[Hider="Akane"][img]https://i.ibb.co/zPz34rr/Fallout-Akane.png[/img]
[b]Name:[/b] Akane (Current assumed name)/"Monkey-of-Red" (White Leg birth name)

[b]Race:[/b] Human

[b]Gender:[/b] Female

[b]Age:[/b] Due to bad record keeping by the White Legs, not helped by the fact that they are now destroyed nearly to the (wo)man, Akane is not entirely sure how old she specifically is. She knows she's somewhere in her mid to late twenties, and that's as specific as she can be.

[hider=SPECIAL]Strength: 10

Perception: 5  

Endurance: 7

Charisma: 3

Intelligence: 4

Agility: 6

Luck: 5[/hider] 

[hider=Skills][b]Unarmed[/b] - 3

Melee - 3

Throwing - 0

Guts -  2

[b]Athletics[/b] - 3

Guns - 3

Energy Weapons - 0

Explosives - 0

Medicine - 0

Piloting - 0

Sneak - 2

Lockpick - 0

Science - 0

Repair - 0

Speech - 0

Barter - 0

[b]Survival[/b] - 3[/hider]

[b]Personality:[/b] Akane is a turbulent, choleric woman who feels far more at home in the wilderness that she once called home, in the halcyon days in Utah. Back when problems were real, and solvable. Stuff like finding enough food for the day, or clean water, or protecting your land from the crazy Mormons who insisted your way of life was inherently sinful and the tribes that decided to butter up to them. You dealt with those problems as they came up, and they were finished after a day's worth of hard effort, and you didn't need to constantly stress over it. Life was simpler, and things just made more sense. And no one had to pretend to be anything that they weren't. You didn't like someone? You told them that to their face and punched them. Didn't need to worry about social standing or keeping the so-called peace. It was violent, it was often savage, but Akane argues it brought out the best in people.

But those days are long behind her now. Zion no longer welcomed her people, not after the Mormons and their accursed courier showed up and drove them away. And when they tried to return back to their ancestral homeland, the 80s also made sure they weren't welcomed [i]there[/i] either. And as the Bear slowly made its way eastwards, and the Mojave turned on its glitzy lights and paraded itself as a den of sin, it became increasingly clear that tribals in general were not long for this world. So as much as Akane wishes she could have finished the job of Salt-Upon-Wounds, and burn down all the accursed relics and symbols of the evil Old World, to return everything to salt and ashes... she was just one woman. So now she's forced to wear their clothes, speak their language, and to respect these meaningless social constructs like "property" and "money".

And she [b]hates[/b] it. Akane feels so fake, so artificial. The creeping encroachment of civilization might have put the trappings of modern society on her, but the savage raider still lives on in her heart, desperately wishing it could tear itself out in freedom. But she's not strong enough to do so, and it only drives her to hate everyone she met in New California... least of all herself. God she hates herself for how weak she's become. To let herself get so domesticated by her peoples' traditional enemies.

The worst thing is that she knows she wasn't always this angry. Not when she was in Zion. She was at peace with herself, next to the calm, serene flow of the Virgin River. She used to be happy, carefree almost. Conversely to what the civilized wastelanders would claim, not everyday needed to be a violent struggle for survival. Hell, besides the [i]occasional[/i] raiding and pillaging (not like the civilized folk don't steal other people's shit; they just make legal fictions to justify it!), tribal life was actually pretty calm, from what she remembered. Akane wishes she could find that peace again, that feeling of belonging in a community, particularly one that viewed itself a part of, rather than above, the wasteland. But for now, Akane isn't sure she'll ever find that peace. And there's something about that which, rather than burning a fire in her stomach... just made her melancholic. Perhaps she had her own version of Old World Blues, just her old world being within living memory...

[b]Background:[/b] The woman presently known as Akane, was born as Monkey-of-Red (a name, in the White Leg pidgin language, roughly is meant to invoke "Angry Monkey"), as a freewoman of the White Legs. Originally raiders from the Great Salt Lake region, their ferocious temperament, complete cultural isolation due to their unique language they spoke, and access to superior weaponry due to strategic looting of Pre-War armories led them to become one of the most reviled and feared raider tribes in the region. Many communities in Utah and Nevada found their ruin at the barrel of their feared "storm drums", which paved way for domination of the region.

However, the White Legs did not see themselves as especially heinous or devil-like in the way they operated. The world was often a brutal and violent place, and they simply were just the best at dishing it out. They didn't particularly hate the people they raided, they just knew it was either them or the people they attacked, and they'd rather it be themselves. That was the mentality, at the very least, that Monkey-of-Red was raised in. Her people may be violent, sure, but they were honest and virtuous. They didn't pretend to be above the coyotes and yao guai, but viewed themselves as part of the very same wasteland that all other life came from. The predator eats the prey, but that doesn't mean that the predator [i]hated[/i] the prey. It was all part of the circle of life, and Monkey-of-Red was eager to take her place in said circle. Indeed, to Monkey-of-Red, it was everyone else who was weird, for worshiping the crude, disgusting effigies of the old world that scarred and polluted the earth! Those monuments to man's sin needed to be destroyed, not revered!

Beyond the communities that they raided, however, the real enemy of the White Legs were the Mormons-- New Canaan, the largest settled society within Utah. Their settlers encroached on their traditional hunting grounds, and they branded Monkey-of-Red's peoples as unredeemable sinners for worshipping their gods and daring to defend their lands. So it should be no shock that New Canaan and its outlying communities were the most popular targets for White Legs raids. One of Monkey-of-Red's proudest days was when Salt-Upon-Wounds, the esteemed and respected war leader for the White Legs, noticed Monkey-of-Red's potential as a warrior, and personally bestowed her one of the tribes' storm drums. Soon enough, the tribal woman set off on raids, keeping her people well fed and free from the clutches of the evil Canaanites.

The constant raiding against the Mormons seemingly attracted the attention of a man named Caesar, a fact unbeknownst to Monkey-of-Red, ultimately sealed the fate of her tribe. He sent one of his emissaries up north to attempt to negotiate an alliance with the White Legs, one that Salt-Upon-Wounds was more than eager to make. Ulysses, his name was, was nearly revered as a god by Salt-Upon-Wounds, as the Legion represented the one known raider group that utterly dwarfed the White Legs; a sort of might-recognizes-might fanboying going on. Salt's love for the man rubbed off on many tribals, Monkey-of-Red included, who started to ceremoniously braid their hair in dreadlocks to honor who they considered to be the strongest warrior. Monkey-of-Red barely had a chance to talk to the Legionnaire, as he was more involved with the leaders of the tribe, but there was one night where she managed to corner him alone. She wish she never had. There was something in his eyes that terrified her. A look of disgust and regret. The former when he noticed her newly braided hair, and the latter when she mentioned fighting for Caesar. It was like he looked down on her, for reasons Monkey-of-Red never fully understood, but knew enough to realize she, nor the other White Legs, would be seen as equals by Ulysses, let alone Caesar.

It wasn't too long afterwards that the White Legs marched onto war. Their price of admission to potentially join the Legion was to utterly destroy New Canaan. And no amount of self-doubt inflicted by meeting representatives of the Legion was going to dissuade Monkey-of-Red from fighting the stuck up, hypocritical Mormons. And that day was [i]glorious.[/i] Monkey-of-Red, to this day, would consider the sacking of New Canaan the greatest moment of her life. In one swift movement, they destroyed the capital of sin and decadence within Utah, burning their churches and other pre-war monuments, putting their peddlers-of-lies to the sword (or, more accurately, the .45 auto), and in an symbolic act of defiance, literally salting the earth to make sure that the accursed land could never be settled again, and would instead be returned back to the earth. Monkey-of-Red proudly bared a storm drum in the fighting, along with a power fist, and made sure to slaughter as much of her peoples' traditional oppressors as she could. But, unfortunately, they didn't get everyone. Survivors scattered to the four corners of the earth. And one that Caesar wanted dead in particular went southwards, towards Zion. So that's where the White Legs marched to.

If New Canaan represented everything Monkey-of-Red hated, Zion represented the good in the world. The former national park was [i]beautiful[/i], practically untouched even before the bombs dropped! The local tribes of the area, the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, weren't unlike the White Legs either, except that their relative isolation meant neither had the same proclivity to violence that the White Legs did. Perhaps, in another life, the three tribes could have been friends, maybe shared Zion together, kept the virgin pristine land safe from the encroaching settlers. But they were here to do a job. To kill the Burned Man. And the Dead Horses in particular took him in, and made him [i]their[/i] war leader. What a sick joke. When they refused to hand him over... it was war. The White Legs, Monkey-of-Red included, did what they knew best: stormed the valley and took as much land as they could by force. Then they besieged the other tribes, taking what they needed to survive, before ultimately hoping to force the Burned Man to come out from his caves so they may take his head to Caesar.

Unfortunately, that day never came. Another wastelander entered the valley, a courier of some sort, and eventually helped prepare the two tribes to make war to the White Legs. Monkey-of-Red fought as valiantly as she could, but even despite their superior training and weaponry, there simply was not enough White Legs to hold off the Burned Man, the Courier, and the combined strength of two tribes. The war ended almost as quickly as it began, with most of the White Legs dead. A few survivors, Monkey-of-Red among them, managed to escape the reprisal killings. Salt-Upon-Wounds was another survivor; he claimed he was able to hold off the Burned Man long enough to escape, but there was something in his voice that Monkey-of-Red could tell that he was [i]broken[/i] by whatever event transpired between the two. Others accused him of outright lying, that he actually begged for his life like a little bitch. To the Mormons! Monkey-of-Red knew that couldn't be true. Salt-Upon-Wounds wasn't a coward. It couldn't be true. It [i]couldn't[/i].

The survivors of the Zion expedition came back as failures, and with it, the infamous reputation of brutal invincibility died with it. Another tribe, the 80s, took advantage of the weakness of the White Legs and the deflated leadership of Salt-Upon-Wounds. It didn't take long before their main camp was being razed, Salt-Upon-Wounds meeting a brutal end as his throat was cut upon by a tomahawk. Monkey-of-Red saw her idol being cut down, and knew it was that moment the White Legs were dead. She wanted to stay, to avenge him, to avenge the White Legs... but she couldn't. She felt too scared. She ran. Ran as far as her feet would take her, away from Utah, away from this accursed place. Her first thought was to go south, towards the Legion. Sure, they didn't kill the Burned Man, but maybe Caesar would have appreciated the attempt? But then she remembered the face Ulysses made, and remembered to go south would mean to go to Zion again. No, she couldn't. There was nothing for her there. So she just kept running in the direction she already was running. Which just so happened to be westward.

Wandering the wasteland as a tribal woman who didn't speak English was... [i]hard[/i]. No one could understand what she was trying to say (if they didn't immediately run away in fear if they recognized her appearance as a White Leg), so many encounters just ended up in bloodshed since it was either her or them, and she didn't live this long by accepting the answer as them. She wasn't exactly [i]proud[/i] of this era of her life, but she was willing to do what it took to keep food in her stomach and .45 auto in her storm drum. Eventually, though, she ended up finding the largest settlement she ever encountered in her life. A settlement that she would eventually get well acquainted with: New Reno.

Perhaps in any other settlement, Monkey-of-Red would have been casted away as the brutal tribal she was, shunned or even outright killed. In New Reno, however? A brutal ex-raider was exactly what the gangs wanted in particular, an enforcer that was powerful yet disposable. And the Yakuza in particular, they claimed they saw some kind of kinship with Monkey-of-Red. After some extremely extraneous translating that was awkward for all parties involved, they claimed her facial features and skin tone marked her as a daughter of a mythical faraway land called "Asia", where their ancestors ultimately came from. They were willing to take her in, make her one of their own, and teach her the language of the civilized people, in return for her bringing her tribal savagery to their gang wars. Monkey-of-Red, not having much else to live for, accepted.

So the next few years of her life was spent in this den of debauchery and gambling, as she slowly become acclimated to civilized life. Her tribal clothes were discarded for uncomfortable, stiff suits. Her war paint was eventually washed off. Finding her name ridiculous, the Yakuza even bestowed her a "proper" Japanese name, using Akane to roughly match the "red" part of her name. The one area she refused to compromise on was the dreads: she nearly killed the man that approached her hair with scissors. Even if she didn't revere Ulysses, she revered Salt-Upon-Wounds, and Salt loved the dreadlocks. Its why the rest of the tribe followed him in suit with adopting them. If this was the one way she could appropriately honor her White Leg heritage, then so be it. The dreadlocks stayed.

Life in New Reno, however, never felt the same to Akane. She hated how fake everyone felt, the Yakuza especially. They cared so much about honor and "bushido", yet acted no different from the other gangs that ran the city. And why does everyone care so much about bottlecaps? You can't eat them, you can't hunt with them, they're bloody useless! But everyone acted like they were more important than life itself! What the actual fuck? And whilst she didn't mind the killing, in a vacuum, a lot of the fighting felt [i]pointless[/i]. A coyote doesn't kill for the sake of killing! It kills to eat!

Eventually, enough was enough. Akane took whatever caps she saved up, and in the middle of the night, left New Reno. She needed to get out of there. Away from that place. Away from the sin. Anywhere would have been better than Reno. So she continued to wander westward, towards California. Now being able to speak English, moving around didn't necessarily need to be so violent. But there was a part of her that wishes she didn't understand what the Californians had to say. They were some of the most vapid, pretentious people she ever met on those trails. Part of her wish she could have just raided them conscience-free. But life simply didn't work that way anymore, unfortunately. Instead, the woman simply moved from community to community, doing odd jobs (mostly of the violent persuasion) before moving on to the next community, refusing to settle down in one area for too long.

Through her wandering, Akane learned of a new frontier, over in the ocean. A place known as Hawaii, which was untouched by the ravages of so-called civilization, a pristine, virgin land for the taking. Compared to everything she experienced since leaving Utah, this Hawaii sounded like paradise. A second chance for Zion, even. Using all the caps she could scrounge up, the woman made her way to the coastline, and bought herself a ticket to this new land. Whatever was in store for her, it had to be better than California.  

[b]Equipment:[/b]

Brahmin-skin suit: A compromise between the tribal clothes she actually feels comfortable with, and the expectations civilized society has on people to dress modestly. These overalls-and-shirt combo is dirty and perhaps not the most well maintained, but it is uniquely hers, and a statement of trying to live closer to nature rather than pre-war society.

.45 Auto Submachine Gun: Known by the White Legs as a "Storm Drum", these were the signature weapons of the White Legs tribe. While Akane prefers, in a vacuum, the thrilling rush of personal combat, keeping her storm drum around gives her a comforting continuity with her heritage. This is [i]their[/i] weapon, and she was going to honor them by maintaining it as long as she could.

Makeshift Tomahawk: Akane is somewhat embarrassed by the fact she wasn't exactly the best at [i]throwing[/i] tomahawks like others were in her tribe, but that doesn't mean that she can't just walk up and slash someone with it up and personal. Not an actual relic of Utah, but instead improvised in the style of tomahawks from that region.

Her fists: Akane was a brawler. While going around and punching people in a war scenario isn't exactly the smartest idea, even Salt-Upon-Wounds had to concede Akane was far better with her hands than any particular weapon. She was perhaps the strongest warrior in personal hand-to-hand combat in the entire tribe.[/Hider]

Thank you [@Butteryicarus] for drawing my character for me :)