Kingfisher

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Name: Terry the Terrible

Race: Ghoul

Age: Pre-War

Appearance: Much like other Ghouls, Terry's hair has fallen out, and his skin is a mottled grey-yellow. However, most of the time he is inside his chinese Dragoon armor, from his time before the war started. Aside from that, large parts of his body are composed of cybernetics, most of them by choice from his many years of living. Both arms have been completely replaced, his legs have been augmented though not removed, and he has received ocular implants that improve his vision. The last implant causes his eyes to glow a dull blue.

Sexual Preference: Asexual

Perks:
Thief
Ninja
Cyborg

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 7

Perception: 8

Endurance: 4

Charisma: 3

Intelligence: 8

Agility: 8

Luck: 2

Personality: Terry's personality could be likened to a flame: he can help those he considers friend, of which there are few, but treat him wrong and he'll become a raging torrent that consumes anything that comes his way. That isn't to say he will become out of control; instead he will methodically plan out his revenge, and then strike when his opponent least expects it. Whether it be a simple prank or full blown murder depends on the slight against him.

It doesn't help that he's gruff and seems to have no way with words. And that he's a ghoul. And chinese. And a cyborg.

Equipment:

• Chinese Stealth Armor (well worn but still serviceable)
• Chinese pistol (nearly broken)
• Chinese sword
• Plasma Rifle
• Ripper
• 10 stimpacks
• 965 caps

Biography: A former Chinese espionage agent, Terry worked along with other chinese agents at Mama Dolce's factory near Arlington Cemetery. Being one of the few Dragoons stationed in America, he was tasked with protecting the other agents in the event of a war or their discovery. The war came first.

Not long after the nukes went off, the workers in the factory became ghouls due to the radiation, and Terry was no exception. Knowing they would need supplies, Terry became the scavenger of the group, going out for supplies and trading for bits and pieces. In this way, his knowledge of the english language excelled while the skills of those at the factory floundered.

A few years before the present day, Terry was out on one of his supply runs when the Lone Wanderer attacked the factory. When he came back, all of his colleagues were dead, and checking the factory cameras he saw that a single man had done the deed. He swore revenge, and soon found out the man who had massacred Mama Dolce's factory was working with the Enclave. Already hateful of the Enclave for their supremacist views, Terry's loathing for them only increased. He now swears revenge against both the Lone Wanderer and the Enclave.

With almost nothing left from his chinese heritage, Terry left behind his original name, and began to use his scavenger name full time. He has never looked back, but has never forgotten the crimes committed against him.

Other Notes: Terry rarely if ever takes off his stealth armor. It hides the fact that he's a ghoul and a cyborg, and it lets him turn invisible at a moment's notice. He's become rather attached to it.

@xCRAZYxFACEx

Approved! Terry seems like a really awesome addition to the game, I can't wait to see him in action. Feel free to chuck his CS in the character sheet tab.

@xCRAZYxFACEx

Yay! Another ghoul.

@Sophrus

Jim's first post was hilarious BTW. Had my physically laughing aloud to myself and getting very odd looks from my Girlfriend.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Also, anyone should I out my sheet here first?

As well, I have a small warning: My sheets are always kinda shit. I swear it isn't an indication of my writing capability, I'm just crap at writing sheets XD They don't flow AT ALL.

@Obscene Symphony

Chuck it up, we don't bite.

Working on a post right now!

@Strawberry425

The Hype is reeeeal!

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Is this still open? I was thinking of a cyborg ghoul who likes sneaking, energy weapons, and stabbing people from behind.

@xCRAZYxFACEx

Yep, we're still very much open!

What is the current status of the Enclave and the Brotherhood? Supposedly the Enclave has total control of the Capital Graveyard, with the exception of the northern-most territories, but I've heard that the BoS is still kicking. To remove any amibiguity; who is in possession of the actual ruins of DC, in particular the Pentagon and the Jefferson Memorial? The Enclave, yes?

@The Nexerus

Yeah, th Enclave has control of the ruins of DC. What civilization exists in the Capital Graveyard is basically exclusively Enclave, with the exception of places like Rivet City.

I realized that I've yet to address this so; Raven Rock is still around, as is Present Eden.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

@Kingfisher Reposting this so I can know if this is allowed:

---

I've come up with a new perk to take the place of the two perks I already have and I want to know if I can use it.

Trust me, I'm a Doctor: +1 ALG, +1 PER, +5% Crit. Chance and Damage

Personally, I think this goes better with Odysseus' character since he is a medical android. The +1 to stats were origanlly meant for him to be better a surgery with better eyesight to see tiny things and deformities while operating and more fine motor skills so he doesn't cut something important while operating. The additional Crit. stuff is due to the fact he knows what points in the human body is vital thus cause more pain/damage.

---

And these are just some racial bonus ideas I came up with. Again, just ideas.

Androids:

Mechanical Man: Limbs are harder to cripple and DT is increased

Humans:

Social Animals: Damage and accuracy is increased for each nearby friendly human, androids give half the bonus and ghouls give none.

Ghouls:

Ghoulish Delight: Resistant to radiation and heals from radiation, can convince Feral Ghouls to attack others, will not be attacked by mutated (ie centaurs and super mutants but not Deathclaws and wild animals)

---

EDIT: @Sovi3t, I notice that both of our characters are extremely similar, want to have them both start in Rivet City running a small time clinic on the lower deck or something like that?

@ClocktowerEchos

Apologies, today has been a hectic rush around London, sorry for not getting back to you. I like what you've built there, by all means use them.

I'm interested in writing a CS for a member, or former member, of the Institute. Where in the Capital Graveyard has the Institute set up operations, and how much freedom would I have in describing things relating to them?

@The Nexerus

The northern most areas, so think lots of stuff running along the roof of the map. Given that our overall knowledge of the Institute is very limited, you have creative freedom as long as it complies with the established lore. I'd ask you to PM me things related to the status of the Institute before posting then, but once they've been approves that should be fine.

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Are we waiting for anyone to post or...?

@DJAtomika

Strawberry was waiting for Crafty, but given the situation I thought it best to give then the go-ahead, so I think we can expect some more Chase and Charlize soon.

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

And it is done!

My Hider

Name/Nicknames: James Weatherly, ‘The Trailbeater”

Race: Human.

Age: Twenty-Nine.

Appearance: Standing at a touch shy of six foot six, James stands out amongst his fellow humans and most other bipeds (Super Mutants being the main exception) as a remarkably tall fellow. This, combined with his average, lean build, makes him a noticeable chap in a crowd. His skin is tanned from long exposure to the wastelands and he sports a few bullet and knife scars from various adventures, mostly on his torso and arms, with the upper edge of one knife wound peeking over his collar. He keeps his dark brown hair tied back in a short ponytail and his facial hair as neat as possible for being out in the wastes for extended periods of times, though of course this does leave him looking a bit rugged and unkempt. He views the world through deep green eyes.

Sexual Preferences: Heterosexual.

Perks:
• Gun Nut.
• Prospector.
• Size Matters.

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 3

Perception: 8

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 5

Luck: 4

Personality: A true believer that if you want to survive in the Capital Wasteland, you have to take life by the Brahmin horns, James is a go-getter with a measure of calm and patience that many years exploring the wastes has bestowed upon him. As a prospector, trail-blazer, guide and bodyguard, James has dealt with all manner of people in his life and knows his way around a conversation. That isn’t to say he’s entirely open or without prejudices. While he will work for most people, he is wary of Ghouls (although not entirely against them as a whole) and absolutely abhors slavers, raiders and the Enclave. He has had limited contact with The Institute, but believes them to be perhaps even more dangerous than the Enclave and deals with them with a great amount of hesitance and trepidation.

Around the settlements of the Capital Wasteland, James is known and liked by most, having built good connections with trading posts and communities throughout the years and this is reflected in the good nature with which he will approach most people and how easily he can fit into a group. If you end up what James would call a friend, he would wrestle a Deathclaw for you.

Equipment:
• Leather Armour, with some modifications cobbled together from other sets of armour James has found in the wastes, a metal plate here, a pouch there, that kind of thing.
• A Regulator Duster, beaten and patched. It is worth noting that James himself is not part of the Regulators and due to the continued wear and tear on the garment and the endless patching, it is more a practical item now than a symbol of the group.
• Combat Helmet, personalized with the number 21 one the side (already on the piece when James got it) and tally marks of his confirmed slaver kills, currently at eleven marks.
• Sunglasses.
• Binoculars.
• Lever Action Rifle that James came by whilst on a escort job to Point Lookout some years back. He uses this rifle sparingly, on ‘big game’ and slavers, as it is harder to repair than his other weapons due to parts.
• Hunting Rifle. James’ bread and butter weapon, easy enough to repair, accurate and powerful enough to put down most threats.
• .32 Pistol. Kept as a holdout and last resort weapon, as James prefers two-handed weapons, his .32 pistol rarely see’s use unless he is out of options or needs something smaller. Often, he will allow traders and the like that he escorts, to use the weapon so they are not defenseless themselves.
• Four boxes of .32 ammunition.
• Three boxes of 10mm ammunition.
• Four Stimpacks
• Six Radaways
• Map of the Capital Wasteland.
• Three bottles of purified water.
• Makeshift bedding.
• Supply bag for his gear.


Biography: Born in unassuming circumstances to unassuming settlers in Rivet City, James Weatherly has led a mostly normal life, well, as normal as you can get in the post apocalyptic wastelands of America anyway. He gained a basic education, as did everyone else in the city and once he was old enough, he began accompanying his father on trade caravans out into the wastes. By the time he was fifteen, James had visited a majority of settlements in the Capital Wasteland. He showed a natural affinity for being out in the wastes, far more comfortable in the wild than cooped up on the carrier he was born on and spent more and more time out with his father or indeed with other trade caravans running out of the city. It was on these trade runs that he honed his shooting skills, helping defend them from mutated beasts, raiders, slavers and even Enclave scouting parties at times. By the age of twenty, James was a regular on the caravans, heading up security for the long trips to Canterbury Commons, Megaton and other settlements dotted through the wastes.

But soon he found it wasn’t enough. Much to his parents disapproval, James began to venture out on his own into the world and more and more he found himself on the roads, protecting traders or escorting settlers, until the road just became a way of life for him. He gained his leather armour in this time, as payment for a transport job and with a strong sense of wanting to not only explore the wastes, but try and make it a little safer for those who simply wanted to survive, James threw himself head long into a life of a self appointed wasteland protector. He would offer his services to all those who needed them, to begin with, even working with ghouls happily for a time.

Unfortunately he was to learn lessons about the wasteland the hard way. His trust of the ghouls was severely shaken during a job he had undertaken to help a family of settlers move some distance away from their home, having decided to join a small community that had been building themselves up. The group included three ghouls who were apparently hired hands of the family he was helping. Whether it was simple greed or a predetermined desire to punish the community, the mission went south upon arrival, the group being besieged by a group of ghouls on the border of being feral and the three in the group, that James had worked along side, turned on their employers. Thankfully James and the family were able to fend of the ghouls and only a handful of lives were lost, but James found himself untrusting of their kind from that day on.

Over the years, James has travelled the Capital Wasteland extensively and has even visited other areas, spending a couple of months in the Point Lookout area, where he picked up his lever action rifle on a job there escorting a scientist who wanted to study local flora and fauna. The previous owner of the rifle had no further need for it after an ill-conceived night ambush on James and his charge. He has had limited dealings with the Institute in his travels and now they are in the Capital Wasteland, he is ever wary of their influence. Worse still than the Institute though, in James’ mind, are the salvers and raiders of the wasteland. He has seen, far too often, the effect of these groups on families and settlements and as they pose the biggest organized threat to the safety and security of the people of the wasteland, he has decided that justice needs to be administered one bullet at a time. His recent decision to actively target slavers and raiders has added to the tally marks on his helmet, as he wages a one man war on their despicable practices.

In the years since leaving home, James has travelled, built up relationships throughout the wasteland, visited other areas, both for work as well as to sate his curiosity for exploration and honed his skills to become a competent and accomplished wanderer.

Other Notes/ETC:
• Enjoys a good smoke, and a strong drink now and then.

@Ehkru

My Hider

Name/Nicknames: Natasha “Tasha”

Race: Android

Age: 17

Appearance: 1.65m tall, with straight long black hair reaching to her shoulders and light green eyes. Her body appears to be very slim and it almost seems like she is on the edge of being terribly underweight, though it appears that’s not that case.

Sexual Preferences: Bisexual

Perks:

-Gunslinger
-Scoundrel

S.P.E.C.I.A.L:

Strength: 4

Perception: 6

Endurance: 4

Charisma: 6

Intelligence: 9

Agility: 7

Luck: 4

Personality: Tasha is a very happy and overly energetic girl. She is fast on her feet and often makes snap decisions. An important trait of hers is her great curiosity that displays in number of ways such as the desire to hack every terminal she finds and learn it’s secrets or just the usual exploring ruined buildings to find the things that hide in them.

Another trait of hers is her fear of close combat in which she is quite bad at. She prefers to hold distance from opponents and to run from people who try to get close and chop her to pieces. The strength of that fear makes it highly possible that something happened in her past to cause a trauma especially towards people holding knives at her. She tends to shoot those on sight.

A hobby of hers is reading books.

Equipment: 1x10mm pistol; 2x10mm ammo clips; Pre-war business suit; makeshift backpack; kitchen knife; 2 pre-war books(children fairytales); piece of metal pipe, reading glasses.

Caps: 75

Biography: Tasha herself doesn’t know she is an android. For some reason one day she just woke up completely naked in the wilderness. Her memories from before her waking up in the wasteland were incredibly hazy and torn. She only has vague understanding she was from the Commonwealth, but ran away for some reason and the only clue she had was what appeared to be burnt marks on her neck from most likely electricity. She assumed she was most likely hit by some kind of shocking weapon, stripped of all she had and then left for dead… or maybe they thought she was dead for some reason. She had no idea, whatever the reason was, she at least was alive.

Stumbling through the desolate wasteland barefooted, she eventually found herself at the ruins of a few houses. Without much choice in the matter, she quickly ran through them, searching for everything that may be of use. There wasn’t much on the way of loot there, but she still managed to at least find some clothes a few caps and a knife.

From that moment onwards, Tasha barely made a living as a scavenger as she wandered the area in search for things to loot and sell later. It wasn’t much, but she at least could manage to live and rent a room from time to time to sleep normally, feeling secure in towns. Her latest travels brought her to Rivet city where she has been around for a few weeks, hoping she may find a job for herself, somewhere around the town. Be it even as a simple maintenance or cleaning duty as long as it pays for a living.

Other Notes/ETC:

And I'm going to add a picture later. For now how does this one looks?

@rivaan

Woops, sorry I missed these in all the new posts :P

Both approved!

Since everyone's partying at Rivet City, I guess I'll go there too.

@Kingfisher Out of curiosity, what has happened to Harkness if anything in this timeline?

@ClocktowerEchos

Good question! Harkness was reclaimed by the bureau once the institute rocked up in the Graveyard

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Hmm, those are good points. I was just figuring that the Enclave would be too high and mighty to even bother with scum as low as slavers.

But we'll see how it works out.

@Dead Cruiser

The deal is meant to be deliberately off, so kudos for picking up on that. I will say though, In (I THINk it was) Fallout 2, then Enclave use slaves for excavation projects.

I assure you there is method behind my posts, and a lot of research has gone in to everything.

There's been a Fallout RP out in Advanced for three days and I haven't even noticed. Still open?

@The Nexerus

We are indeed!

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

what about an android that joined the BoS? That possible or them bos wont allow me to roam around and keep me under 'protection'?

@rivaan

I think the BoS would be iffy about androids. I you want to play an android your best bet would to be independent, or part of the Institute.

<Snipped quote by rivaan>

there was an android that worked in rivet city and didn't even know he was one. You could have went into hiding the same way.

@TheUnknowable

Harkness. He's head of Rivet City security.

First IC post is up BTW folks!

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

<Snipped quote by Kingfisher>

MMmmmaybe. What do you propose? But yeah Im interrested in taking part in this :3 I love fallout3

@rivaan

Depends, what sort of characters d'you enjoying playing and what faction is your favourite?

Fallout: Capital Graveyard

Hestia Flores sat where she did most evenings, plopped down on a rickety steel stool in front of the bar within the sprawling expanse of the mall-strip turned slaver haven that was Paradise Falls. The makeshift bar and grill was tucked away in a corner of the main courtyard, shielded from the outside world by a motley roof of tacky corrugated steel sheets.

“What shit-stinking hole did they pull you out of, huh?” Ymir, the bearded knucklehead enforcer sitting a few stools away from Hestia, sneered at the bartender.

“Big Town, sir.” Jeff the bartender mumbled in his usually quite tone, avoiding eye-contact with the larger man as he stuck to vigorously scrubbing one of the classes with a grimy cloth.

“Sir, eh?” Ymir pondered, a broad grin creasing his gnarled face “at least this one’s got more manners and sense than the last barman.”

“You sent a pretty clear messages when you spread his brains all across the dirt, you fucking madman.” Hestia teased, smiling her slick smile as she munched on a Fancy Lady Snack Cake, her lips smeared with crumbs and powder.

Ymir shrugged his broad shoulders “Don’t mess with a man’s vodka.” He said plainly, before taking a long swig from his glass.

“Hey, fat-ass!” A gruff voice called out.

Frowning, Hestia swivelled on her stool, catching a glimpse of Eulogy’s second-in-command making his way across the courtyard towards her.

“Eulogy has business with you and your Daddy.” He snapped in his usual drawl. ‘Forty’, as folks called him, was a tall, well-built man, with tanned skin, a scraggily orange beard, and a similarly coloured Mohawk erupting from his rounded head.

“Good thing he sent his little errand boy to come find me then.” Hestia sneered, springing off of her stool. She was a big girl, with an overly-plump form, and her huge stomach oozed out infront of her, pressing against the buckles and straps of the raider armour she’d taken to wearing.

She moved to walk past Forty, but he extended one leathery hand, giving her a sharp push backwards.

“I ain’t no man’s messenger, little girl.” He hissed “And I got more important things to do than fetch tubby porkers from across their eating troughs.”

“You appear to be blocking the path to Eulogy.” Hestia said dryly.

“Know why the call me ‘Forty’, little girl?” the big man jeered.

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” Hestia remarked, rolling her brown eyes.

“I dun killed forty men in my time, whore.” Forty spat, showing off rows of rotten yellow teeth. “Killed a few fat little Brahmin, too.” He added, looking Hestia up and down.

“Funny you should mention Brahmin,” Hestia replied in her sweetest voice “because it’s my Daddy’s Brahmin caravan’s that ship your slaves all over the Graveyard, and it’s my Daddy’s Brahmin meat that keeps you people fed.”

She took a single, slow, step towards the hulking enforcer, a light smirking creeping across her plump lips.

“We Flores are the only thing keeping this little pile of steel and glass standing, right now.” She snapped coolly “I’m sure that’s managed to worm its way inside even your thick, fucking, skull.”

“Now just a minute-“Forty bellowed, but Hestia kept talking.

“I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say, Forty.” She chided “I want you to learn something important today.”

She paused, looking about steadily, letting her words hang in the air for a short moment.

“Whenever you and your scrawny cock-suckers try and fuck with me, I will fuck you right back. At best, you’re just another small time player, honey bunny, what makes you think you can lay a finger on me and walk away without losing a hand?”

Hestia pushed past Forty, who stood there speechless, and made her way over to Eulogy’s pad. She swaggered confidently across the courtyard, past the small gathers of armoured slavers, her enormous flabby hips swinging back and forth with each step she took.

Eulogy’s pad was a decrepit old movie theatre that had been repurposed after the bomb’s fell. The entry area was cracked and coming apart, with peeled wallpaper and chunks of plaster scattered across the grime-stained floor, and a sickly green mushroom-like substance that gave off a worrying glow was spreading through the cracks in the floor tiles.

Eulogy and her father stood in the front lobby, hurling insults and harsh words between each other.

“This is your fucking problem, use your own fucking men!” Her father, a balding man in a leather jacket and orange tinted sunglasses, snarled.

“This became both of our problems when our operations climbed into bed together.” Eulogy seethed, his dark brow furrowing. Eulogy was a black skinned man, dressed in a rich salmon suit that was too fine to be anything other than a jet dream to most wastelanders, and the tyrannical boss of the slavers in Paradise Falls. “This is my motherfucking territory, and I will not abide being talked back to by some farmer!”

“You’ve got a pretty sharp fucking tongue for someone who was about an inch away from losing control of his own people before my family showed up to pull you out of the dust.” Harold Flores said darkly, staring daggers at the lean figure across from him.

Hestia cleared her throat loudly as she entered the pad, walking slowly over to the two men.

“Your ginger mongrel said you wanted to talk to me.” She called over to Eulogy.

“Ah, Hestia, dearest.” Her father greeted her with a strained smile “Mr Jones wanted to discuss some business with us.”

“Yeah, it sounded there was a lot of discussing going on…” Hestia remarked with a faint smirk.

“The enclave want to open up trading routes,” Harold informed her “but this arrogant scum bag is too cock-sure to send his own fucking men!” her father turned back to Eulogy, spitting more rage at him.

“We just don’t have the numbers to waste time messing around with those power-armoured pricks!” Eulogy exclaimed “business is booming as it is, and our partnership with the folks over at the Pitt is bringing in more caps than I can spend.”

“If it weren’t for me and my assets then you’d be hanging from a lamppost by now!” Harold bellowed furiously.

“I’ll admit your caravans have been useful to me,” Eulogy said slowly “but do not presume to come in here and tell me how to use my men!”

“I’ll go.” Hestia said calmly.

The two men turned to look at her.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Her father scoffed.

“I’m not.” She replied firmly “Business IS booming, but only as long as are operations flowing and functional, and we can’t afford to jeopardise that. I’m the daughter of one of the leaders of this establishment, and I speak with the authority of the Flores family, me going sends a very clear message to the Enclave; that we respect them, and that we value their business.”

“It would allow the girl to spread her wings.” Eulogy pondered, placing one hand on his strong chin.

“I suppose there is some merit to it.” Her father admitted.

Eulogy grinned “Don’t fuck this one up, and there’s major caps for you at the other end.”

“You should probably get going before your mother finds out.” Her father said with a slightly worried smirk.