Flying Bullets Company: Characters, Fallout RP Options

[Dantrag]

Anyhoos, here's the character sheet:

Name:
Age:
Role:

Equipment:
Weapons(s):
Skills:

Appearance:
Race:

History:

Let your imaginations run free!

Oh, and no equipment that's too powerful like Plasma Rifles, Gatling Lasers or Power Armour, because that would be silly.

NEW ADDITION: write a short story from your character's past so other players can get an idea of your character's personality and get in their head a little.

This post has been edited by Dantrag: Apr 4 2009, 02:57 AM

[Olen]

Name: Aidan Farran
Age: 25
Role: Exploding things

Equipment: A few grenades, a frag mine, a bottle of petrol and some loose explosives. Some sort of spirit - he doesn't much care what. Gauntlets, goggles and an apron for protection while mixing explosives. Anything else he just finds when he needs it or does without.

Weapons: Explosives. If they fail he has a 10mm pistol with one clip which isn't completely full, he always keeps one in the breach. He's a pitiful shot though so prefers close quarters where he can certainly handle himself and fights with whatever's to hand, if he knows there'll be fighting he tries to get a lead pipe.
Skills: The manufacture and use of explosives and incendiaries. Hitting things, hard.

Appearance: He's of normal height but strongly built. He's missing the last two fingers from his right hand where a mixture exploded while he was making it. The hand still bothers him in the cold so he often wears a fingerless glove and tapes up his wrist, in extreme cold when he needs dexterity he uses med-x. He has short brown hair. His arms are covered in burn scars from where he gets spattered with the things he works with and his clothes tend to be a bit burnt. He picks up new ones whenever he finds them.
Race: European

History: He was born in a backcountry village and grew up among the mines they laid to defend themselves. He learned a lot about explosives there and developed an obsession bordering on pyromania. He would often take his concoctions to abandoned buildings and see how much he could bring down. It was in this time that he lost two fingers and damaged his right hand, however he quickly developed sufficient dexterity in his left.

The townships water supply became slowly more erratic and the populace dwindled. One summer it failed and he and his family were forced to leave, he was sixteen. In the wilds they contracted radiation sickness and only he and one sister survived. A few years later they made it to megaton but he was encouraged to leave after taking rather too much interest in the bomb in the citycentre - it wasn't that he wanted to blow up the city, just that the fascination of the bomb drew him to it. After that he travelled around living off what he could find, making bombs and starting fires, occasionally he would do jobs where people needed them done. He developed a skill for finding what he needed in the wastes and travelled ever lighter just finding whatever he wanted. Eventually he ran into the flying bullets while needing cash and agreed to join up.

He's certainly an oddball, but most wastelanders are. He drinks heavily, but probably isn't an alcoholic. He will start fires if he sees the opportunity and feels compelled to do so, he also likes explosions slightly too much.

Background Story

Perhaps he would have left eventually, had the raiders not attacked. It was long past dusk and Aidan had been gazing at the field base since that morning. It belonged to the Enclave and normally he'd have kept well away but he'd seen a vertibird headed there with a large cargo of bombs. He'd sat there through the heat of the day, unable to leave their pull, but not daring to get too close. Then the raiders had attacked. They were fools, of course, but it had drawn almost all the guards to the opposite side of the perimeter. And in the dark he thought he could sneak through.

That he would need to get out never crossed his mind. He crawled forwards keeping in the shadow of rocks and the thin scrub which tore at his stained tanktop and faded jeans. In one hand he clutched a fuse he'd jerry-rigged. His heart beat faster as he neared the line, in the dark the guards were forbidding shadows in their heavy armour but he hardly looked for them. His eyes were fixed on the pile of crates the vertibird had delivered. When he reached the sandbags and heaped earthworks which announced the edge of the enclave base he paused the nearest soldier was a good twenty meters away, but he was no sneak. Fortune favours the bold, he breathed and leapt over the barricade. He froze but either the night had hidden him or the soldier had been looking the other way. The sound and flashes of the fighting at the other side still shattered the night. He crept on.

It was a small base so the bomb magazine couldn't be far from an edge. He'd chosen his spot so it was only a short dash from where he hid. He readied himself and sprinted. The firefight covered the sound of his feet. Then he was there. The bombs, curvaceous, smooth, beautiful. He ran a hand over one of them. There was so much he could steal here, but it was only money. This... This was art. The boom of a grenade shattered his reverie and for the first time he realised the danger he was in. With a final stroke he put the fuse on the blasting cap of one and mixed the two chemicals together. When they lit themselves, it could be a minute it might be as much as an hour, the night would be briefly light.

He ran back to the barricade but this time he wasn't so lucky. The soldier turned and shouted a challenge. Aidan barely heard it as he vaulted the sandbags and ran into the night. Laser fire flickered around him, pain blossomed in his arm but he ignored it and dived over a rocky outcrop. He looked back over it, the soldier stood, rifle ready. But Aidan hardly saw, the fuse was a good one and the first light of it catching shone from the pile of crates. An instant later fire and flames and debris burst up into the night air. The blast threw him back and he lay and cried out in satisfaction.