Post by Endicott on Feb 9, 2015 12:16:48 GMT -5
Character Name: James Doberman
Nickname(s): Jimmy
Race: Human; Caucasian
Sex: Male
Age: 36
Birthplace: Wasteland of Virginia, amongst a small group of survivors
Height: 6'0
Weight: 140lb
Eye Color: Light Blue
Hair Color: Dirty Blonde
Hair Style: Smooth Wave, unkempt and greasy
Facial Hair: Large scruffy beard, covering his face
Skin Color: Pale to the point that people have to squint when looking at him if it's sunny.
Build: James is built athletically due to his years performing hard labour, as well as being agile, though lacks endurance due to the damage done to his body.
Distinguishing Features: James is extremely distrusting of almost anyone he meets, and is known for being a drifter. From his manner of speech and actions, it is also clear that he is rather paranoid and fearful, often pacing up and down or shifting with nervous energy. A lack of common sense could also be observed, as despite his cautiousness he will act rather strangely in terms of self-preservation, sticking his hand in a hole labelled "DON'T TOUCH!" or searching a dark building with ominous moaning coming from within.
Profession: Survivor, Scavenger and Mercenary
Skills: Survival, Guns, Melee Weapons, Sneak
Training: James received basic medical training during his time in Virginia, as well as extensive survival techniques and scavenging skills. Using melee weapons came more naturally to him than firearms, but with practice he became an adept user of both.
Other Abilities: James has a good knack for telling if someone's lying, though there is no rhyme or reason to this, it's mostly just intuitive luck.
Apparel: James sports the clothing he took from those who held him captive for almost a decade, having took them from their corpses postmortem; a Mist Green M-65 Field Jacket /w USA Flag Patch, Dark Blue Jeans, Grey T-Shirt, Black Military Combat Boots, a Black Leather Belt and a String Necklace with a Bronze Ring around it.
Weaponry: Although he'll take whatever he can get and doesn't stick to the same set of weapons, he is currently in possession of a well-maintained Hatchet, a .32 Pistol and a .32 Calibre Hunting Rifle.
Other Equipment: Dark Brown Duffel Bag, containing five boxes of .32 rounds, food and a few books, and he also carries a water canteen.
Affiliation: No-one
Religious Belief: Anti-theist
Sexual Preference: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: James has had a troubled past and the future doesn't look much less troubling. As a result, he finds it difficult to trust anyone and his social skills are a little worse for wear, obviously. He can come across as a little bitter or passive-aggressive, but he's rather compassionate underneath this guise. Having observed the same patterns of patrol for years on end have made him patient and cunning; he's an efficient tactician and knows when to hold back.
James was born amongst a rather advanced group of survivors, at least by wasteland standards. They consisted of a motley crew of scavengers, doctors of various fields, traders, settlers, drifters and survivalists. One of the old towns in the northern area of Virginia was their choice of location, as it was surrounded by a thick grey smog, most likely a resident of it being hit rather badly during the Great War. No matter the cause, it provided shelter; it made it difficult to enter the town and also made it appear rather ominous. James' life seemed like it was going to be safe and rather prosperous (again, by wasteland standards), and he almost lived like one of the people before the war; he had a loving family, a variety of toys (albeit broken/ancient ones), warmth, shelter and safely.
By no means was he coddled, however. When he entered his adolescent years, he began to be taught how to survive in the world and was made aware of the many dangers of the wasteland that laid ahead for him. Times felt like they would be rather easy, but James was a hard worker and pulled his weight greatly within the group in order to earn their respect. As he grew older, he became a central figure in their society, trying to normalise their society a little more with things like religion and leisure activities instead of just working constantly to survive... but it didn't last; how could it? Everything was in vain in the end.
A splinter group of the Pitt Slavers were cutting through Virginia, and it wasn't long before the tip of their jagged knife lacerated Doberman's family and friends. They marched into the town with around twenty men... and left a red rain in their path. Blood sprayed everywhere, and the town was painted crimson, as was James himself. The survivors who didn't put up a fight had a bulky collar whipped around their neck and were forced to return to the slavers' main base out in the eastern side of Virginia, and put them straight to work. James was young, innocent and loving, but their regimen of work... breaking rocks, fortifying buildings, carrying loads that even a brahmin would collapse under... it changed him. The social isolation, the sadistic beatings the came over the years and the hard labour was too much to bear.
During his years spent working for them, he began to formulate a scheme of escape. The patterns of the patrol groups, the behavior of the guards, the layout of the camp; all things he studied extensively. The years took their toll on his sanity and personality, driving them both underground until he was a lifeless husk, but he wasn't going to give in. The darkness in their hearts would be spilt across the scorched earth like a purple fountain; their lives would pay for his suffering. Once he had gathered enough support, he set up an ambush for them during one of their many nihilistic celebrations. The guard in charge of the frequency modulator for the collars was in a drunken stupour, and without any hesitation, slit his throat with a shard of glass. A few of the slaves made a run for it once the modulator had been destroyed, but James was smart enough to realise he'd need something better than blood-sodden rags to get out of here in. To this day, he sports the clothing of one of his dead captors.
James took the man's pistol and ran. Hell, James had worked hard during his time at the camp, but he'd never ran so far and so hard; his lungs felt like they had been through a cheese grater. James cleansed himself of the blood, and removed the now defunct collar in a small body of water. Finally, he was a free man. But it didn't matter. The slavers sent men to look for him in the coming weeks, and he had to be extra careful to avoid them. Some of them he was able to kill, and to this day he carries a hatchet once used by a man of theirs. Eventually, they stopped coming, deeming him not worth the men or resources. James vowed one day to return with a group of experienced warriors to take down the slavers and finally end it all, but that would have to wait.
From then on, it was just all about survival. His skills had become rusty, but they became sharp once more as time passed. Every survivor he met he often avoided, blanked or killed if they appeared hostile, rarely stopping to purchase anything from traders. James probably cleared out half of the Super Duper Marts in Virginia over the next few years, scavenging often and making some connections communities he came across that appeared trustworthy. Eventually, as the years passed, he became a little less bitter and traveled to D.C. to look for some kind of larger civilisation. To this day, he traverses the D.C. wastes, avoiding his old captors and doing oddjobs for caps.
