[hider=Mercy LaCroix]
Name: Mercy LaCroix

Race: Aasimar

Age: 26

Appearance: Mercy is an Aasimar, with appearance that might belie natural beauty in better circumstance, but is often caked in the dust and grime of the roads traveled. Ivory skin, blonde hair tied back, and with deep blue eyes, the young woman exudes an air of confidence beyond her years. 

Often those very same features are concealed beneath the shade of a well-worn 'cowboy' hat and the simple draw of a bandana over her lower face. Perhaps the truest evidence of her femininity is her slim perfectly shaped figure, A toned and flat belly blends into a slim waist and then gives way to the curvy flare of her hips and long, powerful legs. Even so, her form is often hidden beneath the padded duster she wears.

Around her throat rests a cold pendant in the shape of the sun, a symbol of her driving faith. The 'instruments' of that faith are far more striking; a pair of well-maintained revolvers rest in a classic 'gunslinger' belt.

Skills and abilities:
Marksmanship/Gunslinging
Short to medium firefights.
Magic: Smiting shot, 'Lay on hands', can channel some positive energy.
Healing: Mundane wound tending.
Decent musician

Weapons:
Gunslinger revolvers
Pump-Action shotgun
Survival knife
Sun pendant focusing necklace.
Stock-whip

Other Equipment:
Traveling Bag (Rations, Water skin, bedroll and fire-starting equipment.)
Leather Long coat
Weather Poncho
Notebook
The Hat.

Background:
There was a time when the birth of an Aasimar was a good omen and cause for celebration, these days it can be a burden. There was plenty in this world people were willing to blame the gods for, and plenty of people who decided that someone who had the slightest hint of their blood was good enough. Even so, early life was as happy and safe as it could be for a time.

Mercy grew up in a small settlement to parents who ran a small tavern within called 'The Oasis' for its location near a well of fresh and clean water. Serving what drinks they could and patching up travelers, their family enjoyed earning a living and the protection of the settlement. She'd sing in the tavern, learned to stitch wounds with her father and went to bed with a full belly surrounded by warmth.

Monsters come in all shapes and size, but it wasn't mutants or infected that brought the destruction of her home, but men. For as long as there have been people alive, someone has wanted what another has. The men that came to town played the part of travelers, enjoying their stay until late in the night.

Mercy awoke to the sounds of screams, gunfire and death. They'd opened the gates and let the wolves in. The raiders took what they could, burned what they couldn't and the noise drew in the infected. The settlement became a ghost town above her while she hid in the cellar below. It took her days to dig her way out and even then she collapsed amidst the smoldering wreckage certain as her eyes closed that something would come for her life in the night.

But the sun rose again for Mercy LaCroix, as dawn broke her eyes opened and her hands closed upon a new weight resting in her palms. A pair of revolvers, old-fashioned and yet in perfect condition. As she stood with the weapons, there was purpose like never before. Such wickedness would be punished; justice would be delivered for the Oasis.

Three years had passed, hands that had one held their weapons with shaky determination were now firm, eyes wide with fear now carried clarity. Tragedy had brought her path to her, but the wastelands had no shortage of people in need and monsters that needed to be put down.

Other stuff:
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