[@Hexaflexagon] alright, I took your advice to heart, made this fella [hider=Hector Williams] [url=https://youtu.be/0TSzYQsT9tI][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HJZTB1H.jpg[/img] [SUB][color=black]◄[color=lightgray]That's pretty fucked up... [i]but damn, I need those caps....[/i][/color] ► [/color][/SUB] [sub][/sub] [sup][h1]Hector Benjamin Williams[/h1][/sup] [color=#D98719][sup]mid/late-30s | Boneyard | ≈181cm/≈85kg | Human (Wastelander, mixed/Hispanic) [/sup][/color][/center][/url] [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]There isn't much to make Hector stand out in the crowd. His skin is the colour of pre-war chocolates and eyes similarly dark with a faint squint suggesting some distant oriental or aboriginal heritage. He's a little taller than an average wastelander but somewhat shorter than Vaulters and similar well preserved people at 181cm. The man's darker skin has helped him weather the sun but it still hasn't been entirely successful in preventing the growth of wrinkles, though this can be somewhat masked by his thick hair and light stubble. His eyebrows are bushy but thin in contrast to his somewhat wider nose.[/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]Ranger Sequoia, Varmint Rifle (with full modifications), an axe, Veteran ranger armour (modified), a bowie knife, and a pristine pre-war Doctor's bag/medical kit. Improvised weapons are also very much enjoyed by Hector from thrown bricks to a loose rebar. [/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]A heavy traveling bag, stationery, a scientific striker, repair and maintenance kits for his weapons, an ornate flask, a large water container, an electric banjo and pre-war snacks. The former Ranger prefers to travel light and fast, but if this isn't possible then what he carries will change accordingly.[/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] Stealth (Core Skill): Stealth is important to all Rangers, and oftentimes more important than simple martial prowess. As such, Hector thoroughly cultivated this skill with a good head start thanks to his upbringing. Guns (Good Skill): The brush gun and sequoia are iconic weapons of a Ranger and for good reason. If one can make good use of a firearm than from afar they can end most enemies before they can make a good attempt at retaliation. Hector wasn't the sort to be able to pop a botfly's eye from two kilometres away but he was regularly selected for sniper work. Melee Weapons (Good skill): Sometimes you run out of ammo, or sometimes you don't want to. Sometimes you're just not as slick a shooter as you thought you were or needed to be, and as such the ex-Ranger can do good work with most things he can pick up for CQB, particularly he uses random items found like large sticks as if they were real weapons. Unarmed (Average Skill): It often happens a Ranger will get disarmed or simply gets into trouble without a weapon. At these times grappling, kicking, and throwing a solid punch are all important skills. The former Ranger knows he's not going to be doing cool rolls and flips but he'll stand his ground in a bar brawl. Medicine (Average Skill): Rangers are one of the most elite fighting forces of the Wasteland, but they're not invincible. Thus, an introduction to first aid was given to Hector. With that said, his lag in education limited his ability in medicine to not much more than that. Survival (Average Skill): Life as a fugitive is not kind, and one has to learn certain things to be able to manage it. The fact Hector has survived all his trials and tribulations is a testament to the fact he can live off the land, even if he isn't going to be crafting bows and traps on the fly. [/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] Hector had a rather vile start to life having been born in Boneyard, one of the worse off cities belonging to the NCR. His parents couldn't really offer him any life skills and his surroundings were such that he was lucky to not have been hooked on some sort of chems before he even hit puberty. That said, Hector was not able to avoid the fate of being a gang rat running little packages and odd jobs, getting into street brawls and stealing things. Now the boy had no education, but he was far from stupid. He remembered things very easily and he could do large arithmetics in his head from an early age. As such he was cognizant of the fact he was living in a shithole, a place in which his suffering would know no end unless he manned up enough to stick a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. He lacked the schooling to do something with his head, but he knew that at the time the army was recruiting. The kid took his father's biggest clothes and padded them with paper, before grabbing his boots and likewise filling them. He enlarged his chin with some cotton in his mouth and he dyed the still light hairs on his face to make himself look far older. It wasn't perfect, but with a bit of lying and an aged recruiter young Hector managed to be taken in for training. The lad lacked the muscularity given by age of the other recruits, but he overcame his physical inferiority with desire to escape Boneyard. Eventually he finished training, and was sent off to one of the frontiers of the NCR. While he had not too much experience fighting radscorpions, deathclaws, ants, and other monstrosities of the wasteland, Hector's experience of a gang rat let him do soldiery that belied his years and, to be frank, he loved it. He was doing what he was doing before except now he had at least some appreciation for what he did. He had friends that weren't out of it on chems cut with literal shit and he ate three times a day with water that was actually transparent. What was more, there were so many creatures out there in the desert you could hunt, kill, and consume in addition to what was served in the field kitchens. Hector was far too unsocialized, indulgent, and friendly to be promoted to a leader. But with a grand diet and constant use of his body he grew into a fit young man gaining more and more commendations for his work in the field. It was thus no surprise when he caught the eye of the Desert Rangers, and was eventually selected for entry into their elite formation. The training he underwent was exponentially more demanding than what he had to do to become a trooper, but he was now a man rather than a desperate youth. But there was a major roadblock to his ascension. With the end of the physicals came time for training in medicine, laws, weapon maintenance. A mere trooper could easily get away with being nigh illiterate and innumerate, but a desert ranger had to be far more knowledgeable. It almost seemed that this was a hurdle that Hector would not be able to overcome, until a kindly fellow recruit decided to help him out. The woman named Margaret was kind enough to help the soldier get through the rather many difficulties he had, for which Hector was eternally grateful. The two developed a very close friendship (maybe something even more) which over the many years remained strong in spite of long times of separation for the now Rangers. Hector served the New California Republic as faithfully as one could, seeing the burgeoned state as his saviour from now lying in a puddle of his own piss. For this Hector was more than willing to weather bullets and blades and come out the harder for it. Yeah, the blood on his hands accumulated. But it was all his job he reasoned, and if he didn't someone else would. Besides, it wasn't as if he was blasting down a maternity ward — he was cleaning out the deserts from scum that was probably happy to die, given its situation. The earth went about its orbit, and about two decades passed with the Ranger getting complacent as what was demanded of him was much of the same over and over. But a bright message reached Hector, he was to become one of the famed Veteran Rangers with the notorious black armour and big iron on his hip. He went to see his old friend to inform her of the news only to find that she had the exact same happen to her. They celebrated and they did so for vet long, knowing that after this their parting from each other would only grow more common and lengthy. Duty called, and the bottles of good pre-war hooch were discarded for these were two Veteran Rangers off to keep the deserts safe. It was a comfort to the two that in their new positions it was far easier for them to at least exchange letters, their communication becoming far more common even if less personal. In a study of the history between the two Rangers one might consider it ironic that it was shortly after Margaret informed Hector she was going to be transferred to the same region as him and they would be regularly seeing each other, that they would ultimately come to part. Hector had hoped a rather inverse situation would happen wherein he would instead be transferred to her portion of the desert, for he had come to detest the leadership of his station. The commander he was with was a man of mercurial humours, though that was just the articulation of a bad gut feeling Hector had about him. It thus heavily unnerved the Ranger when he was informed there was a large raider band operating in the area that had to be dealt with and that all in the area would have to go forth to combat it. The fact that along with the commander Hector would form a sniper team was only all the more unsettling. The two found themselves a little nest from which to rain fire and the operation began. All went to protocol, the raiders being picked off and their camp calmly taken apart without even a bell of alarm being rung. As the foe was almost entirely devastated, the commander asked for Hector's rifle and took two shots with the faintest sound of a chuckle from him. Taking back his weapon Hector saw that the commander had fired upon a mother and child in the camp, and he was now acutely aware that red lenses had hidden somewhat bloodshot eyes of his counterpart. Whether the man was sleepless, intoxicated, or just insane, he was clearly not sound of mind. Having spotted more targets the man reached for Hector's rifle again but the subordinate didn't let his superior have it. A struggle ensued with grappling which eventually Hector won out in, having pushed his commander away. He was no hero trying to punish a war criminal, the death of Hector's superior was an accident. The men fell and struck his head on a stone, and a cursory examination showed he was beyond any help. The Ranger was at a loss for what to do, and he didn't even notice as enough time passed for the operation to end and a fellow Ranger to come forth to see what was up with the radio silent duo. The Ranger sent to check up on Hector and the commander found the corpse at the same time as he was informed that sniper fire had killed an unarmed woman and her babe. Hector caught the eye of the fellow, and as one they ran in opposite directions. The man had few choices of where to go and thus it was to the Ranger Station he sprinted. But upon his arrival he made sure to get in quietly unsure of what might have happened during his run. He was about to rise to speak when he saw his old friend Margaret. But these hopes of an ally against what was to come against him were instantly shattered after he noticed she was with some MPs, informing her and other Rangers of a skewed interpretation of what had happened. A split second decision was taken and Hector ran to the armoury. He grabbed as many guns and medicines as possible before getting traveling supplies and going off into the desert. The now ex-Ranger walked for two days to a Gun Runners outpost, where he sold off the arsenal he carried off save for his Sequoia and instead bought a varmint rifle knowing it was far better for survival with the abundance of 5,56, lightness of the weapon and ease of its maintenance. With that Hector went North, far away from the deserts. He knew he was not welcome anywhere in the NCR, and his appearance in settlements was rare. After a few months of adjustment he was able to get used to how it is to live alone in the wilds. Still, he needed caps and as such he ventured out to civilization every so often for odd jobs. A bounty collected here, a molerat den cleared there. At a certain point he had gotten far enough North and came to hear of two things of personal note. First, a different civilization to the NCR, one in a green land that was described by many as paradise. While certainly this was exaggeration, it was still very enticing. Second, he came to hear of the Happy Trails caravan company going to that very same place. With a few careful lies Hector managed to sign up to be a Guard for the caravan in hopes of seeing it for himself, and with he money he earns off of this gig perhaps finally finding peace in Cascadia. [/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]Hector is not a particularly complex individual. His morality is folksy with a somewhat cynical and (albeit eroded) rebellious tinge. His understanding of right and wrong is very intuitive, though the idea of morality being subjective and in the eye of the beholder is - perhaps rather hypocritically - detestable to him. At the same time he convinces himself that he has to overlook qualms he might have with some actions if the pay is right. When you don't have dinner or a roof over your head, that is not the time to open up a bit of Aristotle to make sure you can justify what you're doing. Hector is fairly prejudiced against supermutants and ghouls. There isn't any one particular thing that he really dislikes about them; he will only raise the typical arguments for anti-mutant rhetoric because he would feel silly saying that he just doesn't like them and that's that. Furthermore, while not particularly religious the former Ranger is fairly convinced at least something of the supernatural exists. He doesn't believe tales of haunting and ghosts, but he makes sure to pay homage to whatever spirituality represents a person or place. A hearty meal, a drink, and soft sleep are all that he demands. The man likes to drink to the point of just bordering what one can call a problem and really likes money, but there is no other vice or desire that can sway him. Hector is naturally very extroverted, and he finds the fact he has to be the inverse one of the hardest things to deal with in his fugitive status. Similarly trickery isn't a natural talent of the man and his assumed identity is rather similar to his real one. [/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]Really? It's very simple. He wants to survive, maybe make enough money to finally settle down in this Federation place and finally live in some peace. Unwilling to admit to himself he lives for the shit he does Hector has told himself this is one last gig to get him to where he wants to be before finally he quits roving across America. Really, all of this is in truth a strategy for escaping the nebulous concept of what he deems as "chasing" him, namely his past. It is simply that he is undecided on whether bunkering down or staying on the run is better; this indecision is often responsible for many hours of sleep lost. There is also somewhat of a hope that somehow Hector will be able to clear his name, although this has been repressed to the point of now just being a fantasy much like winning the lottery was to men before the war.[/color][/indent][/indent] [/hider] И уау, хорошая поговорка «смол уорлд» у Англичан есть :lol PS: any hope of a discord for quick communication?