Name: Steeple Chase

Race: Ghoulkind

Age: 146

Sex: Male

Appearance: Steeple stands at 5'10, with narrow shoulders and a muscle bound physique, wrapped in scar flecked, milky white skin. On top of his head he has a coarse rug of hay yellow hair, short at the back and on the sides but long on top, combed to the right (The Left Side is bald mostly, with only a few wispy hairs). He has a narrow head with a well defined, angular jaw and thin lips that always appear to be pursed; on the right side of his neck, he has tattooed the cog shape of a vault door , just under which he had his Vault ID number tattooed in. Over top his body, he wears the remains of a vault suit, the trouser and belt parts mostly intact but the top, torso covering area, significantly tattered; so he ties that portion around his waist, with the knotted sleeves dangling from his belt buckle, tied to the handle of a Vault Tec lunchbox. Substituting the missing torso clothing, he wears a vault t-shirt, with the cog shape of the door boldly printed in yellow on the back. Stuffed into the back of his trousers, he has a blued .32 revolver and at his left he has a combat knife. However Steeple is no average guy, his entire left side is ghoulified, pale thin skin draped over wasted, mottled muscle; the skin is slightly translucent, with black veins, and torn in some places. The skin doesn't appear to be fully attached to the flesh below, leaving areas that are loose and pliable and easy to tear off, hence the reason he has flappy patches of torn skin revealing angry, red muscle. 

Traits: Steeple Can't be healed with conventional medicine or techniques, instead he needs radiation in high or consistent doses to repair any damage; this being said, anti-radiation medicines are toxic to him, and are life threatening in any significant amount. Being a necrotic creature, the needs of the the average human being are lost on Steeple; his need for food and water are significantly decreased, and mutation of his nervous system mean that he doesn't need much sleep (but if he's critically injured, he needs to consume more food and water and needs more sleep than the average person, to repair himself). The side effects of radiation to his brain have impaired him to a degree, on occasion he phases out and sometimes he becomes unresponsive all together; scientists who've examined him have called him a remarkable specimen as almost all of his kind are feral and animalistic, yet as he takes on more and more radiation that is also likely to be his fate as well. 

Skills: Steeple is skilled in hand to hand combat, and rapid disabling of opponents. Steeple can go places most people can't, like into highly radioactive or places plagued with feral ghouls. He is is a decent shot but dislikes anything larger than pistol caliber, he won't admit it but the recoil of a rifle round is a bit too much for him. Steeple is also a fair electrician and knows his way around locks and terminals, having been a door technician back in the vault.

Mutations: Other than his entire body, no.

Psychic: No

Backstory: [hider]BIOGRAPHY - Chase was born in vault 121, one of the few vaults that were actually meant to save people, to his drunk of a mother and a father of whom he had never met, as he died prior to Steeple being born. From the onset of his life it seemed that he was going grow up, live and die in the vault, If the mandatory tattoo on his neck wasn't enough evidence, he didn't know what was. But other then that life was normal, or as normal as life in a subterranean fallout shelter could be. Though at 10, his life started taking a turn for the worst; on his tenth birthday he wasn't presented with a PipBoy as others had been, there were none left in stock, instead he was given a pen and a book and was sent off to begin with his first vault responsibilities completely and utterly miserable. Life after that point was hell, he was the target of all the other children's malice, they poked fun at him for not having a PIPboy.. Or a father. 

Years passed though, scars opened and closed but one thing was constant, his mother's sorrow. She had been utterly miserable, even a child could see that, the death of his father - her lover - had never left her. After he was old enough to care for himself, at the age of 14 or so, she had dropped mothering all together, instead favoring the bitter rim of acrid, home brewed alcohol. His childhood and young adult life was a depressed mess of disappointment and caring for his mother. Upon reaching 16 years of age he sat the GOAT, the Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test, "You can't fail this." he recalled his teacher telling him but the outcome sure did feel like a failure. Maintenance, where they put those who were good at nothing, he reported downstairs the very next day. In the middle of his second year, Steeple and the other apprentices were stood in front of a large projector screen, as the instructor explained something; as he stood, he caught fragments of a whispered conversation from behind him. His blood went cold. Apparently the two had taken a route that took them past his and his mother's quarters and had heard a commotion inside. Slowly he turned and started to push his way through throng of his peers, his instructor noticed and ordered him to get back into line, he kept pushing until he was out and dashed to his room. His mother was inside, yelling and struggling against the restraining grip of a large man; in fear and rage Steeple didn't think, picking up a pencil he and lunged at the man, pushing the sharpened implement into the man's back. 

Eventually the man died and Jingo was in big trouble, he was held in solitary for months and when he was released for his disciplinary hearing he was greeted with bad news. He had to leave the vault, 'we can't have a menace like you continue to be among us.' They told him before unceremoniously shoving him out of the vault. At first he found it hard to cope he was crippled with fear but slowly, over weeks, that fear turned to resentment and that to anger. He didn't last long in the wasteland, after a few months he had gotten into trouble with some unsavory types and they were after his head for not paying his tab; they chased him into a pre-war power plant where they snuffed him out, shooting him and dumping his body into a waste vat.

Though that wasn't the end of the story.

He woke up with a groan to find himself still alive, walking out he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface and began flailing and screaming in anger. He was a ghoul. After a hundred years, all his anger and hate simmered down into a dull throb, everyone he knew in the vault were now dead, replaced by their descendants and the people who ghoulified him were also most likely dead. He had no one to get revenge on.. So why bother?[/hider]

Motivation: What drives him on is the hope that there is a way to reverse the ghoulification, or at least stop its effects on his brain.


Sorry it took me so long. I've been having a packed week.