[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/TuxuOeA.jpg?1[/img] [SUB][color=black]◄[color=lightgray]The old world is the new gold in this new world. [/color] ► [/color][/SUB] [sub][/sub] [sup][h1]ALAN GORSKY[/h1][/sup] [color=#D98719][sup] 120| Big Sky, Northern Commonwealth | 169.5 cm / 155 pounds | Ghoul[/sup][/color][/center] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]A P P E A R A N C E.[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] " Yeah, yeah, I see the way you're eyeing at me, smooth-skin. You're probably thinking a few things about me right now. [i]A talking Brahmin testicle. A piece of mutfruit that was left out in the sun. A shriveled cave fungus that grew legs.[/i] Trust me. I heard it all. So try to be more creative the next time you try to insult a ghoul." A common adage in the ghoul town of Gecko is that every ghoul looks alike and Gorsky believes it. No nose. Mummified skin. Radiation burns. Simply put, Gorsky is about as off-putting as any ghoul could be. His balding head contains wisps of sandy hair growing at the fringes. If one were to use their imagination, perhaps, they could craft a human simulacrum of what Gorsky once looked like in their minds. The only feature that distinguishes Gorsky from other ghouls is his glowing eyes. No, not metaphorically, literal glowing in the dark pupils. This freaky mutation is a reminder of the circumstances that resulted in his ghoulification. Due to living as a Old World prospector and scavenger, Gorsky has developed a weathered yet still-emaciated physique with a stout stature that belies hidden cunning and tenacity. With time, he has gained numerous scars from his misadventures that are in a constant state of flux, closing and reopening at ill-opportune times. Though his choice of apparel varies depending on the climate, he is never seen without an white-star ushanka on his head. [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]E Q U I P M E N T.[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] [b]Orion[/b] - A hand crafted scoped crossbow cobbled together from a makeshift selection of gun parts, energy weapon parts and scrap waste found littered in the Wasteland. Silent and deadly at a range of 50 yards. [b]Quiver Belt[/b] - A belt that allows Gorsky to access and load his bolts easier. [hider=Homemade Arrows] Scrap Bolts - An eclectic collection of crossbow bolts composed of bone, steel, rebar, wood, glass and whatever detritus of the wastes Gorsky happens upon. Gorsky has approximately 20 scrap arrows with him and has the capacity to craft more easily. Microfusion Bolts - A microfusion cell capped with a electrical fuse replaces the arrowhead of the crossbow bolt. Contact with the head of the bolt will release the full charge of the microfusion cell in one thermal blast. Depending on the internal charge of the cell, this can range from the power of a fiddly firework to a bastardised plasma grenade. At the start of the journey, Gorsky has brought only 5 with him due to how time consuming it is to craft these arrows. [/hider] [b]Trenchcoat[/b] - A furred long-coat tailored from rad-elk leather and partially fortified with laminated polymer weave plating. Comes with extra pockets for storing small objects. [b]Portable Repair Kit[/b] - An old Vault-Tec Lunchbox that contains all the necessities of post-apocalyptic DIY repair such as WonderGlue, Duct-Tape, wrenches, a soldering iron, screwdrivers and all the tools needed to fix up anything you need. [b]Lockpicking Kit[/b] - A leather wallet containing bobby pins, staplers, tension wrenches, screwdrivers and enough picks to crack open any safe with the exception of Fort Knox. If it's still standing. [b]Collection of Poisons[/b] - A satchel containing three 500 ml ampules, each containing man-made poisons known as Bleak Venom, Mother Darkness and Sliver Sting. Bleak Venom acts as a lethal cardiotoxin, Mother Darkness is a potent neurotoxin and Sliver Sting is known to be an easily acquired cytotoxin. Gorsky most often dips his arrows in poison whilst hunting for food. [b]Talon Knife[/b] - A one-edged five inch curved ivory knife carved from the bone of a deathclaw talon. It's sharper than it looks. [b]Dog Whistle[/b] - A high pitched dog whistle that transmits a specific frequency only a mutated giant cockroach would hear. [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R [/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] - Rolled Up Sleeping Bag - Electric Lighter - Box of Spare Electronic and Mechanical Parts - Satchel of 100 Caps - Brahmin Leather Waterskin - Container of Coyote Tobacco Cigars - Frying Pan - Compass - Packet of Kindling - Army Brand Ushanka - Tribal Dreamcatcher Necklace - Pet Brush for Chaff - Journal and Charcoal Pen - Fishing Rod, Line, Hook [s]and Sinker[/s] [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]S K I L L S.[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] // SURVIVAL (CORE) - Having been raised in the harsh wildernesses of Montana and ran solo scavenging operations for nearly most of his life, Gorsky knows virtually every survival trick in and out of the book to prevent your ass from being gnawed off by a mole rat. Crafting poison, making poisons, identifying plants that don't poison you; Gorsky is a natural outdoorsghoul. Also, it doesn't hurt to know how to make a good bloatmfly brisket every once in a while. // REPAIR (GOOD) - " Duct Tape and Wonder Glue. Two things everyone needs in life." // SCIENCE (GOOD) - " My scientific methodology? Throw it at the wall and see if it sticks. Try to relate it to physics, biology, chemistry, astrology.....wait, scratch that last one. " // BARTER (AVERAGE) - " 1500 caps? How about we lower it down to 500 caps if I buy a bottle of Sarsparilla for you?" // GUNS (AVERAGE) - " N99. 10mm semi-automatic. 12 round magazine. You can do a nice little magic trick with it. Point the barrel at someone and you can make a dead person." // LOCKPICKING (AVERAGE) - " A safe is just a birthday gift wrapped in deadbolts, cams and mortises." [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]H I S T O R Y[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] [i][u]2385, August 5th[/u][/i] Thought I might start writing down stuff, in case I forget. Doc I met in Vault City said that ghouls don't have eidetic memory. That common symptoms were dementia, amnesia, a Sugar Bombs box of mental illnesses. Might be good to have things written down in case somebody finds my grave. Can't rely on Chaff to tell my story anyway. Doubt anyone can speak Radroach. I was born in the Rockies 120 years ago, somewhere north of the Great Salt Lake and westwards of NCR territory. Everyone called it the Big Sky. It used to be part of the pre-war Northern Commonwealth before the last war happened. Luckily, the surrounding mountain ranges allowed us to escape the worst of the bombs. Some of the elders had stories around what happened that time, when the Black Rain poured down from the clouds and flooded the valleys, when the Wendigos came from the forests to feast on us, when the six moon snow silenced the sunlight. It's been....40 years since I last visited there. All I know about them is through word of the monthly supply caravans that go there. They're still doing good. Best as you can out here in the wastes. I grew up in a tribal village where blood didn't matter and everyone shared everything. The origins of our founding are spotty but our archive keepers agreed that some group of outcasts from the eastern continents moved into the USA and hid in the mountains during the Pre-War. My father worked in the coal mines while my mother worked as a hunter. Me and the rest of my five siblings simply survived. I learned what plants I could eat, how to skin a giant rat, how to fish for mirelurk pups and making fire from sticks and stones. Anyway, Big Sky was boring. In the sense that our neighbors were unfriendly, the air was cold enough to freeze your balls off and there were bobcats in every bush you wanted to take a dump in. That was until the first caravan came. I was at the ripe old age of 18. Old enough to be independent yet young enough to be stupid and dumb. I made a promise to myself then that I wouldn't die languishing in Big Sky. I wanted to explore. I wanted to live. In the morning, I left a note on the table for my parents and sneaked onto a supply caravan that was headed California by bribing one of the guards, with nothing more than a bindle and a crossbow on my back. One of the head merchants found me in the back gnawing on their tato crops but I soon silenced their complaints about extra weight by rustling up a few gecko steaks for them when we hit the border of Klamath. I was dropped off at the Hub. The Hub. One of the Five Great Territories of the NCR. I got my first job in a 'prospector crew' there. Some people saw it as dirty but it was the dream for some tribal out lander like me. Exploring pre-war ruins. Cracking open safes. Unearthing treasures? It was more than I could ask for. Life was good. Caps were flowing in. I grew older. Fell in love. Bought a house. Got married. Thought of retiring. Same story you hear nowadays from every citizen of the New California Republic. Back in Big Sky, retirement wasn't an option but here in California, it was a land of opportunity. Then, it happened. December 24th, 2299. Christmas. The dawn of the next Millennium. The day that I became a ghoul. The old ruins were becoming sparse now. The NCR was grabbing onto every territory it could and promising spots became blocked off by garrisons. The only choice was to go to more further and dangerous places. I chose to do a job in New Mexico. Five man crew. Pre-war military site. Unlooted. Unscathed. Only problem was that there were enough rads to make a man grow extra arms. A nuclear warhead struck the coastline of the base and turned it into freak central. The facility we entered into was some kind of some old vehicle manufacturing factory. Tanks the size of freaking cottages. Wandered around for a little bit until we hit a vaulted door. Nothing I couldn't handle. A little bit of thermite and picking later, fell apart like cotton candy. We went inside and hit the jackpot. Blueprints. Safes. Enough loot to make a man rich for lifetimes. I only had five seconds to react before the bullet tore through my chest. In hindsight, it made sense. Get rid of the extra weight and split the loot between themselves. My death could be written off as an accident since I was travelling into a high risk area. No one would try and bother to find my body too. The perfect plan. Instead of putting me out of my misery, they stripped me of all my gear and left me to rot. While they looted the room. Last thing I remember before blacking out was the sound of my Geiger counter screeching, the burning pain in my chest and how my head pounded like a drum. I woke up. Afraid, hungry, thirsty and alive. I was still inside the loot room. It’d been stripped bare to the walls. My voice sounded like I’d been gurgling stones for a lifetime, I had no nose and the hole in my chest was missing. I didn’t have time to come to terms that I’d become a ghoul. I was only concerned about finding a way out of this place. That was when I was attacked by the biggest radroach the wastes had ever conceived. My Chaff. We got off to a rocky start but eventually, things settled between the both of us after I gave her a little bit of food from some expired MRE I found in a storage locker. I crawled my way out of New Mexico and walked back to the Hub on foot. Me and Chaff fell a little bit off course every once in a while but we pulled ourselves back towards our goal. When I finally reached there, I was prepared for the worst. What would you do if your husband or wife suddenly became a ghoul? I opened the door, Chaff behind me, expecting to be screamed at and tossed out from the house. Nothing, in fact. My wife told me to stop with the self-pity, move on with my life and that I was still the same old dumb tribal underneath that skin. To this day, I never did manage to find those guys who shot me and I never will. Revenge is fool’s gold. By now, they’re either old men waiting to die or two feet under already. Seems petty to hunt them down. In spite of common sense, I returned to work as a prospector, albeit with caveats. I never took group contracts again and went solo. Well, semi-solo. Chaff doesn’t get a part of the profits. I continued to live and continued to work, looking for pieces of the old world to collect. Time moves differently when you’re a ghoul. Wife died from a nasty bout of pancreatic cancer when I was 60. My two sons became water merchants when I was 85. I became a grandfather at the age of 100. My trips became further. I returned back to Montana for a bit and then, went back to the Hub. I……I can’t remember. It’s like an old reel movie in my head. A collection of moments. I can barely even remember her voice anymore. There’s word spreading around the Hub right now. Rumours of a Vault in Cascadia. Untouched. Lack of NCR presence. Perfect for prospecting. [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]P S Y C H E.[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] Gorsky’s takes a sardonic yet professional approach to his work as a prospector, viewing the wastes as a land of opportunity rather than a land of desolation. His only concerns are the wellbeing of his own relatives, Chaff and his own collection of items. He distances himself from other people out of reflex and often uses acerbic jabs as his weapons to keep people away. However, those who earn Gorsky’s trust and loyalty earn themselves a friend. Gorsky also holds a relative dislike of government authorities and inefficencies, particularly the NCR, holding nothing but contempt towards their imperialistic policies which he sees as strangling the freedoms of the Wasteland. That is not to say Gorsky is without his imperfections. Gorsky is a prospector and a scavenger at heart, willing to haggle and bargain for anything. He hold a streak of being greedy and the promise of treasure and old world tech will dissuade any moral qualms he may have about committing any act, albeit to a point. Good luck on trying to get him to commit murder. Gorsky believes in defending himself from danger and never attacking in response to danger. [/color][/indent][/indent] [indent][sub][color=cyan][b]D R I V E.[/b][/color][/sub] [img]i.imgur.com/QHrg7nB.png[/img] [/indent][indent][indent][color=lightgray] Other than surviving, Gorsky’s main incentive for living the way he does is for the pathological thrill of adventure he gets whenever he happens upon an artifact of the Old World. He believes that the Óld World’ is the new gold and that it holds power and value over caps, money, armies and wealth. However, the truth is more complicated than it seems. Gorsky also collects artifacts of the Old World, not out of the thrill, but out of fear for his deteriorating memory. He’s not sure how ghouls can stay sane for but he’s not willing to rot in safety and wait for his mind to disintegrate. Taking advantage of the long life span of ghouls, Gorsky continues to explore and search for nuggets of the Old World, hoping that he can stay ahead of memory loss one treasure at a time. [/color][/indent][/indent] [hr] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/uvOqVmb.jpg?1[/img] [SUB][color=black]◄[color=lightgray][i]hissssssssss[/i][/color] ► [/color][/SUB] [sub][/sub] [sup][h1]CHAFF[/h1][/sup] [color=#D98719][sup] N/A | New Mexico | 60 cm / 30 pounds | Radroach[/sup][/color][/center]