Name: Rick Buchanan

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Skills: Leadership, driving, firearms, hand to hand combat, some knowledge in engineering.

Background: Rick was born and raised in a small settlement called Walker’s Post, it had been set up as an outpost originally for a settlement that had been abandoned years previously, it was nothing more than a few small wooden huts and a watchtower. His parents farmed a small patch of grass that surrounded the watering hole that sustained their existence. Rick grew up quickly, working on the farm with his parents and later his younger siblings. Rick always had a wanderlust and would often go exploring in the hills around his home, learning all he could about the land and its creatures.

When he was 16 a group of armed men arrived at Walker’s Post, they were heading east to an area of land where they claimed a large untapped water source lay hidden, they were moving to join up with a larger contingent of men who were on their way to claim the water source and create their own settlement. Rick begged his parents to let him go with them, so he could see more of the world and find adventure, his parents expressly forbade him to go. However, Rick let his rebellious side get the better of him and sneaked out the night that the men were leaving and caught up with them, he offered to go with them. The men, seeing much of themselves in young Rick, accepted and took him along.

They were a part of the, now infamous, Tannhauser Legion, led by General Wolfgang Tannhauser who was an eccentric military man who had assembled his own private army to install himself as a king. Leading his army into the desert, Rick with them, they toiled through endless scorching days and constant harassment by bandits and beasts alike. Men began talking of deserting or saying that General Tannhauser was insane and that there was no water source at all. Tannhauser heard the rumblings among the men and responded immediately and violently, he shot the first man he heard voicing his doubts and told the rest that any other men who doubted him would meet the same fate. A further 3 weeks of constant travel and no sign of water pushed the Tannhauser Legion to the brink of mutiny but just as things seemed to be coming to a head they found it, an oasis in the deep desert.

General Tannhauser claimed the land as his and they built a fortress and town around it which attracted new occupants from far and wide. Tannhauser Gardens was established as a utopia, canals were dug to allow the flow of water through the streets and allowed grass to grow. It was certainly a Garden of Eden on the surface however Tannhauser descended further into his madness, many of his trusted officers were purged and any dissent among the citizens of Tannhauser Gardens often disappeared. He tried to control every aspect of life in the settlement and many chafed under this, Rick Buchanan included. One night he and a few of the other soldiers who had been part of the original legion stole one of the tanks, a Sherman, and fled into the desert. Men were dispatched to stop them but they managed to escape and struck out on their own.

Rick became the group’s leader after the original leader was lost in a skirmish with desert bandits, he decided to put the tank to good use and got into the dust runner trade, starting out small he began developing a reputation as a reliable and courageous man. His crew came and went but he stuck with the tank and lived the adventurous life he had always wanted.

Equipment:

M4A3E8 Sherman tank, with radar installed. An extra MG 34 has been attached to the back to allow a tail gunner. A trailer is attached to the back of the tank in order to haul cargo, water and extra fuel tanks are attached the sides of the vehicle.

FN-Fal assault rifle.

M1911 pistol.

Telescope.

Name: Michael Green

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Skills:

• Marksmanship
• Spearman
• Javelin throwing
• Motorcycle Driving Proficiency
• Great singing voice (woohoo)

Background: The red dust always looked like it was on fire when the sun set. The sky would burst with throes of passion as the land swallowed it up to bring the cool of night. This beauty stains Michael's mind with the constant picturesque.

Michael remembers his childhood with fondness, because sharp smells and bright images colour his recollections. His family was rather high in the rankings of their tribe. Bright reds and white tassels adorned their uniforms, and it was from a very young age that he was taught to hold and shoot a gun.

Michael believes that there is no shame in violence. The only shame is in returning home with nothing to show for it.

For, out on the desert sand, the roving Burgandies are scavengers. They prey on the weaker. The mothers support it, even help train their children towards it, and Michael, of the Greenbloods, is expected to be the best, because his bloodline was furnished with the best.

But in his first raid, Michael was thrown from his vehicle. He fought as best he could, struggling against their grasp, but with ropes they bound him, and with stones they knocked him senseless.

He served as their prisoner for 7 years. More a slave than anything, he was cursed that the chieftain's wife favored him. He could not understand their language, nor their customs, but he understood their brutal ethic. They fought for sport, and loved blood and pain. Torture here let them remember they were alive.

Michael believed this was because they did not watch the blossoming sunsets, nor feel the comforting caress of the wind.

The face of brutality is not in violence alone, but in the selfish imposing of one's desires onto the other. This did Michael learn from the chieftain's wife, whose blatant stares and favor-some smiles seemed at first harmless, even beneficial. He could hear, though he did not understand the language, she and her lover quarrel with explosive, clanging noises that erupted in their tent each night. He had assumed that she interceded for his life, since he had watched all the rest of the prisoners be bled to death and then eaten. So he returned her silent admirations with an accomodating, and grateful smile, an inclination of the head. It became a common thing for her to separate from her lover, and stand beside him as he labored over the tents, or carried the weighty packs of this barbarous tribe. At least that was how things went for the first few years. By about the fourth year, she became bolder. Touch an arm here, brush by his leg there. Michael thought the contact comforting -- he had been alone for so long with only his thoughts for company -- but as he gained the chieftain's ire, he came to despise the wife for it. Weekly beatings, from warriors, though when the chieftain stepped in they were the worst, became the norm, and however loudly he demanded she desist, the wife continued, even being at times more blatant. Michael came to believe that he was only a pawn to anger the chief, a toy in their dispute.

On the equinox of Spring, the day of transformation, her lover drank much drink, and slumbered deeply. The chieftain's wife stole into Michael's exiled side of the camp, and fell upon him with singleminded intent. The encampment was alerted by his cry of surprise and fear, and the warriors that rose from their slumber were unforgiving, and beat him senseless, and continued even after. When he awoke the next morning, bloodied and swollen, tied to a slobbering camel, he could only wonder at what had transpired.

He did not know the way home, and had little in his possessions. It was sheer luck that had him picked up by a passing crew of dust runners. He took up arms as a loader for their crew, and after the gunner was shot down for cheating in a poker game, he took up the guns and made a fine run of it.

Bad blood was seeded between the brothers that worked as driver and engineer, however. When they came to blows and turned feral on one another, he knew he had to get out, since such disunity would get them all killed and neither brother would step down from their position.

So at the first town, Michael took his leave of them, and wished them all the best in finding his replacement.

To be cut loose required his purse, so every cent was given to the brothers Venn that his freedom might be bought.

Equipment: Brown pants and a white shirt that in good fortune he managed to snatch from a clothed corpse. In addition, he carries in his boot glass wrapped into a knife. Tied to his back or carried in his left hand is a long, flexible line of metal that has a long needle-like point at its end.

Name: Valencia Vasquez, commonly referred to as Val
(as far as appearance goes, think Audrey Ramirez from Atlantis: The Lost Empire)
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Skills:

• mechanical genius
• eidetic memory
• very, very good with machines, almost intuitive skill with vehicles
• handy with a pistol but not much else

Background:
Valencia grew up in Sol Azteca, a settlement in the Spanish interior. The town there had strict, brutal rules, a la ancient Babylon—an eye for an eye, literally—so that everyone could survive on equal terms. Val was the daughter of small-time farmers who attended to Azteca's miniscule vegetable gardens, but even at a young age she had an aptitude for mechanic work. However, according to the strict codes, occupations were passed down from family to family—Val was going to be a farmer, and that was that.

She said 'screw that' and started going to the local vehicle warehouses in secret. The lead mechanic there, Ferio, was willing to teach her—she was utterly useless with plants, and he was old, and looking for a replacement. He thought that maybe, if she was skilled enough when they brought up the idea of switching professions, they might win over the leaders to their side.

They didn't. When they were discovered, Ferio was immediately executed—left to die just outside the town's shoddy, sand-block walls, and Val had to watch. They thought it would cow her into doing her duty—it did the opposite. She wasn't quite so sadistic as to burn their crops before she left, but she painted several...obscene images onto buildings before she grabbed her personally modified motorcycle and as much water and food as she could carry and got the hell out of there.

So far, 'surviving' is a nice way of saying what Val's done. She's eaten things no human should eat, done things no sane person should do, just for the sake of surviving on her own. She values her independence fiercely, but she knows she can't last forever like this, and as long as someone's willing to let her do her thing with her scraps of free time, she'll put her (frankly ridiculous) mechanical skills to use for any bit of shade.
Equipment:

• mechanic's toolbox
• basic overalls and goggles
• welding tools
• survival gear
• an ungodly amount of water in various vials, pouches, cans and jars
• motorcycle

Name: Willow

Gender: Female

Age: 23

Skills:

-Naturally perceptive and receptive
-Loyal (Nearly to a fault)
-Extremely stable hands
-Above average skill involving medicine
-Skilled in driving

Background:

Willow was born into a family that had been enslaved for several generations. A small, over crowded, hovel was the place she called home. Many others, including her mother and father and a plethora of other family members, also were kept within the dusty quarters. Her family wasn't the only group of slaves kept, but she rarely interacted with anyone outside her circle. The slaves were owned by a 'wealthy' man who made his living off of selling flesh. He owned an entire underground slave selling society. Dealing in everything from mothers to sex to blood. She was conditioned from birth to only do as she was told and to never go against orders.

The slaves were not given the privilege to learn to read and write, and while few in the destroyed world could, they were simply forbidden to attempt to learn. Her master figured that an educated mind would lead to an uprising. Growing up Willow's duties varied. Some days she would be out in the sun, tending to the pathetic crops the man tried to grow, and other days she would be locked away in the hovel, diligently mending and sewing together scraps of fabric to form clothes. Willow truly enjoyed, however, the times when she was permitted to practice medicine. Helping her fellow slaves with anything from healing their lash marks to removing splinters made Willow feel like she was actually making a difference.

But as she became older her duties became much more personal for her master, which she carried out without a second thought. During her twenty three years Willow watched as friends and family were sold off or, in the case of some of the more rebellious, beaten and killed. Willow never questioned this, she knew asking questions would bring about punishment, even when she was forced to watch these executions and auctions herself.

Being the personal assistant to her master had its benefits though. She was one of the only slaves who was given permission to learn how to drive. Her master did quite a lot of driving around his property, but as he got older Willow drove with him in the passenger seat. Willow wasn't sure why but driving gave her a strange sense of satisfaction. Being in control of a machine, being the one in command, made her feel stronger.

However, the monotony of life would soon become destroyed. For whatever reason or another Willow became undesirable to her master, likely he bought a younger and fresher slave girl, and Willow was sold away. Any shred of confidence was stripped from the girl as she was suddenly far away from everything she considered 'normal'. But as she was being driven, with a group of equally terrified slaves, to a more populated hub something clicked. She suddenly realized how vast and free the world was.

Willow had never considered herself rebellious, but watching a group of free people rush by her in a modified truck brought something out of her. She snuck away in the night, unable to convince any of the other slaves to escape with her. She is currently trying to keep a low profile, now realizing what the fear of being captured was. It is easy for herself to keep quiet and unseen, but the brand on her neck indicates her true nature.

Equipment: