Post by TalonShadow on Jan 19, 2015 23:16:24 GMT -5
Character Name: Maximus Delroy Castiel
Nickname(s):Max, Mentats Max
Race:Human
Sex:Male
Age:27
Birthplace:New Philadelphia Ohio
Height:5'10"
Weight: 210lbs
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brown
Hair Style: High and Tight
Facial Hair: Soul Patch
Skin Color: Pale, but not albino
Build: A bit stocky, but not chunky
Distinguishing Features: Slight cleft in the chin
Profession: Scavenger, ex Talon company Merc
Skills:Proficient in small arms such as pistols and sub machine guns, tracking
Training: Firearm training (Talon Co.), Tracking (From his father back in OH)
Other Abilities: Gifted with a grand ability of speech.
Apparel: Broken pieces of Talon company combat armor atop a wasteland merchant's outfit
Weaponry: 44 magnum revolver (without a scope), 10mm Sub machine gun
Other Equipment: bobby pins, a screwdriver, an in-progress map of the wastes, a water canteen, a food pouch (Containing pork n' beans, a handful of mutfruit and one pack of fancy lads snack cakes), ten stimpacks, a bottle of radx and a backpack, mostly full of mentats.
Affiliation: N/A
Religious Belief: Atheistic
Sexual Preference: Straight
Relationship Status: Indefinitely Single it seems.
Personality: Easily approachable, given there's no weapon drawn. A bit hyper at times (probably from the mentats), but able to keep his cool when danger strikes. Humble and soft hearted, his emotion often makes his road a difficult one.
Being born in apocalyptic America was never anything anyone should be put through.. Day to day life was tedious and dangerous. In a fit of desperation he found himself stumbling into the basement of a run down house and into a sealed door. He spent hours fiddling with the lock carefully. Hours. When it finally popped open he found Mentats.. Not caps, or ammunition, or medicine, or clothing or food or useful junk to tinker with. But Mentats. And so he stuffed as many packs of the minty bastards into his backpack he could and kept on out of Ohio in search of anything possible to keep him alive.. Scavenging seemed the only way to survive this day and age.
The Talon Company mercenaries caught him thieving food and snagged him, beating him to a pulp. A concussion, two broken fingers, and a bruised eye socket later, he weaseled his way into working off the debt he owed. They agreed, and sent him on a few low end missions with a control group to keep an eye on him. He worked with the Talon company for four long years, and opted out when they sent him to a small settlement to "deal" with a family of jet manufacturers that were soaking up all the caps in the area. He entered the banged up home and and held the young lady at gunpoint as the man of the house destroyed the jet lab. As he turned to leave, he caught a bullet in the left calf and retaliated by dropping beside the coffee table, flipping it sideways and putting three forty four slugs through the feeble wood. When the smoke cleared, the man lay dead.. And so did the youngest girl of the family.. No older than ten, with a hole clean through her right temple.. The woman he had at gunpoint's screams would haunt him for the rest of his days.. Upon his return, he turned in his armor and his caps, then set off to find his own way, hoping to redeem himself by means of karma herself..His stash of mentats from home, and his forty four magnum he received from his "commanding officer" at the Talon company the only things even remotely close to friends he had.
The partial map Max carries has quite a few odds and ends scribbled onto it, but the larger portions of the Capital Wasteland sticks out the most. He scrounged through DC for some time, learning a vast amount about the land, and himself during the process. Megaton and Rivet City were sights to behold, not because of their grandeur, but because of the rate of survival. People had risen out of the ashes of the wastes and started settlements again that were promising. He traded with the other wandering traders from time to time, and stayed well away from the town called Old Oney, for the whispers about the creatures called Deathclaws roaming about. His time spent out in the wastes led him to an abandon town, or at least he thought was abandon.. Massive ants crawled all over the place, and at first, Max thought nothing of them. But Max had never been a ham fisted brute, so he watched. And when one of the ants spewed a gout of fire from its pincers, he left. Immediately. He made his way back home just for a few days, having traveled with a group of traders that played some odd card game called "Caravan" or something of the sort. He was never any good. Lost some caps right off the bat and decided not to play any longer..
Max starred at his map... Vegas.. He needed to get to Vegas.. But how? With this little group of five people and a few pack mules? No mercs, no bots, no nothing? Hardly.. He'd be better off on his own.. No one to tip anything off of the presence.. But that was his ticket.. Vegas. Caps, but even more so than caps, opportunity..
Nickname(s):Max, Mentats Max
Race:Human
Sex:Male
Age:27
Birthplace:New Philadelphia Ohio
Height:5'10"
Weight: 210lbs
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brown
Hair Style: High and Tight
Facial Hair: Soul Patch
Skin Color: Pale, but not albino
Build: A bit stocky, but not chunky
Distinguishing Features: Slight cleft in the chin
Profession: Scavenger, ex Talon company Merc
Skills:Proficient in small arms such as pistols and sub machine guns, tracking
Training: Firearm training (Talon Co.), Tracking (From his father back in OH)
Other Abilities: Gifted with a grand ability of speech.
Apparel: Broken pieces of Talon company combat armor atop a wasteland merchant's outfit
Weaponry: 44 magnum revolver (without a scope), 10mm Sub machine gun
Other Equipment: bobby pins, a screwdriver, an in-progress map of the wastes, a water canteen, a food pouch (Containing pork n' beans, a handful of mutfruit and one pack of fancy lads snack cakes), ten stimpacks, a bottle of radx and a backpack, mostly full of mentats.
Affiliation: N/A
Religious Belief: Atheistic
Sexual Preference: Straight
Relationship Status: Indefinitely Single it seems.
Personality: Easily approachable, given there's no weapon drawn. A bit hyper at times (probably from the mentats), but able to keep his cool when danger strikes. Humble and soft hearted, his emotion often makes his road a difficult one.
Being born in apocalyptic America was never anything anyone should be put through.. Day to day life was tedious and dangerous. In a fit of desperation he found himself stumbling into the basement of a run down house and into a sealed door. He spent hours fiddling with the lock carefully. Hours. When it finally popped open he found Mentats.. Not caps, or ammunition, or medicine, or clothing or food or useful junk to tinker with. But Mentats. And so he stuffed as many packs of the minty bastards into his backpack he could and kept on out of Ohio in search of anything possible to keep him alive.. Scavenging seemed the only way to survive this day and age.
The Talon Company mercenaries caught him thieving food and snagged him, beating him to a pulp. A concussion, two broken fingers, and a bruised eye socket later, he weaseled his way into working off the debt he owed. They agreed, and sent him on a few low end missions with a control group to keep an eye on him. He worked with the Talon company for four long years, and opted out when they sent him to a small settlement to "deal" with a family of jet manufacturers that were soaking up all the caps in the area. He entered the banged up home and and held the young lady at gunpoint as the man of the house destroyed the jet lab. As he turned to leave, he caught a bullet in the left calf and retaliated by dropping beside the coffee table, flipping it sideways and putting three forty four slugs through the feeble wood. When the smoke cleared, the man lay dead.. And so did the youngest girl of the family.. No older than ten, with a hole clean through her right temple.. The woman he had at gunpoint's screams would haunt him for the rest of his days.. Upon his return, he turned in his armor and his caps, then set off to find his own way, hoping to redeem himself by means of karma herself..His stash of mentats from home, and his forty four magnum he received from his "commanding officer" at the Talon company the only things even remotely close to friends he had.
The partial map Max carries has quite a few odds and ends scribbled onto it, but the larger portions of the Capital Wasteland sticks out the most. He scrounged through DC for some time, learning a vast amount about the land, and himself during the process. Megaton and Rivet City were sights to behold, not because of their grandeur, but because of the rate of survival. People had risen out of the ashes of the wastes and started settlements again that were promising. He traded with the other wandering traders from time to time, and stayed well away from the town called Old Oney, for the whispers about the creatures called Deathclaws roaming about. His time spent out in the wastes led him to an abandon town, or at least he thought was abandon.. Massive ants crawled all over the place, and at first, Max thought nothing of them. But Max had never been a ham fisted brute, so he watched. And when one of the ants spewed a gout of fire from its pincers, he left. Immediately. He made his way back home just for a few days, having traveled with a group of traders that played some odd card game called "Caravan" or something of the sort. He was never any good. Lost some caps right off the bat and decided not to play any longer..
Max starred at his map... Vegas.. He needed to get to Vegas.. But how? With this little group of five people and a few pack mules? No mercs, no bots, no nothing? Hardly.. He'd be better off on his own.. No one to tip anything off of the presence.. But that was his ticket.. Vegas. Caps, but even more so than caps, opportunity..
Thanks for sticking it out and helping out so much.