̶̤̲̱̝̤̈͑̆͝͝E̶̢̗͆̉

Since being found and awoken by the "Priest" and his followers, I have pondered these gaps in my memory. What was I made for? Who is the Doctor? What am I supposed to do? Answers elude me as I travel alongside those that roused me from my slumber. Perhaps, with them, I will find the answers I seek.

---

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Name: "Runt"
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Bio:
A raider from Las Vegas, "Runt" is currently exiled by the Overboss of the LV Raiders in order for him to "prove" he is worthy of becoming a sky-rider after failing to meet the criteria of ruthlessness. Essentially a death sentence, as becoming a sky-rider necessitates one to go out in a blaze of glory. As such, "Runt" roams from settlement to settlement following his exile with a requisitioned motorbike he put together. It serves the job, but it's no Gabriela and unless he wants back in he's going to need a lot more than just something put together from scrap.
 
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-/Name/-
Cris Topher

-{Species}-
Mistfolk

-[Gender]-
Male

-(Age)-
24

-Bio-
Not much is known about the "Endless Roaming" bounty hunter of the Mistborn. He vaguely just popped into stories out of the blue six years ago taking on bounties with nothing to him. No name, clearly malnourished especially for his kind, he had some torn clothes, a mask, and a dull knife. He started small hunting small wild game that had annoyed human settlements. Nothing fancy, but enough to put food on a plate. He never really interacted with the humans just helped them by setting traps to catch the varmint's that drove them willy nilly. Making what he could off their corpses.

Once he was nourished to a healthier standard he moved on making enough he crawled to bigger wild game that had blocked or hindered projects for a Mistfolk community built around a once proud zoo plagued by uniquely barely remembered mutated animals. Even amongst his own kind he didn't share much about himself. Giving them no name to remember one of the elders who knew he wouldn't stay long gave him a title for them to document him by... the "Endless Roaming". Before he left he earned a well held together scuffed Nagant M1895 revolver for taking down a mutated panther. Skinning it into a coat, and making a very ominous knife out of its bones showing anything he killed was treated the same. Respecting the animal by using all of it that he could, and selling the rest to travel again.

Ending up in a Goliath community he was shown a unique kindness never met before. This would be the only time he stayed in place for a year helping them out with animal problems, guarding convoys between the stretch of settlements, and the odd thing was he never charged them a dime yet there was never a day he didn't have a roof or starved. When he turned 20 the peace he found would need to be turned in. Taking his first real blood bounty on a gang of human marauders that had been harassing's quite a few communities amongst the Goliaths who had had enough after one event saw terrible crimes inflicted on a half Goliath who kept trying to broker peace. Still trying to attempt some form of peace though they attempted to bargain for a cease for peace trying to avoid a scuffle that could trigger even more problems upon the settlements.

The Mauraders asked for the impossible demanding free reign to do what they want in there territories, and protection fee that was more like extortion to make sure the other marauder groups didn't hit "their" turf. With a fifteen man group of well skilled Marauder's such a feat to just scare them out was undue able as this particular group was very use to hunting, and quartering Goliaths, and even Dhampirs so successful they were able to scare the other marauder groups without lifting a finger. So the Endless Roaming instead exchanged one impossible scenario for another. Only coined the "Slaughter of Marauders" what happen still bizarre's most story tellers, and those who had laid witness to the scene to this day.

In the middle of the night while partying to their hearts content something had caused them to go mad, some spirit potential driving them insane as some were found with bullets wounds from their own fellow members guns. Others were killed in way akin to an animal attack with even a few wild animal corpses found near the scene. Some burnt alive by a alcohol fire. Even stranger was how the leader who was clearly the first to die from a venomous snake bite's gun had clearly been fired multiple times unto himself by his own hand. His lieutenant blinded by sand had ran off a cliff tied to another man who fell to his death with him. No one ever tells the same story of this event each having their own theories, but one thing was shared that site in the eyes of all was cursed. Only one thing in common was what they accounted it to in ever variant story a sole open box of a supply stash taken from a small bunker site that the Marauders had painstakingly broken into was open with a fresh hazmat suit missing its gas mask with a freshly burnt skeleton of one of the victims inside it. That camp and that box are still there believed to be a curse unleashed upon man.

The truth though is known to the Goliaths, but they fuel the lie to keep the marauders away. The day after this had all gone down their Mistborn had vanished with everything he owned accept his original gas mask with a note inside that read. "Paid in full by knowing what makes a home."

Once again on the move for the next 3 years the Endless Roaming would run into a Automaton that they would surprisingly become a bounty hunter duo with earning a name as the "Nameless Duo" as the Automaton had no recollection of its name either holding onto its only possession a Artic Warfare bolt action sniper rifle. The duo never really spoke to one another but the Mistborn seemed willing to let it tag along. Yet like all others in this world small comforts are temporary. On one hunt that was suppose to be a clean sweep of a freaker nest turned into the worst drawned out seven days of the mistborns life. What was suppose to be a freaker hunt amongst swampy ruins turned into a true fight for survival against a lone Nosferatu who had already most of the Freakers in the nest. For those seven days their was no escape from the exchange of gun fire, blade, and teeth amongst all three parties. The freakers died out upon the fifth day with the six seeing both Mistborn, and Automaton extremely exhausted, and wounded. Knowing their chances were next to none the Automaton brought the Nosferatu out into the open letting itself be ripped apart before the mistborn shot its engine'd heart causing a mass explosion that took the entity out. No bounty was ever claimed, and to those that saw the scene after claimed that all involved definitely had perished in the explosion. However not to far away their is a marked grave with a broken Automaton plate nearly split in half with the name "Christopher" inscribed on the inside of its casing.

A year later a small time, but very reliable Mist Born bounty hunter appeared in the commonwealth slowly starting to make a name for themselves noted for their black coat, bone knife, a scuffed Nagant pistol, a imposing gas mask, and a well taken care of Artic Warfare sniper rifle simply monikered by the name Cris Topher. No one the wiser knows what happened to the Endless Roaming told of amongst a few story tellers, and settlements that may or may not have made him up. Though if someone was to pierce those stories together, and route that path taken they could potential one day talk to quite the storied Miasma dweller.

​
 
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Name: Aitan
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Bio: Born in a Fishmen-worshipping Cult town near the coast of Eastern Massachusetts, Aitan escaped his birth town about five years ago. Not without blood and wrath, though. He found solace in Black Goddess, but following a near-death experience while using the drug, he figured it'd be more lucrative to sell the shit, anyways. Recovering, and more-than-occasionally relapsing back into his use of the drug, Aitan now traffics BG through the non-Cult towns around Central and Eastern Massachusetts. Aitan wields a pre-war 9mm handgun and a short, fixed blade knife he's impressively deft with- Just in case he runs into those Fish Fuckers again. Which happens more often than he'd like to admit...
Gear/Items: Pre-war 9mm handgun tucked into his waistband, ammo, fixed-blade tactical-looking hunting knife, 45 liter backpack, a day or two's worth of food (mostly dried or dehydrated), 2 one-liter water bottles stored in different backpack pouches (can't lose both of 'em that way), small medical kit (tourniquet, lighter, spoon, extra strips of cloth, sewing needle, fishing line, lip balm/petroleum jelly), about 10 feet of rope, many waterproof baggies full of an undisclosed amount of Black Goddess, an extra t-shirt and pair of pants (wrapped up in a waterproof bag; they're his "good clothes"; can't fuck those up in the rain), ciga-butt lighter and multiple packs of ciga-butts​
 
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Name: Morgan Carter
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Bio:
Morgan Carter is a Raider, hailing from Santa Monica, California. A former member of the LA Raiders, she is currently wanted dead or alive by the faction for directly disobeying the Overboss of LA, as well as murdering a few dozen raiders in sadistic fashion before escaping Southern California and heading east.


Purge.png

Name: Purge
aka Samantha W. Campbell, or just Willow
Species: Dhampir
Gender: Female
Age: 32
Bio:
Purge is a rather interesting being, hailing from the former town of Pine Mountain, Georgia. Captured and infected by a Nosferatu during a raid on the area, she was kept around as a nimble scout and hunter. After the slaying of her former master by members of the Confederacy, Purge now roams the land. Doing exactly what she does best: Hunting, and Killing. Purging.​
 
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Name: Dustin Renfield

Species: Half-Goliath

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Bio:
Born in Fort Albany, Dustin is a good-nature rascal of questionable tendencies. As early as his late teens, the young man had grown bored of the mostly peaceful lifestyle in the secure confederation settlement. Deciding to instead go look for trouble on his own as a mercenary on the outside, wild world. For several years he's worked to protect and to kill, carrying himself with a concerning lack of worry about knowing that each day might be his last. Eventually, his travels took him back to the New Dixie Confederation, taking interest in a certain man looking for able bodies (Full Bio coming soon)​
 
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Name: Slade
Species: Mutant variant
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown
Bio: In the media that survived from the old world, there are stories of men like Slade. The pale rider on a terrifying horse, carrying a gun and ready to deal out justice with precision and a vengeance. A crock of bullshit if you ask him. Doesn't explain why the cranky old ghoul stops at every town that has a problem with outlaws and ruffians. Or why he's working with caravans to make sure vital supplies make it to their destination.​
 
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Name: Ash
Species: Mistfolk/Mutant Hybrid
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Bio: Ash is the son of Mistfolk father and a Freak mother that had an unique mutation among her people. Ash inherited most of the traits associated with the Mistfolk thanks to his father: Pale skin, white hair, red glowing eyes, etc. but he also inherited his mothers "spider-like" mutations, he was born with six fully functioning arms, Ash doesn't like to reveal his multiple arms often, and hides them beneath his shawl when possible, but he will use them in combat if the opportunity arise - either to stabilize his rifle or to use another weapon besides his rifle.

Another benefit he inherited from his mothers side is his ability to breath normal air, but he is still seen using an stylized breathing mask, the reason being that after living his whole life with his fathers mask, he feels naked without it.

Even if he is the youngest of 10 siblings he always felt more comfortable adventuring alone even so, the young Mistfolk's interest peaked when he learned of a job created by the Union of the Potomac, perhaps this is the chance he was looking for to explore the ruins of the old world as he always wanted to.
 

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Name: Jeremiah "Duke" Bishop
Species: Goliath
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown, (Known to be over 100 years old)

Bio: Built for a war long over, Duke stands over 10 feet tall and weighs little less than an elephant. Already bulky and well-built before his transformation, Duke has taken
his superhuman status in pride. Having served as a Hired Gun, a Pitt Fighter, a Bounty Hunter, Wrestler, and a Disco Club Owner. Duke has seen and done it all, now
he follows Priest as both a old friend and a way to pay off a rather large poker debt to him.​
 
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    Name: Artemis Hale

    Nickname: Ari

    Age: 21

    Gender: Female

    Pronouns: She/Her

    Sexuality: Pansexual

    Species: Mistborn





    “
    I survived because the fire inside of me burned brighter than the fire around me
    ”



 
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Name: Callum Crane
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 50s
Bio: A man like Callum Crane can be described in a variety of different ways, depending on one’s moral compass—idealist, prophet, radical… monster. There is no evidence to support any one claim, and it’s debatable whether Callum himself approves of such notions. Some even say that he doesn’t truly adhere to the rhetoric that he often preaches to the masses. However, there is no doubt that he adores the spotlight and the recognition that comes along with it.

A product of the New Dixie Confederation, Crane gained early fame as a political activist and religious scholar through his promises of spiritual enlightenment. With a dedicated legion of apostles, who adequately refer to him as their 'Abraham', he hoped to lead his people into a new age by restoring power and prestige to the South. This resulted in various demonstrations and rallies across the southern territories, though things didn’t turn violent until Crane dared to expand his crusade across the border.

Union troops arrested Crane in Virginia after he incited a bloody riot, which led to the deaths of at least a dozen people. Among them was a small boy who Callum bound to a stone altar as a way to test and purify the faith of his followers, emulating the critical moment from the Book of Genesis where God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. It remains unclear who ultimately killed the child or whether the tragedy occurred as an unfortunate accident in the chaos. Either way, Crane claimed responsibility for the incident and endured the consequences, viewing himself as a martyr.

He spent the last fifteen years in a northern prison, taking the unfavorable conditions—and frequent punishments—in stride. Nonetheless, he finally found salvation when his legal team worked out a deal with the Union of the Potomac to guarantee his release. The only stipulation was that he was to accompany a government-sponsored convoy through the wilderness to deliver supplies to their allies in Tampico. If he proved his worth and returned from the journey alive, he was a free man.

But that was a big 'if'.

No one expected Callum Crane to survive… and he knew it.

And yet, that’s what made it such an intriguing challenge for him to conquer.
 
WIP, I can't settle on a pic and i wanna code the cs properly while expanding on everything xx

  • Picture / Face Claim:
    sneaky.jpg
    blond.jpg
  • Name: Freyr Redwood
  • Species: Human
  • Gender: Male
  • Age: 22

  • Short Bio: A young FRC citizen, Freyr is an ex-ranger from a decendant military force that took up direct residency in the Californian Republic. Trained in the art of keeping quiet and performing operations without so much as silenced ring of a rifle and the dull click of a lock being picked, Freyr prefers to take things slow and measured, saving action for short bursts of violence. While this worked well in service as a Californian Ranger, eventualy Freyr had his fill of the lifestyle. Too many rules, not enough movement, a rigorous routine. He wanted to travel, as torn-up as the land was. He wanted to see things. But as he left his brothers and sisters in arms all he found was that he was good at his craft and not much else. Also, that he had horrible social anxiety and wasn't used to talking to people he wasn't planning on building a file on or going to pop someone in the head with. Instead, he kept his gear on whenever able and avoided revealing himself whenever able. Hell, someone even thought he was a mistfolk at one point.
    When he reciaved the offer to guard a caravaan, he accepted on account of the pay to supplement his hobby of exploraion. it would be easy! keep off to the side, quietly take out some guys here and there, hop over a wall and open a door or two, and then collect. hopefully he wouldn't have to lean on the ranger gameplan too much.
 
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    Name: Bonnie

    Species: Human

    Gender: Female

    Age: 7

    Bio: Bonnie lost her traveling family at four years old; the result of an argument turned violent between her family and their party, leaving them dead in the middle of nowhere, and herself orphaned. She remembers running from the gunfire as it erupted—her mother taught her to do so. She remembers looking back and seeing several lifeless figures in the sand, and she kept running after that. Bonnie doesn't know what happened until night time. When she awoke, "the Boogeyman" hovered over her. She screamed, cocking her gun just as her father taught. Though initially afraid of him, she came to realize he'd kept her under his wing; a silent guardian.

    He never talked or showed a hint of acknowledgement, but he helped her. Bonnie quickly understood their roles: he killed this and that; she prepared and gathered what she could from this and that. She led the way and talked freely; he followed in utter quiet... She mourned her parents, and he listened. It's only thanks to damaged books and kind passing travelers (who bolted the moment Boogey came into the fray), that Bonnie taught herself what she could. Things still aren't the best for Bonnie, and though she tries to hide it, she misses her parents very much, and each day proves difficult to get through. But, at least with Boogey by her side, life is just a little easier to manage...
 
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    Name: Fang (Name given to him by Bonnie)

    Age: 8

    Gender: Male

    Pronouns: He/Him

    Species: Mutant Variant

    Weapons: Hunting knife he stole off a dead body | Fangs & Claws | His venom if needed

    Skills:
    ~ Speedy and quick on his feet
    ~ Able to hide easily due to his small size
    ~ Strikes fast when going in for a bite

    ↬ Hisses when startled, upset, or angry.
    ↬ Bares his fangs when he feels threatened.
    ↬ Can bite, will bite. No one is safe except Bonnie.
    ↬ Eats like he doesn't know when his next meal will be.
    ↬ Hunches over his food and barricades' it with his arms as if he's afraid someone is going to steal it.
    ↬ He will find your last nerve and tap dance on top of it.
 
Name: Betsy Ross
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Species: Human, inbred: sensitive eyes, worsening eyesight, 4 fingers on her left hand (missing the pinky)
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Bio: Born in one of those crazy liberation bunkers somewhere in Kansas, she was raised by an automatron. More or less. After the death of her parents, all that was left was T33-DY, programmed to preserve the great history of America and teach it to future generations. It only cared that she was awake for its daily lesson. Beyond that, it let her do as she pleased.

It worked well, very well until she began to run out of food. Rationing occurred to her, she only ate a set amount each day, but quickly she realized. She would have to leave. She knew nothing of what was behind the titanium door high above her. But she knew she would die without food (starvation of George Washington’s troops taught her that.) She didn’t want to die without supporting America as her parents must have.

Those first few ventures were difficult. It was winter. Her eyes, blinded by the whiteness of the snow burned and watered. It was cold. Learning about battles did not make one a good shot. It was only through history books about her hero, Teddy Roosevelt, that she figured out how to set traps, and how to survive in the wild.

She never went far, settling into a new routine, until T33-DY started acting up. After a lifetime of following the same schedule, it would wake her early. It would forget what it had taught her, repeating lessons over and over for days. Eventually, it just stopped moving. And she was alone.

Days blurred, but eventually, she left the bunker. She was an excellent hunter, preferring nighttime to her sensitive eyes. She’d learned stealth and the bow and how to make arrows when her ammo ran out. She’s traveled toward where the sun rises, with no particular goal beyond maybe seeing what remained of DC. Because very little seemed to remain from those lessons. Very little applied.

She’s especially curious about the Awakened. Why didn’t T33-DY Awaken? Why do they? She wants to learn about them. What inside makes them different? Maybe she could fix T33-DY. Awaken it.
 
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Picture / Face Claim:
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Tattoos: Hugo's right side of his neck states "Death's Whisper", a death tarot tattooed on his left breast, and a Latin phrase on his calf stating "For I whisper righteous death upon the enemies of my people. I become that which I give. I am the sword of my people and the slayer of enemies."

Height: 5'9
Weight: 100 lbs
Name: Hugo Reeter
Species: Mistborn
Gender: Male
Age: 270
Weapons:
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Gear: Pictured gas mask and uniform with side pockets and plate carrier/chest rig, 8 40mm nato threaded omni filters, 8 mags of ammunition for the SVDM, 4 mags of extra ammunition for the Beretta, 2 small ziplock baggies of dried meat, a bag of raisins, 30 graham cracker sized pieces of hardtack, and 2 small cans of tuna.
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Skills:
- Advanced weapons maintenance
- Expert tracking, human and animal
- Veteran sniping ability
- Adept bushcrafting
- Moderate survivalist ability and knowledgeability
- Adept in-field medicine

Likes: Cold nights, crickets, raisins, warm brass
Dislikes: Mosquitos, anyone non-mistborn, bears, and pork


Bio: Hugo was just a young gun, uniform and all adorned with a few combat badges and some meaningless medals on a plaque at home. He had just came back from his most recent tour, seeing plenty of gore and guts to fill his mind en mass with horrors beyond comprehension. A soured expression on his face as he entered the city. He wished for war again, a home he knew all too well. The scope of a gun, the order of battle, the sweetness of a kill. It was sullied by the city air and people. He had no one back home, just a small condo he rented off base and a city he was all too foreign to. He grew up far from anything like this, finding his home more in the deep deserts of the Mojave. His family didn't grow up poor, and enjoyed financial security for his entire life, but he never felt the privileges' of it. He was a man of struggle, instilled to him by his father. "Struggle fosters growth" and "Pressure makes diamonds" were his fathers sayings. His dad was a man of high regard in the town his family now lived in. An accomplished designer of many of the weapons that the war fighters we all knew of used. Missiles, guns, bullets, and tanks, all from his fathers grand mind. He did not think much on his childhood after his father died untimely, his mother long abandoning him before he even knew her name. It was a scar best left to heal. As he walked into his home, everything was no longer as it was. There was a moment of stillness. The world was at a pause, then it burned. It reeked. It was hell all within the cells of his body. Was this death? Was this terrible torture of a hell that awaited him? No. It was the beginning of his new life, for centuries. The mist that birthed all Mistborn was his first induction to the apocalypse, a pink mist, ironic that it was this. A pink mist. A term used by many military snipers as a way to describe the aftermath of shooting an enemy in the head, or when someone gets eviscerated by high caliber munitions.

After an undetermined amount of time, Hugo found himself under rubble, thick sheets of concrete covering his body like a cold man-made casket. The sounds around him were silence. Not a good sign for escape. But he was not dead, but he sure wished it. His lungs burned, his skin tightened, his eyes pinged with waves of pain, his head felt as if it was in a microwave. It was hell on earth, and it didn't matter what he did, no one would come to save him. He would surely die here. Under rubble, under a condo he spent far too much on after a war he cared not and a world he knew so little of. Talk about die by the sword. A soldier killed by a weapon before knowing anything beyond his own. But, just as suddenly as he experienced his "death", he heard his savior. What, he did not know, but all he heard was rumbling. Earthy crumbling rumbling. The shock hit him just as soon as he realized what it was that he heard. Stone flying, air burning, his hearing almost entirely muted. He looked down to see a city of dust, ruin, and death. Ruins and burning heaps, swept away in nuclear shockwave. His savior was the greatest weapon man ever made, and it would be the sure end of anyone in his city that was not like him.

The flight was short lived and he found himself thumping into the hard asphalt below, once more going unconscious. The pain was gone, that was good. So was everything else. His life. His home. His hopes. His future. It was now washed away. But so were his worries. His responsibilities. His duties. He was a clean slate in a clean world. He awoke from this thoughtful slumber to see an abandoned ruin. Days had passed surely, his body turned quickly to something unrecognizable, the sun blinding him. His eyes felt, sharp. His ears felt open. More open then they have ever been. But his body felt as if it would blow away in the wind. His skin was tight to the bone, and he could feel the air on his scalp. He was a new man. A new species. A new destiny. He was evolved from the ashes, a phoenix of war. It struck him. He was alone for as far as he knew. He was, God. He soon enjoyed the freedom of being one man in a lonely destroyed city, but also found he needed many items he no longer had. Clothes, food, water, weaponry, shelter. He scowered and scavenged the infected and radioactive wasteland. He slowly went on to find what he needed, growing his supply, and soon finding more of his kind, some dying, some not so much. His small community grew. Time went on and he became a man of many tales to young and old alike. He even had a love interest. A woman who he had never seen in the days before, but beautiful in her rebirth. Juleen. The woman of his hopes in this world, dreams of the next.

One day, Hugo left to go on a scouting mission. It being just him as it was a path and area he had scouted before. Looking for munitions and food, he only found the latter, but plenty of hard to parish items from long ago. Canned foods with almost pristine labels, nice dried foods, and his favorite. Raisins. Something about his evolution had lead him to be very afflicted with a love for raisins. He never had a love for them before, granted he didn't hate them either but now, this was something he could never stop thinking about. Returning to his small community of Mistfolk, he found it, empty. He called out to find no answer, searched to find no Juleen. He looked and looked till he happened upon a group of, humans? They dressed in shittily made uniforms, accents varying widely as their skin tones. They talked then yelled, a small child in front of them. One of the many that occupied the settlement of Mistfolk. They talked intelligibly but after a few moments, one of the uniformed people shot the child point blank. The body fell and they dragged it off, putting it near a now disturbing pile of bodies. Almost all those Hugo could recount were among the pile. Juleen, her stricken face and cut neck showing most prominently to Hugo. They snickered. They sneered. They were, careless. Soulless. Even a pre-apocalypse Hugo had humanity greater then these, disgusting monsters. These, primitive animals. These, underlings, these wastes of oxygen, these POUNDS OF FLESH. Hugo had no recourse now, his body moved on its own, his steps silent as a feather in the wind, but his grip iron tight as he held onto a knife attached to his belt. When the trio of people noticed the angered and pale figure of Hugo, it was far too late. One raised his gun but was met with a gut spilling cut across the stomach, the next finding a blade stuck between his eyes, moments of life dripping away from him. The last raised his gun and got off 3 rounds into Hugo's arm before the pale maniac's hands were around his throat. The man gasped for air as the grip got tighter and tighter as the expression of Hugo seemed to almost be unwaveringly blank. The eyes of him holding fast into the faceplate of the gas mask the man wore. The calm expression stayed until the man didn't even have death thralls, Hugo's hands still holding onto his throat for a few moments past that. This was the straw that broke the camels back. An entire enclave slaughtered. For what? He may never know. He did not care. He had no reason to. He was no longer accompanied by his curious, loving, questioning, enthralled woman. He no longer had a community. He no longer had a people. He was one. And one alone.

Its far past that memory now for Hugo. Decades of experience in everything he could muster. Surviving the apocalyptic wilderness took tolls on the mans body, but also produced a man of great achievement. He was someone he would look up to. With that he was at peace. But with the world he was born into, he could not rest. He was something changed. A bringer of death, a hater of all those who were not his own. A man of few words and many more bullets. To cross Hugo and live to say you had done so, was something unheard of among non-Mist.

Theme Song: Crimes
 
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  • Picture / Face Claim:
    Bean.png
  • Name: Bean
  • Species:Freak
  • Height: 3.00 meters
  • Gender:female
  • Age:18?
  • Bio:The average wastelander will tell you that Freaks are nothing more than violent, mindless monsters, imitating their human ancestors with crude, unflattering, and majorly distorted shadow of old society. But that was never the case with Bean. In fact, Bean’s lack of tumorous development, insane height and stature among her original clan, makes her an odd bird. While learning disabled, she’s not unintelligent like her brothers and sisters. Though these traits led to her abuse by her father, mother, and siblings in their backwoods home until she fled it at age 16. Her clawed fingers and talon-like feet belay her peaceful and gentle nature, and her desire to live peaceably among others. People are keen to take advantage of her immaturity and trusting nature in the wasteland. It is by pure chance that she finds herself not the subject of a slave trade. Often she wears a long, shabby, patchwork shroud, top, and bottom to cover herself up, since normal clothes don’t fit her. Her “best friend” is Cream, a plush, Easter themed lamb from pre-war times who she has imprinted on. It possesses the seemingly anomalous quality of remaining in remarkably good condition. Due to her natural strength and hardy body, Bean would make an excellent “pack mule companion” though she can’t do much to defend herself due to her lack of combat experience.
 

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  • Claire
    Face
    m8Jelh2.jpg
    Description
    Claire is small standing a meer 5’7” and weighing 130 pounds. The woman is a crack shot. Her coldness is attributed to her psychopathy. The ability to kill without remorse and dehumanizing her kills makes it all easier. She’s strong and battle hardened. Lugging around two rifles and a pistol has toned her body. Her distant empty stare only feeds into her frightening calm.
    Bio
    Born roughly twenty years ago she does not know months or years in terms of time. It all seems so frivolous to her. She remembers at a young age she differed from other children. But even her parents knew she was different as a baby. She never cried as a baby, always quiet. Even with the threat of violence. Claire seemed to not have any tears. As she grew, there was an emptiness within her. Claire’s parents could see this, a coldness that permeated her personality. While children were working, she was capturing small animals and torturing them. By the age of 10, she had become more violent. When other children teased her, she ended up hurting them more than needed. Accepted and justified as punishment, but some of the other parents were concerned with her temper. A year later, her small settlement, attacked by raiders, destroyed. Claire’s settlement wiped off the surface of the wasteland. They killed her parents protecting her. Claire had killed her first person in the attack. A raider. She took the pistol from a dead one and paralyzed him first. Then she shot him in the face, keeping the 10mm pistol. A forty caliber pistol that kept her alive for a year traveling in the wastes. The wasteland of yesterday is the only place she's called home, a girl orphaned by the dangers of this current world. A lone Half-Goliath found her. Winter was his name. He replaced her father, and she’s become quite attached to him. Their relationship grew strong over the last eight years. She’s learned the art of long distance shooting from him, the skills to survive in the wasteland. Their Nomadic nature keeps them from settling down.
    Posessions

    C-14 Timberwolf .408
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    A powerful rifle meant for long-range shots. A rifle that requires a certain discipline to be used accurately and efficiently. Bolt action with a 5 round box magazine chambered in .408 CheTac it fires 175 grain projectile at 3060 ft/s. the effective range of the rifle is 100-1500m. The heaviest of her weapons and the largest being that it is 16 lbs unloaded and 49" long. Claire's skill allows her to shoot up to 900m.
    Banshee .300 SBR
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    This rifle is small and meant for medium to short encounters. A semi automatic Short Barel rifle. The Banshee is 26" in total length from stock to barrel tip. With only an 8" barrel, the round used is a subsonic .300 caliber, part of the 7.62 family. This is her primary weapon when she is in the field, with a better fire rate than her larger rifle. With a round that is strong enough to put down her enemies but a variant light enough to be used in fire fights.
    93R "burst" 9mm
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    The pistol 93R AKA the 93 Rapid. Crafted originally by Berreta, this short-lived production, Berreta designed as a machine pistol for special forces. After a few variants from different companies came out, they shelved the pistol. Claire's variation trades the stock for a slide and weighted barrel for stability and single-handed use.

 
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