Post by mathias on Dec 15, 2015 3:25:48 GMT
Commonwealth Wasteland United Operating System
Full Name Here
Full Name Here
Basic Information
Full Name: Mathias Andrews
Nicknames: Nothing polite, probably.
Race: Human
Age: 29 years old
Gender: Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
Home Settlement: None currently
Career/Rank: Mercenary
Face Claim: Actor/Artist's Name
Essential Information
Appearance: Standing at just a little over six feet in height, Mathias makes quite the imposing figure, with his cowboy-style hat and long duster, which is something he's never been afraid to take shameless advantage of when it comes to striking a little unease in the hearts of whomever he's haggling with for payment. While he usually wears a simple rough shirt underneath the Duster, few people ever get to see it, because when he's out in any form of public, it is almost guaranteed he will have both the coat and the hat on at all times, regardless of weather or how weird it looks in a given crowd. The duster's high collar and the hat serve to obscure a surprising amount of his features, with his chin, lower jawline, and brow all covered up; the only signs of his messy, dirty-blond hair are a few tufts poking out here and there from the back of the hat's brim, or around his ears. The face below that brim is decent-looking, if somewhat ruined by the fact that it's usually covered in all manner of streaked dirt and dry, caked sweat, an ill-kempt look not helped by the fact that the coat smells faintly of Brahmin. His eyes are bright, blue, and might almost have been described as 'pretty' if they weren't almost perpetually narrowed in some general form of irritation that's heightened by his high-cheekbones and hawkish features.
Still, should someone get him out of the coat and hat- probably with force- and wash him down- with significantly more force- they might be surprised at just how young he is. Even in his late-twenties, his features are smooth and lacking many of the pockmarks and blemishes that might be expected from a life in the wastes... possibly because he clearly doesn't bother washing his face with irradiated water. Or any water. Ever. Beneath the bulky coat, his frame is lean and well-muscled, due to years of constant physical exertion and very little in the way of luxuries, amenities, or relaxation. His hands are large, calloused, but with long, remarkably dexterous fingers, perfect for picking a lock or cleaning a rifle. Scars, of course, are an inevitably, and while he's managed to avoid damaging his face too badly, he has several long scars down the right side of his back, a puckered burn scar on his right thigh, and what distinctly look like bullet wound scars on his right pectoral, along with much smaller nicks here and there from one cut or another.
Typically when out on the road, he keeps an old army duffle bag tightly strapped to his lower back, filled with supplies, ammunition, and whatever valuable scrap he might pick up. The strap has a handy latch, allowing him to ditch the bag quickly if he needs to leap for cover.
Personality: The Capital Wasteland's Regulators were largely dedicated to two things; bringing those who did 'Bad Things' to justice, and getting paid. Mathias, son of a long-hunting Regulator, is admittedly a little bit of Column A... but leans far, far more into Column B. His upbringing and resulting moral compass has prevented him from using his skills to become a Raider, a Gunner, or really anyone who would target helpless civilians or settlements... it also ensures that all the aforementioned groups will feature prominently in the people he will target. But unlike the Minutemen, he doesn't pick his battles to protect others; he does it solely because someone, somewhere, is willing to give him a healthy handful of caps once the dust has settled. If there's no payday, as far as Mathias is concerned, there's no fight.
'Lone wolf' is a stereotype, but it does fit fairly well in this case. Not only does Mathias generally prefer to travel alone when companions are not a necessity, but even in the rare instances he can be found as part of a group, his idea of Teamwork consists of himself doing whatever 'He Thinks Is Necessary,' while everyone else does 'He Doesn't Care.' Given his greatest strengths rely on taking advantage of mobility and terrain, during a 'caravan huddle,' he will inevitably be the first to leave the group behind... not to abandon them altogether, but rather to find a better position from which he can make his own stand. In combat situations he prefers that allies (here defined as 'People I'm Not Deliberately Trying To Kill,') give him at least ten feet of personal space so that he and his rifle can move with minimum interference. Anyone who drifts closer than that can probably expect a rifle barrel across the cheek. And yes, it will be deliberate.
His behavior in combat is generally comforting enough to make him someone you might want to stick close to, though, rifle-smacking aside. His training and familiarity with his weapon of choice allow him to fire with minimal delay, sometimes seemingly without aiming, and even his behavior in a fight is often crisp, confident, and almost positive in nature. This isn't so much tied to him expecting to win an encounter, as it is recognizing that panicking would get them nowhere, which is why you'll hear 'We should attack head on' with exactly the same calm assurance you'll hear 'We should run away and pray the Deathclaws don't chase us.'
At the end of the day, he's a mercenary, and while he does draw a distinct moral line at the sort of work he will pursue, and the kind of targets he will eliminate, ultimately he isn't roaming the area, starry-eyed and filled with a profound need to bring justice to the blah blah blah. If he is coming after you, then not only are you a bad person, but you're also a) finding yourself with a bounty on your head, b) getting between him and whoever person a) is, or c) he's found out you're sitting on something really valuable, in which case God help you. When he doesn't have a job, he'll spend his time either getting well and properly drunk in the privacy of an Inn- he doesn't trust the rest of the population enough to do it in a bar- or actively look for contracts to take up... usually in a bar, ironically. This is often something as simple as waiting for someone to say something like 'Those damn Raiders somethingsomething' at which point he'll sidle up and make his pitch.
Oh, charisma! He doesn't really have any. In his defense, generally the only people he comes across are either wanted criminals he's about to thoroughly ventilate, or people who are paying him caps for the aforementioned ventilation, neither of which were ever going to impart to him the finer points of diplomacy or tact. The only things he ever learned from his father were six different ways to grill Mirelurk meat, and shooting things in the face... often Mirelurks. That being said, it's further complicated by the fact that he legitimately doesn't give a flying toss about how others might take the inadvertently- or even deliberately- insulting things he says or does. This generally means that where a silver tongue might defuse a potential bar fight, he will inevitably say JUST the right thing to make the situation unimaginably worse. His effectiveness as a mercenary is probably the only reason anyone bothers giving him a contract anymore, as even the people who might come to rely heavily on his services prefer to keep conversations with this quiet, irritable man as short as humanly possible. The only time he seems to give something resembling a damn is when he's dealing with people who are so borderline-puppydog helpless (such as children or simpletons,) sheer pity drives him to tone it down a bit.
Which brings us to his one soft spot; whether the beggar clamoring for a drink of water, the stupid, stupid child who went off to try and pet a mole rat, or the wee little settlement filled with pacifists, he is utterly incapable of keeping himself from trying to help the 'pure and innocent.' The more gentle and fluffy the thing in peril, the more likely he is to work pro bono. He doesn't want to care. God no. He will gripe, mutter and groan about helping them even as he is helping them, and if they offer any form of payment- even a single, bent bottlecap- he will snatch it up and tell himself that it was just a job, and he was just looking to get paid. Regardless, the key to getting him to follow along is usually to put something small and frail looking in the path of something hungry, and then just step back and watch what happens.
Family: Trage Andrews: Adoptive father, mentor.
History: Write about your character's history here ~ tell us about their life growing up, and all the relevant life experiences that have made them who they are today. Eg, if one of their worst memories is a Molerat attack that led to them being deadly afraid of Molerats, tell us about what happened and how that event was for them. At least 250 words.
Skills: With a skillset rooted in self-sufficiency and survival, Mathias knows the small ways to survive for weeks away from any form of civilization; what forms of food are safe, and how to prepare them. (He actually fancies himself a bit of a cook.) How much irradiated water he can get away with drinking, and small tricks to cut back on the rad count when Radaway is likewise. Whatever first-aid or homebrew medicine is necessary to keep him going when stimpacks have become a luxury. He's also a fair hand at tracking, be it human or animal, and can often use signs of habitation to avoid particularly unpleasant situations, such as a Deathclaw Nest or a wandering Yuo Guai. He can be a useful hand in a caravan for these skills alone, (if you can put up with him, that is,) and his first-aid knowledge also let him dabble here and there as a doctor. Well, a medic.
Still, he is by no means a computer hacker, a scientist, or really anything whose basis is cerebral as opposed to what he'd call 'Practical.' In fact, he lacks even the know-how to maintain an energy weapon for longer than a few days before its inevitable overheating or malfunction due to some small, probably-easy-to-mend problem he can't be bothered to figure out. However, when it comes to ballistic weaponry- especially his own hunting rifle- it's safe to call him a bit of an expert, as he regularly cleans, maintains, and modifies his weapons to suit a given situation, often using components or parts that he carries along with him.
He is also surprisingly silent on his feet, and quite the stealthy figure, which is an achievement when you take his ridiculous hat into account. The sneaky sneaky is usually what allows him to set up ambush points, or sometimes just get clear of a hairy situation long enough to marshal a counter-attack... or, heck, even just run the hell away.
Oh, and he lockpicks like a fiend.
Armor: Once upon a time, a Regulator Duster was a snappy piece of attire that granted the bounty hunters a rakish air of danger... but did precisely nothing to protect them against anything. While the argument was always that this poor armoring gave the Regulators a 'survivor's edge' in battle, in truth it was borne of the fact that Regulators largely had access to Brahmin hides when it came time to sew clothing, and this was the best they could come up with. Over the ensuing century or so, however, as they began to clash more and more with Talon mercenaries throughout the Wasteland, changes had to be made in order for the organization (and, more specifically, its mutated-cow-leather-dressed members) to survive. Ironically, the source of their salvation came from the Commonwealth about eighty years prior, when a very special type of material was offered to aid them in keeping the peace within the Capital.
The Duster of today, which Mathias himself wears, is a far sturdier affair, with ballistic fiber sewn into the lining to greatly improve its resilience to gunfire, while still retaining the snappy pseudo-cowboy appearance. It offers torso and arm coverage, with ceramic leg-plates to protect him from the waist down, all while maintaining enough flexibility to crouch or roll as necessary. His hat, along with being a snappy fashion accessory, also has a hidden pouch in the very top's inner lining, that contains fifteen caps, three rifle bullets, and two shotgun shells... basically, an emergency stash. He also stores all the bobby pins he uses for lock picking along the lining of the hat's brim, though he'll keep a couple in his inner shirt's breast pocket for emergencies.
Weapons: Above all else, Mathias will turn to his hunting rifle; his accuracy with the weapon is almost second to none, as from upwards to twenty-five feet he can empty an entire clip of five shots with astounding accuracy in seconds, especially if he's crouched. From greater distances, he can still strike like a sniper, albeit after taking far more careful aim, but his specific capabilities with the weapon depend largely upon its configuration at the time. The solid rifle stock can also knock a man senseless, which means he's not above simply using the butt of his rifle to bludgeon a given opponent into submission.
Still, should someone happen to get too close for him to bring the rifle about, he has a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun that can create quite the impression. The obvious downside to the weapon is it needs to be reloaded after only a single shot, making it very much a last-resort.
The last-last-resort, in the event the shotgun isn't enough, is a machete with which he has... someish skill? A couple of Raiders probably wouldn't be too much of a problem, but it's safe to say that he much prefers to stick to shooting his opponents instead.
Finally, he has a definite soft spot in his heart for setting up mines, and will usually keep at least half a dozen in his pack at all times, along with a couple of grenades. If he's dealing with a target whose movements are at least pseudo-predictable, he'll prefer to set up an explosive ambush wherever possible, often even using his own rifle to set the explosive off.
Still, should someone get him out of the coat and hat- probably with force- and wash him down- with significantly more force- they might be surprised at just how young he is. Even in his late-twenties, his features are smooth and lacking many of the pockmarks and blemishes that might be expected from a life in the wastes... possibly because he clearly doesn't bother washing his face with irradiated water. Or any water. Ever. Beneath the bulky coat, his frame is lean and well-muscled, due to years of constant physical exertion and very little in the way of luxuries, amenities, or relaxation. His hands are large, calloused, but with long, remarkably dexterous fingers, perfect for picking a lock or cleaning a rifle. Scars, of course, are an inevitably, and while he's managed to avoid damaging his face too badly, he has several long scars down the right side of his back, a puckered burn scar on his right thigh, and what distinctly look like bullet wound scars on his right pectoral, along with much smaller nicks here and there from one cut or another.
Typically when out on the road, he keeps an old army duffle bag tightly strapped to his lower back, filled with supplies, ammunition, and whatever valuable scrap he might pick up. The strap has a handy latch, allowing him to ditch the bag quickly if he needs to leap for cover.
Personality: The Capital Wasteland's Regulators were largely dedicated to two things; bringing those who did 'Bad Things' to justice, and getting paid. Mathias, son of a long-hunting Regulator, is admittedly a little bit of Column A... but leans far, far more into Column B. His upbringing and resulting moral compass has prevented him from using his skills to become a Raider, a Gunner, or really anyone who would target helpless civilians or settlements... it also ensures that all the aforementioned groups will feature prominently in the people he will target. But unlike the Minutemen, he doesn't pick his battles to protect others; he does it solely because someone, somewhere, is willing to give him a healthy handful of caps once the dust has settled. If there's no payday, as far as Mathias is concerned, there's no fight.
'Lone wolf' is a stereotype, but it does fit fairly well in this case. Not only does Mathias generally prefer to travel alone when companions are not a necessity, but even in the rare instances he can be found as part of a group, his idea of Teamwork consists of himself doing whatever 'He Thinks Is Necessary,' while everyone else does 'He Doesn't Care.' Given his greatest strengths rely on taking advantage of mobility and terrain, during a 'caravan huddle,' he will inevitably be the first to leave the group behind... not to abandon them altogether, but rather to find a better position from which he can make his own stand. In combat situations he prefers that allies (here defined as 'People I'm Not Deliberately Trying To Kill,') give him at least ten feet of personal space so that he and his rifle can move with minimum interference. Anyone who drifts closer than that can probably expect a rifle barrel across the cheek. And yes, it will be deliberate.
His behavior in combat is generally comforting enough to make him someone you might want to stick close to, though, rifle-smacking aside. His training and familiarity with his weapon of choice allow him to fire with minimal delay, sometimes seemingly without aiming, and even his behavior in a fight is often crisp, confident, and almost positive in nature. This isn't so much tied to him expecting to win an encounter, as it is recognizing that panicking would get them nowhere, which is why you'll hear 'We should attack head on' with exactly the same calm assurance you'll hear 'We should run away and pray the Deathclaws don't chase us.'
At the end of the day, he's a mercenary, and while he does draw a distinct moral line at the sort of work he will pursue, and the kind of targets he will eliminate, ultimately he isn't roaming the area, starry-eyed and filled with a profound need to bring justice to the blah blah blah. If he is coming after you, then not only are you a bad person, but you're also a) finding yourself with a bounty on your head, b) getting between him and whoever person a) is, or c) he's found out you're sitting on something really valuable, in which case God help you. When he doesn't have a job, he'll spend his time either getting well and properly drunk in the privacy of an Inn- he doesn't trust the rest of the population enough to do it in a bar- or actively look for contracts to take up... usually in a bar, ironically. This is often something as simple as waiting for someone to say something like 'Those damn Raiders somethingsomething' at which point he'll sidle up and make his pitch.
Oh, charisma! He doesn't really have any. In his defense, generally the only people he comes across are either wanted criminals he's about to thoroughly ventilate, or people who are paying him caps for the aforementioned ventilation, neither of which were ever going to impart to him the finer points of diplomacy or tact. The only things he ever learned from his father were six different ways to grill Mirelurk meat, and shooting things in the face... often Mirelurks. That being said, it's further complicated by the fact that he legitimately doesn't give a flying toss about how others might take the inadvertently- or even deliberately- insulting things he says or does. This generally means that where a silver tongue might defuse a potential bar fight, he will inevitably say JUST the right thing to make the situation unimaginably worse. His effectiveness as a mercenary is probably the only reason anyone bothers giving him a contract anymore, as even the people who might come to rely heavily on his services prefer to keep conversations with this quiet, irritable man as short as humanly possible. The only time he seems to give something resembling a damn is when he's dealing with people who are so borderline-puppydog helpless (such as children or simpletons,) sheer pity drives him to tone it down a bit.
Which brings us to his one soft spot; whether the beggar clamoring for a drink of water, the stupid, stupid child who went off to try and pet a mole rat, or the wee little settlement filled with pacifists, he is utterly incapable of keeping himself from trying to help the 'pure and innocent.' The more gentle and fluffy the thing in peril, the more likely he is to work pro bono. He doesn't want to care. God no. He will gripe, mutter and groan about helping them even as he is helping them, and if they offer any form of payment- even a single, bent bottlecap- he will snatch it up and tell himself that it was just a job, and he was just looking to get paid. Regardless, the key to getting him to follow along is usually to put something small and frail looking in the path of something hungry, and then just step back and watch what happens.
Family: Trage Andrews: Adoptive father, mentor.
History: Write about your character's history here ~ tell us about their life growing up, and all the relevant life experiences that have made them who they are today. Eg, if one of their worst memories is a Molerat attack that led to them being deadly afraid of Molerats, tell us about what happened and how that event was for them. At least 250 words.
Skills: With a skillset rooted in self-sufficiency and survival, Mathias knows the small ways to survive for weeks away from any form of civilization; what forms of food are safe, and how to prepare them. (He actually fancies himself a bit of a cook.) How much irradiated water he can get away with drinking, and small tricks to cut back on the rad count when Radaway is likewise. Whatever first-aid or homebrew medicine is necessary to keep him going when stimpacks have become a luxury. He's also a fair hand at tracking, be it human or animal, and can often use signs of habitation to avoid particularly unpleasant situations, such as a Deathclaw Nest or a wandering Yuo Guai. He can be a useful hand in a caravan for these skills alone, (if you can put up with him, that is,) and his first-aid knowledge also let him dabble here and there as a doctor. Well, a medic.
Still, he is by no means a computer hacker, a scientist, or really anything whose basis is cerebral as opposed to what he'd call 'Practical.' In fact, he lacks even the know-how to maintain an energy weapon for longer than a few days before its inevitable overheating or malfunction due to some small, probably-easy-to-mend problem he can't be bothered to figure out. However, when it comes to ballistic weaponry- especially his own hunting rifle- it's safe to call him a bit of an expert, as he regularly cleans, maintains, and modifies his weapons to suit a given situation, often using components or parts that he carries along with him.
He is also surprisingly silent on his feet, and quite the stealthy figure, which is an achievement when you take his ridiculous hat into account. The sneaky sneaky is usually what allows him to set up ambush points, or sometimes just get clear of a hairy situation long enough to marshal a counter-attack... or, heck, even just run the hell away.
Oh, and he lockpicks like a fiend.
Armor: Once upon a time, a Regulator Duster was a snappy piece of attire that granted the bounty hunters a rakish air of danger... but did precisely nothing to protect them against anything. While the argument was always that this poor armoring gave the Regulators a 'survivor's edge' in battle, in truth it was borne of the fact that Regulators largely had access to Brahmin hides when it came time to sew clothing, and this was the best they could come up with. Over the ensuing century or so, however, as they began to clash more and more with Talon mercenaries throughout the Wasteland, changes had to be made in order for the organization (and, more specifically, its mutated-cow-leather-dressed members) to survive. Ironically, the source of their salvation came from the Commonwealth about eighty years prior, when a very special type of material was offered to aid them in keeping the peace within the Capital.
The Duster of today, which Mathias himself wears, is a far sturdier affair, with ballistic fiber sewn into the lining to greatly improve its resilience to gunfire, while still retaining the snappy pseudo-cowboy appearance. It offers torso and arm coverage, with ceramic leg-plates to protect him from the waist down, all while maintaining enough flexibility to crouch or roll as necessary. His hat, along with being a snappy fashion accessory, also has a hidden pouch in the very top's inner lining, that contains fifteen caps, three rifle bullets, and two shotgun shells... basically, an emergency stash. He also stores all the bobby pins he uses for lock picking along the lining of the hat's brim, though he'll keep a couple in his inner shirt's breast pocket for emergencies.
Weapons: Above all else, Mathias will turn to his hunting rifle; his accuracy with the weapon is almost second to none, as from upwards to twenty-five feet he can empty an entire clip of five shots with astounding accuracy in seconds, especially if he's crouched. From greater distances, he can still strike like a sniper, albeit after taking far more careful aim, but his specific capabilities with the weapon depend largely upon its configuration at the time. The solid rifle stock can also knock a man senseless, which means he's not above simply using the butt of his rifle to bludgeon a given opponent into submission.
Still, should someone happen to get too close for him to bring the rifle about, he has a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun that can create quite the impression. The obvious downside to the weapon is it needs to be reloaded after only a single shot, making it very much a last-resort.
The last-last-resort, in the event the shotgun isn't enough, is a machete with which he has... someish skill? A couple of Raiders probably wouldn't be too much of a problem, but it's safe to say that he much prefers to stick to shooting his opponents instead.
Finally, he has a definite soft spot in his heart for setting up mines, and will usually keep at least half a dozen in his pack at all times, along with a couple of grenades. If he's dealing with a target whose movements are at least pseudo-predictable, he'll prefer to set up an explosive ambush wherever possible, often even using his own rifle to set the explosive off.
Roleplay
Roleplay sample for first time members! If you are making a second+ character you don't need to add a sample, but @tag all your other characters in this space!
The Player
User Name: What name do you go by? Name in CBox?
Gender: Male or Female
Anything else: You do not have to fill this part or the two above in if you do not want to.
Gender: Male or Female
Anything else: You do not have to fill this part or the two above in if you do not want to.
Made by Riley at THQ!