Name: 

Coyote-Teeth. She goes by Livia, or Liv, now.

Race: 

She is a human. 

Age: 

32

Height: 

5'11

Weight: 

135 lbs.

Appearance: 

Perhaps the best word to summarize Liv is harsh-her hair has only just begun to grow back after an unforgiving buzz cut, her face bears its fair share of scars, and her smiles are about as commonplace as the Enclave these days. She has neither the frail build of malnourishment or the thick curves of someone with an abundance of food-lean, sculpted muscle clings to her arms and legs, the strength built from hard labor and many miles. Her skin is a dark bronze, a mixture of her heritage (while her tribe no longer exists, it lives on for a little while longer in her skin tone and features) and years spent traversing the open plains and deserts of the Southwest. Her hair is a dark brown-at one point, she enjoyed braiding it back, but after a few scuffles where her long, all-too-easy-to-grab-a-hold-of-hair was used against her, she elected for a more pragmatic look. It currently has the disheveled lack of a style you’d expect from a traveler-it’s been a bit since Liv has crossed paths with a mirror, and she’s not particularly concerned with her appearance any longer. On her right bicep she has a tattoo, one that has faded with the years (quality ink is in short supply these days), which is an assortment of curves and lines, jagged symbols she barely remembers the meaning of. Running vertically across her stomach are two scars, faded, but relatively fresh. She wears a set of Brotherhood dog tags around her neck, albeit she usually keeps this hidden and discreet.


Equipment:

She travels light, and carries only what she needs. She has no use for scavenge or scrap, and gets away with the bare minimums. A few canteens for water, flint and steel, a blanket, a pouch of old  a herbal remedies, an emergency wallet of NCR money, Legion denarii, and old-fashioned bottlecaps, a pair of binoculars. She carries this in a worn but functional pack, slung by one strap across her chest. For everyday wear, she generally makes use of a leather jacket (it’s got holes and is bound with duct tape in a few places), a pair of mirrored sunglasses, time-tested combat boots, and jeans. She had a set of armor-way back-but it was too bulky to carry on the move. She carries some bandages and gauze, and a small cluster of nightshade is pinned to her lapel, perhaps where she can rip it out with her teeth if necessary.

Weapons: 

Liv’s an old-school kinda girl. She wields a machete, fashioned as a gladius. It’s name is Gaul¬. When Liv was more warrior than scout, a number of NCR dogtags hung from the pommel, but these are a bit conspicuous now. She keeps it well-honed and ready for use, and the trusty weapon has never let her down thus far.

While Liv is not fond of firearms, she understands the necessity for them, particularly in her newest line of work. She carries a Winchester 1892 Short and just enough ammo to squeak by-she rarely uses it.

Specializations: 

Liv is an adept scout and skilled survivalist. She has trekked many miles, nursed many wounds, and brought down many foes with nothing but what she could carry at a dead run. She’s an adept close-quarters fighter, making up for her lack of raw muscle and size with technique, experience,  is and brutality. She’s determined and cunning, but also possesses the capacity for discretion and patience-she has learned that moving erratically will only earn her more scars, and as such she takes time to plan and think over her strategies. She’s an experienced combatant and cowers from neither pain nor (seemingly) imminent death-she’s faced both before, and come out roughed up but still kicking. From her time in the Legion and her time as a tribal, she has a number of natural remedies and poisons-these are crude and inefficient, but effective.

Other: 




Negative Attributes:

First and foremost, her inexperience with technology. Liv, as per Legion doctrine, shies away from using electronic crutches, and she’s rather baffled by anything related to computers or even mechanical repairs. Her general response to robots is to smash them into scrap metal, and she underestimates their capability and intelligence. Secondly, while she can handle a rifle, she’s no Annie Oakley, and generally only uses it when she absolutely must. She’s also averse to modern medicine, and while she understands basic first aid and can patch herself up, she’s ignorant to the nuances of medical theory-if willpower and her tribal cures can’t overcome it, then it’s bad news for Liv. 

Biography:

The most obvious question, I’m sure, is not only how a woman came to like the Legion, but how a woman was able to join the Legion. The first is rather simply answered-they offered security where others could not. Coyote-Teeth (so named for her tendency to painfully bite her siblings and friends while wrestling) grew up far outside the NCR’s civilized towns or Megaton’s safe walls. She watched friends get mauled by the beasts of the Wasteland, had to witness the Hobbesian demonstration of what Raiders are capable of when no one’s watching. Mothers dying in childbirth, fathers dying in fighting. It was a tough existence, and while she didn’t know it as a young girl and teenager, she longed for something more substantial.

It came wearing crimson and speaking through a vexillarius’ lips. Coyote-Teeth was immediately fascinated with the Legion-because they brought immediate results. The costs in freedom were well-worth the feeling of genuine security, the sudden peace her people obtained. While her brothers and male friends were conscripted, it didn’t seem a tremendous loss-after all, their life expectancies were not tremendously high, and service in the Legion was temporary. Being tasked with carrying children for Caesar? She hadn’t expected to live in a world where she could raise children safely, securely-she’d have as many sons as he needed if she knew they wouldn’t be killed young, wouldn’t be taken by mutants or slavers or disease. The Legion’s rule was not an enlightened one, but it was prosperous-her people and village began to grow steadily and surely, the enemies they’d been too weak to defeat now brought low by the Bull and its horns. Al seemed well.

And all was well. But as the years passed, and Coyote-Teeth fulfilled her duties-two children she bore, marked by the Caesarian scars across her stomach-she felt a sense of….emptiness. She was no great feminist, she was content with her role in life-but she felt that she could do more. The Legion had brought prosperity, shielded them from hardships. Days spent at home, tending for crying infants…she’d never admit it, but a part of her missed the struggle of her youth, of surviving an attack by merit of being stronger and faster, of gathering plants in the dead of night to scrape together a midnight cure for a sick relative.

Her attempts to enlist were, of course, scoffed at. 

But Coyote-Teeth was resourceful and determined, two attributes which would take her quite far in life. Her tribe lacked this iron will-that cold sort of tunnel vision that lets someone forget morality and ethics if it means accomplishing a goal. The Legionnaires her tribesmembers were made into were weak, undisciplined. This being the Legion’s frontier in Colorado, it was not an issue that was of active concern to the central Legion forces-their lack of discipline went more-or-less unnoticed, the resident Centurion more focused with seizing larger swathes of territory than firmly ruling that which he already had.

This, of course, backfired eventually. A mixture of external attacks-a local Brotherhood of Steel chapter, a few violent tribes who rejected the Legion’s offer of membership rather forcefully-and internal weakness (some, even within Coyote-Teeth’s tribe, were split over the issue of Legionhood, with a few discussing secession) led to a battle in her village. Nothing to the scale of the Hoover Dam, but it was a tremendous failure-the Legion was pushed back, and the cowardice of the local Legionnaires and their Centurion meant execution.

When they came down the line, Coyote-Teeth saw her opportunity. She moved, ripped a knife from one of the marked recruit’s sheaths, and did it herself. It wasn’t hard or difficult. Just…simple. She struck down most of her old tribesmembers, the Centurion. She hadn’t the authority to do this, of course, and this merited more serious attention. What saved her from the cross was a rather interested frumentarius who’d noticed her not only during the executions, but during the battle-the untrained tribal felled a number of invaders, did more to keep their lines steady than the Centurion had. 

Her loyalty was proven a dozen times over in the coming months as the frumentarius’ new vassal. The Legion was unaware of this issue, the records of what happened in her village’s execution smudged a bit. She escaped death by doling it out to several others. After enough time had passed, the frumentarius presented his idea to Caesar-a frumentarius amongst frumentarii, a spy amongst spies. Even amongst Caesar’s inner circle, there were elements of dissent-and after the fall at NCR, internal tensions were more strained than ever. Many questioned Caesar, the Legate. Left unchecked, these sects could gnaw the Legion away from within, attempt to seize power. Regardless, it spelled certain doom for the Legion-particularly if they managed to win over a few of the frumentarii, ones who could provide valuable intelligence, be just as potent adversaries as they were allies.

And a woman-well, who was better poised to keep an eye on them? Caesar may have spouted his domestic cult ideology for the purposes of unifying his society, of ensuring enough soldiers to fill his ranks, but the man was no fool. He gave Coyote-Teeth a new name-Liv, after Livia-and gained a rather useful internal affairs asset. As a woman, he needed to give her no resources, and had no need to stand up for her should she mess up-if she was captured, attempted to invoke Caesar’s protection, no one would believe her. She set out scouting the Legion, serving as Caesar’s proxy-where there were whispers of secession, hushed questioning of the Legate’s ability, Liv carried out her orders. 

With time, this shifted-a new frontier. With the West firmly out of the Legion’s hold, the Great Caesar turned his eyes to the East. And so he sent Liv, a wild tribal to an untamed land, to scout ahead. She holds no official ties to the Legion, and only a mere handful are aware of her association. In secret, however, she works in tandem with local forces, keeping her ears open when she poses as a slave. She works-if not in Caesar’s name-in his will, doing as would best benefit the Legion.

Zero liability asset? The man may be cruel, but he’s shrewd-and history’s shown ideologues with nothing to lose can get a lot done if you point them at your enemies and turn them loose. Caesar pointed her East and removed the shackles she’d been wearing all her life. God help the Memphis profligates-if Liv has her way, there’ll be crucifixions all the way down the Blue Ridge.