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NAME -Nobdy “Boss” Duhmas

AGE -36

GENDER -Male

APPEARANCE -Boss stands at about six foot even with a rather muscular frame and a set of dirty hazel brown eyes. His face looks like it might have been handsome once upon a time but years of constant fighting have left many of his features scarred and battered. From his constant five o clock shadow to the way he seems to always have a fine layer of dust on his clothes there isnt anything about him that doesn't look rough. Of all his characteristics though the most memorable by far is the way his nose has been forever cracked to the right side-a permanent gift from a particularly “friendly” super mutant named Bo-jack. He keeps his brown hair cut short in no particular style and is rarely seen not wearing his armor. On one or two rare events he has been known to break out his “special occasion suit”, which is in all honesty just an old world fashion atrocity and the butt of many jokes among his fellow Caravaners.
[img]http://i.imgur.com/ypbIDg3.jpg?1[/img]

**All credit goes to Danyi for the badass pic-I've no way to actually get ahold of you man, but awesome job. PM me if you see this and want it removed. (Post this for all my pics with named artists)**

PERSONALITY -Boss is a man who like many has a very shady past but these days does his best to simply make an honest living, because of this he is often closed off and reserved to those outside of his small group of friends. When he does interact with outsiders, often while on the job or trading, he can come off as harsh and almost cold-his words often blunt and to the point. Those that do know him however are well aware that most of this just stems from his extremely driven personality; when he's on a job or trying to barter its all cold cut business-he will chase his goals like a madman. He's also known for having a fairly dry sense of humor and spouting out monotone sounding sarcasm-which again, doesn't help his personal skills while interacting with new people at all. When he is off the job and hanging around with his pals he is much more laid back and sociable. Atleast as social as he can be.

He's not the type to go out of his way to help those in need but at the same time when confronted with an actual moral decision he normally makes the “right” choice.

BIOGRAPHY -
"Once upon a time in a Legion camp far far away a little frightened confused boy who had just lost his mother asked his tormentors 'Whats my name?' They responded, 'Nobody, Dumbass.'"

Nobdy was born in the far NorthWest of Colorado in a Wasteland very similar to the one he now resides in, both he and his mother Slaves of a large Caesars Legion Training camp. Being a male slave in the culture that was the Legion made Nobdy a prime target for constant beatings and mistreatment, a fact that was no truer then on his eigth birthday when he was given a machete and sent to the training pits-a place slaves went to die in an attempt to “Better the future fighting force of Caesar.” Most slaves didn't survive the first few days of fighting that occurred in the pits but those that did would only return time and time again until finally cut down in combat. Probably not surprisingly this became an anger outlet for years of mental and physical abuse: many of Caesars Legions trainees fell beneath his crudely crafted blade.

This was his life for about eight years, his muscles growing strong with use as his body became equally scarred and broken. Around the time he was sixteen the final local tribes were conquered under Caesars banner and after that it wasn't long before The Legion began pushing further West in yet another campaign of conquest. About halfway through his sixteenth birthday his own large settlement began to move away having apparently received orders to set up base further West.

Now, most people have never seen a Legion Camp pack up and move across the Wasteland but it is not an entirely organized process to say the least. Sometimes they cant take everything, sometimes they can't find everything they want to take, and then sometimes they just don't want to bother moving the cargo. Apparently Nobdy fit into the last category, a fact made apparent as the camp left with Nobdy still locked in a cage like an animal. Luckily for him the cage was made of thick wood-breakout attempts mainly deterred simply by the Legions presence. But now that there were no guards there was nothing stopping Nobdy from breaking out with his two bare hands.

His first few days of freedom were a complete blur-having literally never left the camp his whole life almost everything he experienced was brand new and exciting. Even the vast number of things trying to kill him he found interesting. When he finally came to terms with the fact that he was now a free man he just kind of...set off in a random direction, scavenging buildings along the way for loot, supplies, and tradeable items. For about three years he made his way West without knowing it, arriving in the Chicaghoul area wasteland around the time he was nineteen. When he hit Lake Michigan he assumed he had reached the Ocean, this made him quit walking, turn around, and start walking again. It was just by chance that on his way out of the Chicaghoul Wasteland he met a man named Joseph Redfield. They'd met in a bar in some town called Bilgewater and needless to say they hit it off over a few beers.

Redfield explained to Nobdy how he ran a caravan company, a line of business that could always use another hand holding a gun. Honestly Nobdy took the job more out of curiosity then anything else-he and three other men were to transport two heavily packed Brahmin to a place called “Craterside City” the next day. Now three important things happened on this little adventure that made Nobdy decide to stay here, if only for a little while.

1. He got paid to kill people. And not just kill people, but kill people trying to kill and rob other people. Something about the work felt slightly rewarding.
2. It was the most caps he'd ever received in one sitting
3. It was the first thriving City he had ever seen-and with a pocketful of caps the world was his oyster.

For about twelve more years he continued to run Caravans throughout the Wastes, eventually building up quite a name for himself by word of mouth with other Wasteland Wanderers. By the time he was about to turn thirty two he had survived enough caravan runs that he had more caps than he knew what to do with, a problem only made worse by his ever growing boredom of Caravan protection-after all one could only walk behind a two headed cows ass for so many years before it got old.

Clearly wanting a change of pace he toyed with the idea of retiring, but he disregarded that thought almost immediately. He wasn't the type that could just sit still and grow old. No, he needed new adventures and experiences: while still raking in the caps of course. He was drunkenly explaining all this to an old caravan buddy, an eccentric toothless old timer who went by Creo Joe, when his friend recommended a change of scenery: he suggested Boss head South along what he called the Miss's river. Atleast that's what Boss was pretty sure he called it-Creo Joe had a habit of speaking...odly, it was only because Boss had known the man for so long that he could understand half of what he said.

After that Boss couldn't get the idea out of his head and it was only a matter of time before he was doing his best to convince old man Redfield that the South was an untapped bounty of resources for the Caravan trade. As far as Boss could gather through stray bits of information not even their main competitors the Crimson Caravan Company had established trade routes there, and with the direct route the Miss's river offered only a fool would pass on the opportunity-At least thats what Boss kept telling himself. 

Eventually Boss actually believed everything he told Redfield, wholeheartedly convinced that the South was some sort of promised land. It reached the point that Mr. Redfields main hesitancy in investing in the expedition was Boss himself, his once stalwart employee now seemingly hellbent on going South on some fabled adventure that, as far as Redfield was concerned, was just a death march (or boat ride, as was the case.) Finally though he relented when Boss made the irresistible offer to not only fund half of the journey himself but to map out the entire route-maps he would then turn over to Mr. Redfield upon his arrival back, an arrival they were both aware could take years or may very well never happen. 

FACTION -Redfields Caravan Company

S.P.E.C.I.A.L - [40 points - Maximum of 10]

STRENGTH-8
PERCEPTION-4
ENDURANCE-6
CHARISMA-4
INTELLIGENCE-4
AGILITY-7
LUCK-7

-Perks-
Quick Draw: 
Shotgun Surgeon: 
Terrifying Presence: 

OTHER -Many an unfortunate soul has made the mistake of thinking simply because Boss has run out of ammo he is defenseless: this however couldn't be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is the machete was not only his first weapon but to this day he can wield the crude piece of steel with deadly proficiency; something his attackers usually have to learn the hard way.
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