[hider=Samuel]

[h3] [center] [color=lightcyan]Basics[/color] [/center] [/h3] 
[center] [img]http://pre05.deviantart.net/0edc/th/pre/i/2015/070/d/5/post_apocalyptic_dude_by_mobocanario-d8lc54x.jpg[/img] [/center]
[b]Name:[/b] 
Samuel Biggins, sometimes called 'The Bard' or more likely 'That Guy With a Harmonica'.
[b]Age:[/b] 
Twenty-six. 
[b]Appeared Age:[/b]
Nearing his thirties. You can blame the crow's feet on the apocalypse. 
[b]Height:[/b]
Five foot ten inches.
[b]Weight:[/b]
One-hundred and fourty five pounds. "Fuck metric." - Sam
[b]Eye Color:[/b]
A shiney copper that spreads throughout his entire eye. No sclera or pupil. 
[b]Hair Color:[/b]
A rusty brown. Hair could probably use a wash. 
[b]Physical Disabilities:[/b] 
None, thankfully. No crippling injuries as of so far.
[b]Physical Identifiers:[/b][list]
[*] He's got a sweet ass beard. 
[*] Typically keeps any old wounds under clothing. He's got some scars, old scratches, a bullet wound or two. 
[/list]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
Average. Other than the strange eyes, you probably wouldn't throw a second glance at him if he passed you by in a busy market. Hell, you've seen stranger. Height is average, weight is average. Well, for the setting. He could probably do to throw on a few pounds, but hell, you're not gonna put on weight on beans and canned peaches. The beard is typical fare for a wastelander, and the hat? Well, the hat is cool. 

Clothing is usual fare as well. Anything that isn't threadbare or rotting is good for him. Current attire consists of a fashionable blue striped hoodie and brown cargo pants. Cargo pants are best pants. 

[h3][center][color=lightcyan]Background[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Residence:[/b] 
...Sam is pretty much homeless. 
[b]Profession:[/b] 
Scavenger. Roamer. Pursuer of shiny stuff. 
[b]Aligned Faction:[/b] 
Neutral. He usually tries to stay away from the Forsaken. Those guys are assholes. 
[b]Relatives:[/b] 
Dad's still alive. He thinks. Alexander Biggins. 
[hider=Backstory]
Okay, let's just get this straight. Samuel is pretty much a new-age hobo, akin to the many other hobos that populate the island. 

His parents? They were also hobos. Pretty much the typical title any person can have. Alexander Biggins was another typical scavenger, and his mother, Lillian, was another typical scavenger. They got along by sticking low and not taking risks. Keep your head down and stay as incognito as possible. Grab anything of value, don't haggle too much, and just generally stay average. People who are different stood out, and standing out is the worst mistake you can make. 

So that's what they taught little Sammy when he eventually was born. It was a bit of a surprise, but hell, any condoms left over from Pre-Fall are long rotted. Still, they weren't the kind of people to abort him or abandon the child. They managed to scrounge out a little hidey hole to call home near Harlem and raised the boy as best they possibly could. He turned out pretty well. 

Years later, the boy is around sixteen, and Mom and Dad have been taking him out to scavenge, teaching him their trade and generally making a living for themselves. Things were usually good. Their three pairs of eyes managed to find good things, and anything dangerous tended not to attack packs of multiple people. Sure, food was pretty scarce, and some days they had to go hungry, but in general, things were good. 

That is, until one day they happened upon the abandoned remains of a pharmaceutical company. The entire place was full, completely untouched by any scavenger or finder. The skeletal corpses should've told the reason why, but Sam was too cocky back then. He told Ma and Pa to keep going, that they could handle whatever had taken out the previous inhabitants. 

He should've listened to them. But he didn't. Turns out, the place was full of The Hollow. It was a breeding ground for them, and the drugs they had managed to get into didn't help. They were hopped up on drugs, most of them faster and speedier than a normal Hollow. Alexander forced Sam into a ventilation duct. Sam had to watch as they tore his own mother in two. His father only lived by playing dead, sitting there motionless while tears ran down his cheeks. 

Let's just say, Sam was kicked out. Forced to go on his own. His father probably turned to the bottle while Sam turned to music. He ignored the policy of 'stay incognito' the day he managed to find a perfect condition harmonica. Turns out he had a knack for it. Any people he came across, he played for then. Somewhere along the line, Sam gained access to his Immortal powers. His 'Spark' as some might call it was just a single performance, likely the best he'd ever done. The onlookers were crying at the end of it, the haunted melody getting to all of them. 

It was later that night when he noticed his eyes had changed, now a full shining copper that replaced his old cyan ones. 
[/hider]


[h3][center][color=gold]Gear[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Weapons:[/b][list]
[*][b]Katt[/b]: Katt is the old beaten up Kalishnakov automatic AK-47 rifle he wields. Its seen its fair share of use, and now sports dents, scratches, and even burn marks. Don't ask how he got those. The weapon still works like a champ, regardless of its tear. 
[*][b]Black Betsy[/b]: Remnants of the past can reveal a lot. A little old game called 'baseball' was a good inspiration for the name of his aluminum steel bat. He still holds the card for the namesake's owner. 
[*][b]Peashooter[/b]: An old nine millimeter pistol that makes up for its lack of punch with a few extended magazines Sam managed to find, giving the pistol the capacity of an SMG. Point shoot. Fire until empty. Its a simple weapon. [/list] 

[b]Armor:[/b] 
Sam usually doesn't wear much armor, at least not like some others who trick themselves out with old power armor relics. Besides, you wouldn't need armor in the first place if you didn't get spotted. A simple bullet proof vest is all he really needs for protection of his vital bits. 

[b]Ammunition:[/b][list]
[*][b]Dirty Rounds:[/b] About one hundred and twenty rounds for his AK, fifty or so for his pistol. 
[*][b]High Grade Rounds:[/b] Keeps a nice stash of thirty on him. Turns out, people like giving tips to a musician.
[*][b]Heavy Ammunition:[/b] As of so far, Sam has no RPG rockets. Sadly. [/list]

[b]Smelly Rucksack:[/b][list]
[*]Items Within[/list] - Typical supplies one might need for scavenging. A mag-lite torch with two fully charged batteries. Rope is also needed, you never know when you'll need that stuff. He's got a full face mask for when the sands get too dusty or you're going into a toxic zone. A single air tank. Enough food for about a week. Enough water for three days. A big canteen is thanks for that. A set of matches and a pot, a fork and spoon as well. Binos. Some other stuff not worth mentioning. The rucksack smells like bad leather.
[b]Miscellaneous:[/b]
His harmonica aptly named 'Ol Mac.'

[h3][center][color=navajowhite]Immortalis Information[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Manifested Phenomena:[/b] [color=a36209]Musical Illusionism[/color]
[b]Unique Abilities:[/b] 
[list]
[*][b][color=a36209]Musical Prowess[/color][/b] - His manipulation of music has led to Sam being a great artist, able to play songs that could bring a tear to the most pessimistic old man out there. 
[*][b][color=a36209]Illusionism[/color][/b] - Given enough focus, and time to play something, Sam can literally manipulate space and time. Or something, he really isn't clear on how it works. Results can vary, usually. He can make an image of a floating brook, surrounded by green pastures. Or, he can form twin daggers in the air that soon find theirselves in the gut of an unsuspecting raider. Hell, he might even be able to form an anti-material rifle or rocket launcher, but what kind of song would be related to that? 
[/list]

[b]Strengths:[/b] 
[list]
[*][b][color=f26522]Who The Hell Is That?[/color][/b] - Not many people know Sam by his face. His reputation as a bardic man proceeds him, but to the average soul, he's just another hobo scavenger. 
[*][b][color=f26522]Many Pretties[/color][/b] - Being able to scavenge is an art alongside music. Being able to find that hidden can at the way back of the cabinet, or managing to come across the well hidden cache of old military supplies is something not a lot of people can do. 
[/list]

[b]Weaknesses:[/b]
[list]
[*][b][color=9e0b0f]I Just Sorta Hit Em[/color][/b] - Sam isn't really... proficient with weapons. All of his knowledge has been self taught, he's never gotten any real professional training. His tactics with a baseball bat are to keep swinging. With his AK? Point and click at the enemy until they die. It works well enough, but he has no real skill or brawn. 
[*][b][color=9e0b0f]Are You Really Playing A Song In Battle?[/color][/b] - His Immortal powers aren't really that useful when it comes down to it. To actually summon a sword out of nothing requires complete and total focus while he plays a ballad. As some might guess, a fight isn't the best place to pull out a harmonica and start playing. Any lapse of focus leads to the 'spell' failing. Especially for more complicated items. And even then, he has to memorize tons of songs and hope they relate in some way to what he wants. 
[*][b][color=9e0b0f]Everyone Else Is Doing It[/color][/b] - Live long enough in the wasteland and you start to care less about 'negligible effects' of drugs. Sam is pretty receptive to drugs, and he's tried a lot of them before. If it takes the edge off and lets you be happy for a few hours, why not? Booze and cigarettes are probably his main vices. Lung cancer sure is fun.
[/list]

[/hider]

Tell me if I fucked anything up. Also, hey Hatter!