Eliza waved a placating hand to Mike as she returned with her pipe hammer. ”Don’t worry, there’s enough stuff there for days, even if you don’t ration yourself.” Dropping to a squat over the stuff she’d brought back earlier, she began to divide the supplies equally between the packs, though as she did so she shot a quick glare at both Mike and June. ”We’re not abandoning anyone to those things, clear? Sure he’s an asshole, but we’ve all got to be better then that. The only way to make it out of this, is if we all watch each others back alright?”
Slinging a pack over he shoulders, she picked up three of the other packs and the crowbar that Carter had discarded on the floor. Heading over to the two Frenchwomen, she handed them each a pack and gave June the crowbar. ”Here, I know you’ll have to get closer if you have to use it, but it’ll hold up better then that shower rod.” She added motioning to the badly bent one she’d been using earlier, that now sat abandoned on the floor.
That done, she retrieved her hammer before heading over to Carter and handing him the third pack. Pushing it into his hands, she gave him her best ‘Don’t Fuck This Up’ glare before going and distributing the rest of the packs to everyone else. ”Alright, anyone not armed should fix that right now.” She said, looking to Cole. ”Save the 9 mm for emergencies, fuck knows if we’ll find any more ammo.”
”Mike, two questions. One, do you have any portable radios? I think we should take several if you’ve got ‘em. Two, where are the keys for the shit in the garage kept? I’d rather not have to hunt for them.”
NAME: (Brother) Silverado LT Trail Boss 4x4 [Originally named Yota for the hubcap he was left in, his old model name was retired once he became Mechanic-Roadbound]
GENDER: Male
DEPARTMENT: Auto N Tires
AGE: Early 30s
APPEARANCE: He is of average height and build, but with skin a deep brown like a fresh quart of holy oil. Beneath his coveralls, the traditional and sacred garb of the Mechanics, he has the hard muscles of one who would be Roadbound and the scars from training and fighting along side Counter Staff that prove his worth.
His head and face are shaved clean to prevent the wrath of the one called Osha, a being that while wishing safety for all, will punish those that are not.
RESUME
Who his manufacturers were is unknown to him as he was left as a fresh new model, swaddled in cloth and resting in a hubcap before the Office of the Chief Mechanic. As a child he was raised by the Order of Saint Haynes the Great Mechanic, and unsurprisingly was headed for the Service Bays; another Mechanic to praise the words of the Lords Automotive.
On his sixteenth model year, as he was readying himself to go from Apprentice to Journeyman, Mechanic strange portents began happening in threes all around Autontire, usually when he was near. The Chief Mechanic, the Parts Manager and their subordinates retires for several cycles to consult the holy texts and to try and understand the meanings.
On the sixth day they emerged from seclusion with an announcement that sent ripples through the whole of Autontire. Young Yota was a champion of the Big Three, the most powerful of the Lords Automotive, as their God-Cars could be found in many of the holy Service Bays. The raising of a champion, could also only mean one thing, it was time to go beyond the boundaries of Autontire and discover the fate of the Lost Crusade.
From that point on Yota was to give up his Model Name and adopt one from one of the great God-Cars. He began training in the use of arms and armour along side the valiant Counter Staff that defended Autontire from hostiles, as well as continuing his Mechanic studies; and by his eighteenth model year, and his confirmation as a Journeyman, he was declared Mechanic-Roadbound, the first one seen in Autontire since the Lost Crusade was launched many, many model years prior.
His tire armour, made from the finest gifts from the mighty Kumho and Goodyear, was made into true Roadbound armour, with the addition of metal plates fashioned from the body of a God-Car. These plates were actual Crusade plate from the armour of a crusader who must have survived whatever befell them and returned home only to fall to injuries mere days from Autontire; his body being discovered and returned home by a long range Counter Staff scouting patrol.
Suitably armoured, armed and equipped with his essentials, Brother Silverado set out from Autontire to spread the word of the Big Three and the other Lords Automotive, and to hopefully find answers to the fate of the Last Crusade.
For as long as anyone can remember Autontire has been in constant conflict with the Cult of the Smiling One. While that holds true for most everyone inside the Wal, Autontire seems to take a larger amount of their ire on a consistent basis.
Long ago, when Autontire was at the height of it’s power and controlled dozens of isles, the Chief Mechanic of the day decided that the Cult needed to be dealt with once and for all. In this decision, he created the Mechanics-Roadbound to wage war on the Cult and cut it out at the root. Sadly this was not to be, and with the loss of so many young and strong, Autontire’s power waned. The Chief Mechanic upon realizing what he’d done, surrendered his holy office and went out into the Wal as a humble Mechanic to preach, make penance and just maybe, find redemption.
RECEIPT
PERSONAL GOAL:To discover the fate of the Lost Crusade
LIKES: The sound a fresh bottle of holy oil makes when opened. New tools, bright with possibilities.
DISLIKES: Smilers Losing (another) 10mm socket
REPUTE: Autontire has had trade with other departments from time to time, and on occasion a Mechanic may head to a sympathetic department to spread the Word, but a Mechanic-Roadbound has not been seen in living memory.
HEEL: His direct and honest nature leaves his rather vulnerable to those that have less trouble with lies and falsehoods; and the same goes for a fight. His meets his problems in a direct fashion, which can be an issue if the problem is an agile one.
CODE: Speak and act honestly. Protect those weaker than yourself, and show no mercy to those that would do you harm.
QUIRKS:(Unique traits that your character is known for doing such as collecting ears off their dead enemies, always ordering their drinks with a single cube of ice, whatever strange things that immedietely makes them distinct from everyone else.)
PERFORMANCE REVIEW
(What skills does your character have that allowed them to survive this long without dying? One thing that you may be noticing here is that I'm not including any flaws in here. That's right. You wanna know why? Because, I believe having many flaws is just an excuse for an roleplayer to switch between them willy nilly and disregard them. Therefore, there is only one, great singular flaw that will inhibit your character every step of the way. Any of the skills that you have has to be justified by the Department you came from and your character's backstory. )
[Two Handed Melee] ► A skilled fighter with his cammace, he can crush most anyone unlucky enough to get in it’s way.
GROCERIES
(Your character's equipment. Include as many things that you think are necessary for your character. I want the most wacky shit you can come up with. But, be reasonable, however. Don't make your character carry a microwave that can turn into a nuclear bomb.)
[Armour of the Roadbound] ► Using the same tire armour as the Mechanics-Wallbound and the Counter Staff, the armour then has added to it plating taken at great reverence from the bodies of one of the God-Cars that are parked in the sacred Bays. Icons of the Donor are attached around the waist before the armour is anointed with holy Penzoil.
[Cammace] ► A camshaft for a V8 securely zip-tied to a length of metal from the leg of a collapsed shelf. Long enough to be used as either a walking staff or a two-handed weapon.
While the others talked, and fortunately all agreed that Moresby was a bad idea, Eliza began to poke about the office once again, looking for anything useful. Aside from the medical kit, she located a load of, what she guessed, was lost property. Mostly it was sunglasses, swim gear etc, but she did also find several backpacks which she tossed out into the main area for the others, while slinging one over her own shoulder. None of the packs were anything more than little day packs, but at least it gave them some extra carrying capacity.
More poking about lead her into what looked like the main locker room for the resort’s security staff. Most lockers, unsurprisingly, were locked but several that weren’t contained stashed emergency supplies. It wasn’t much, but enough for everyone to get a couple bottles of water and some protein bars, without totally stripping Mike of everything.
A bit more poking about got her into a utility area. Mostly it seemed to house utility panels and ladders, but in a back corner her eyes lit up as she found a bunch of pipes stacked up. About 2-3 cm in diameter, it was heavy walled, and Eliza guessed for running gas. Along side these were boxes, that when she tore one open, she found contained various fittings and connectors. Grabbing a 60 cm bit of pipe, she gathered up as much of the emergency rations as she could and went back to everyone else, smiling.
”Got some good news. There’s some emergency rations in the locker room, not a huge amount, but enough to hold us for a little while, and a load of gas piping we can use as weapons.” Off loading the rations she’d been carrying, aside from her share, she headed back to the pipes.
All the piping was threaded, so to one end she added just a simple cap, while to the other she threaded a T junction. To the arms of the T she added two 6 cm little connectors, before adding two more caps. All of these she tightened as much as she could by hand, and by the time she was done, she had a respectable little hammer. Once done she returned to the others.
"This is a harsh world, and I am old for a reason."
[ ❇ ] S Y N O P S I S
Name
Kavan Berthou
Gender
Male
Age
65
[ ❇ ] C H A R A C T E R I Z A T I O N
Appearance
As a young man his hair was a rich, honey blonde and his eyes were a pale blue, flecked with green. Today, his eyes are still the same, but his hair has long since gone white. His whole body is a patchwork of little scars and blemishes, the kind of thing one gets from a hard life in the wilds of this shattered world.
Despite advancing age and a tough life, he is still a powerfully built fellow standing roughly 180 cm tall and about 80 kilos of muscle, though admittedly he’s found himself softening about the middle more and more as the years pass. Over his heart he has tattooed a Cross of Lorraine, underneath which there are fifteen marks, one for each member of his small village.
Clothing-wise, he wears whatever he can make or scavenge from the world around him. His boots and pants are Kaiserreich, his undershirt, gear harness and pouches are Confederacy and his gloves and cap are Hessen. To this he also carries a large hand made pack made of deer hide and wears a wolf-skin cloak.
What his families life was like before the Last War has been lost to time; all he ever knew was a tough but relatively good life in his isolated little village. During the War the area was strategically unimportant so the worst of the fighting passed them by; and once things really started to fall apart, the worst of that missed them as well.
Growing up, and being as large as he was, Kavan split wood and worked the fields from a fairly young age, and from about 16 onwards he also hunted, took part in defending the village as needed, and on occasion trekking out to trade with other settlements. All-in-all it was a remarkably good life for such a broken world, but rarely do such things last. He was just entering his twentieth year, newly married and with a child on the way when his own world broke. Returning home after being away for several days on a hunting/trading trip he saw a disturbing amount of smoke in the sky over his home. Abandoning everything but his weapon he rushed back to find he was days too late.
From what he was able to piece together from the damage done and the bodies strewn about, his home had been savaged by a prefect storm of bad chance. Some of the dead had the look of slavers, a constant worry that their remoteness usually protected them from, and the others were ghouls, on of the Wars many left over horrors. Kavan guessed the slavers surprised his village, and was in the process of rounding everyone up when a pack of ghouls must have shambled close enough to be drawn by the sounds. The slavers took several casualties, but they were well armed and the ghouls were only a small pack and not a Horde, and so were wiped out. While he had been gladdened to not find any of his people savaged by the ghouls, the fact that they weren’t there meant enough slavers had survived to maintain control of their captives.
For a time he set out in search to find his friends and family, his love and his child, but in the end nothing came of it. After a time he came to accept their probably deaths, and though he kept the memories close, he moved on. That said, after such destruction he never felt at ‘home’ anywhere and so has spent his life carefully making his way between the various holdouts of humanity.
Member
Arthanus
Quest Abandoner
Bastian
Apollosarcher
ASDAValueMilk
Knight 7
sly13
Bartimaeus
