[b]Name:[/b] David Chrystein

[b]Age:[/b] 31

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Nomadic or sedentary:[/b] Nomadic

[b]Weapons:[/b] A 1911 .45 ACP pistol, but with ammunition being a valuable commodity, he avoids using it. Two trench knives, one has a broken blade. Various things stuffed into pockets that could be used as throwing knives, blunt force objects, or distractions.

[b]Skills:[/b] David is a scavenger, always on the look out for things that might be useful or valuable. Fighting over scraps being commonplace for him, he's become adept at fighting. It's a very sloppy and merciless way of fighting, but better to have them presumed dead with broken legs rather than alive and coming after him. Scavenging city centers made stealth and patience as necessity. He's very good at hiding himself, despite his height, and very good at moving relatively silently, despite the weight of his clothes.

As a result of his scavenging, he's had to deal with merchant types a lot. While he doesn't have the most discerning eye beyond "it's useful, take it" he is becoming good at analyzing an item and judging its potential value for trade.

[b]Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:[/b] His skin has become extremely pale, almost translucent, and easy to burn. It offers no benefit that David can see, besides maybe blending in the snow if he decided to strip naked. As a result, he keeps himself covered at all times.
 
[b]Appearance:[/b] David is extremely pale, though it doesn't really show, considering he doesn't expose any skin. He's fairly tall at 6'4" and with lack of a constant source of nourishment, he's very thin, giving him a gaunt, lanky appearance. Beneath that there are some vestiges of muscle borne of desperation in the fight to survive. He wears a black balaclava, showing signs of wear and tear, with heavily tinted, and heavily scratched, goggles completing the cover on his face. Tufts of unkempt black hair can sometimes be seen sticking out. The elastic of the goggles have long since snapped, so he has them tied on with a piece of cloth. He tries to mostly wear leather, as it is most resistant to tearing. Leather gloves cover his hands, covering up what the sleeves of his faded heavy leather trench coat doesn't. The coat has a few tears here and there, being in use for years, that were sloppily stitched up or patched with scraps found from scavenging. He hadn't had any luck finding leather pants so he wears thick cargo pants tucked into heavy industrial steel toed boots. Strapped to his back is a well used, strong rucksack.

[b]Brief Personality:[/b] He is extremely blunt in social interactions, though he doesn't speak much, speaking when he has to, preferring to remain silent and listen when he doesn't. He is very pragmatic, locking away emotions for the sake of survival. He looks at situations logically, and if doing something is more conducive to his survival, he will do it, even if it means stepping on the toes of others or sticking a knife in their backs.
 
[b]Background:[/b] David was in school when news of wars reached his ears, he never paid attention to current events. His father took him out of school, telling him to pack up, before taking the family to a shelter he had built. The man was one of those "doomsday planners" David had made fun of when he saw some on TV. Only, the news echoing through the radio showed that more than ever, his father was not crazy. Six months, they stayed in that shelter, David's father had stockpiled many things. Food, water, small luxuries, ammunition, feminine necessities for his mother and sister, etc. But the food and water didn't last as long as they hoped and they were forced to pack up and venture out. Things went relatively smoothly for the first few days, until David was sent into a nearby town to scavenge for food, or anything else useful, while his family set up camp. Upon returning, he found three more people than there should have been. Two dead, along with his parents, and a third torturing his sister.

How long the man had with his sister, he didn't know, but the bullet rang out David's first kill. His second kill wouldn't be far behind. His sister was begging for him to kill her. Her broken body shivering on the cold ground. The vision of it tortured David for years to come. He didn't even hear his second shot. He quickly packed up what he could from the camp and left, sparing one last look for his dead family.

Years passed as David wondered the wasteland, scavenging what he could, trading when he had the chance. Much of his ammunition was traded for food or water, or containers to hold them, too much was used to defend himself or his prizes from successful scavenging trips. But slowly, he was learning to survive in this new world. He would join groups here or there, but would leave just as easily when the situation called for it.

David was no longer sure how much time had passed since his stay in his father's shelter, but he was surviving this wasteland, one way or another.

[b]Alone or with someone?:[/b] Alone