HOLOTAPE DATA rissapocrypha
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Noah Starshine Nicknames/Titles/Alias(es): Starsy, Quackadoodle, The Whisp
Origin: Human (Psychic)
Age: 21
Appearance: With an unusual silhouette and manner of thinking, Noah trapisses through the wasteland with a particular kind of grace, lethal and goofy, like a lithe snapjaw high off tartary seeds. Her antlered mask gives away her allegiance immediately, and those rare few who see the woman behind the mask will notice a soft face, riddled with scars and freckles and a pair of dimples, dirty blonde hair that's always attaching itself to something, and light blue eyes that sometimes glow. 5'7" and has a bit of a runner's build.
Faction: Banished from the Fen, Noah currently struggles to find a cure for the Wetness— which is the only way she'll be allowed back home. Except she has no idea how. So for the past three and a half years, Noah and her compatriots have traveled the Wastes, making a home out of wherever they land, searching for a cure with no clue where to begin.
Character Audit:
Noah is a lost soul, literally and figuratively, having been banished from her home after a mishap in the local clinic. That was a while ago now and with no ideas on how to move forward in fulfilling her quest, she lies dormant, surviving the nuclear wasteland with only her animals at her side. Run-ins came and went, some good and some bad, and each taught her a valuable lesson about the wastes and the people who thrive within.
Still, Noah prefers to see the bright side of life. Put her trust in the belief that people, regardless of origin, are still good. That they just need to be shown how to express the budding sense of hope within their hearts. It's hard though, when you're all alone.
Nearing her fourth year of banishment, Noah stumbles upon a man and a glowing one, both impaled by rebar, and her life begins to change once again.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength: 6
Perception: 7
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 5
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 8
Luck: 7
//
Caps: 434
Inventory, including Weapons & Armor: A few weeks worth of rations stocked up in her new home, including extra weapons. Her armor is ham-shackled together, bits of raiders, bits of hardwood, bits of leather-- and knee guards from a house she once looted. While banished from the Fen, Noah was allowed to keep her mask, with the hope that her mission ends successfully. Her mask depicts a deer, its carved-out eyes allowing her to see and allowing others to witness the brilliant glow when she activates her psychic abilities. She also has a pair of antlers-- a familial heirloom --and almost always forgets she's wearing them. She has a cache of chems for trading and medicinal purposes, plus a few different flavors of mentats for when she needs to crack a terminal or make a smart(?) decision. Two machetes, a compound bow (~45 arrows) shotgun (~15 slugs), 2 flares, bolt cutters, bobby pins (~37), and ~150ft of rope.
Fighting Style: Dual wields up close. Arrows for long distances. Noah has two machetes, one slightly longer than the other. A few weeks after being banished, she found a ballistic weapon and decided to keep it for emergencies; she keeps the double barrel shotgun hidden.
Companion: Shiloh (canine), Milo and Meelo (stunted twin yao guai she found as cubs), and Mr. Wiggles
Miscellaneous
psychic - [a seeded] form of control
Noah's psychic abilities are currently expressed in the form of psychic control over animals. Amygdala responses are manipulated through the "seeds" planted therein, granting limited but powerful control and suggestions over the seeded creatures' emotions, actions, and reactions. With her current understanding of the power, Noah plants these seeds and lets them root; time is the surest way to full control, but even spur-of-the-moment seeds are useful in combat, making creatures and beasts second guess themselves. The more intelligent the creature, the more difficult it is to penetrate and seed, though chems (chiefly Jet) give her an incredible boost to her psychic abilities, she just doesn't like to use them all that often with the risk of becoming addicted.
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Ringo Name:
Nicknames/Titles/Alias(es): Ringo
Origin: Human; Wastelander; Radiation Resistant
Age: 18
Appearance: Ringo has an abundance of freckles as well as two rarely seen dimples. The thick rubber boots she wears makes her above average height even more obvious, coming in just over 5'11". Ringo's physique is hard to pin down when she's wearing her fatigues, but is nonetheless athletic. Ringo has paranoid light green eyes that are always scanning her surroundings and noticeably downcast. Her hair is a golden blonde, slightly bleached from the sun and the acidic rain showers, and is religiously kept shorter than shoulder-length.
Most noticeable about Ringo's appearance is her hat and bandana, two mementos from her past that she holds near and dear to her heart. The bandana is checkered, a faded red that's nearing pink and a black so dull it's more accurate to describe it as grey. The hat she wears is slightly too large, but she's sewn on straps to ensure it stays with her. If asked about either, Ringo will usually reply with a soft, sad smile, that they belonged to people she once treasured.
Faction: Happy Camper
WIP @Kuno | Plot wit me bsih
Character Audit: (A 1-2 paragraph character pitch that enlightens us on who they are, what they do, their drives, motives, and fears, how they protect themselves in the Wasteland (if they're out there), personality quirks, and key moments in their past that's made them who they are today.)
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength: 1
Perception: 1
Endurance: 1
Charisma: 1
Intelligence: 1
Agility: 1
Luck: 1
//
Caps: 850
Inventory, including Weapons & Armor:
Fighting Style: Mid to long range fighting, preferable with stealth on her side. While she prefers rifles, Ringo's proficient in the use of handguns, knives, compound bows and crossbows. She doesn't really like getting up and personal though, and Ringo's looking for a silencer to put on her favorite rifle to make her approach even more stealthy.
Companion:
Miscellaneous
— In the stock of every gun she uses, Ringo carves two sets of initials: M.B. & J.R.
— Ringo suffers from dull headaches quite often due to her reliance on Calmex. "Reliance."
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Mearle Name: Mearle Anslee
Nicknames/Titles/Alias(es): Dowager, One Eyed Witch, Miss Pearl
Origin: Human (Psychic | Micco + Cyborg(?))
Age:
Appearance: Time has faded her auburn locks and withered her once smooth cheeks; crows feet line her eyes from the decades spent laughing and smiling and the taught line her lips form into tell stories far beyond fury befouling her mood. Awhile ago, she'll say, she plucked out her own eye when she left the Fen, "One for the Pale Mother" she said as she lit it aflame, "and one for me." Nowadays, she wears a cyborg eye beneath an eye patch as her faded blue eye takes in the beauty of the wasteland. Despite her age, Mearle radiates the confident presence of one not to be trifled with, her body riddled with scars, tattoos, and a suspicious lack of armor.
Faction: Her and whoever she deems her own.
@Nemopedia
Character Audit: (A 1-2 paragraph character pitch that enlightens us on who they are, what they do, their drives, motives, and fears, how they protect themselves in the Wasteland (if they're out there), personality quirks, and key moments in their past that's made them who they are today.)
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength: 5
Perception: 7
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 6
Intelligence: 7
Agility: 5
Luck: 7
//
Caps: 850
Inventory, including Weapons & Armor: Mearle doesn't wear armor anymore, she hasn't in years. Instead, she dresses for the weather that day. She has a small little compound tucked away off the Gulf Parkway, that anyone rarely stumbles upon, thanks to the wilds of the wastes obscuring it. Here she has a vast garden and a few livestock pens. She has plenty of brahmin milk and mirelurk eggs on hand, as the coast is a mere fifteen minute walk from her private enclosed garden behind the house. Mearle has a slew of ballistic weapons, having shed the Children's dislike of them as soon as she left the Fen.
Fighting Style: Fire. Guns. Knives. Poison as a last resort.
Companion: Mearle's only constant companion are tartary leaves.
Miscellaneous
psychic - [pyrokinesis]
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Whisper Name: Whisper Lacey
Nicknames/Titles/Alias(es): Whisp
Origin: Human (Fen Descendant)
Age: 19
Appearance: Red-gold locks fall past her chest in thick waves, half matted and half braided with trinkets and beads. She has bright green-blue eyes and thick expressive eyebrows. Whisper stands around five-foot-five-inches and has a rather lean runners build, which she clothes with a variety of mix-matched armor and fabrics. She wears a "crown" of metal debris, which was given to her by her father on her twelfth birthday.
Faction: Those she likes and those who like her.
Character Audit: For the first two weeks of her life she made no sound. No cries, no wails, no whimpers. Although she was healthy and hale as far as her parents could tell, she wouldn't utter a sound. She was named Whisper for this very reason. Doctors are rare in the Wasteland, and though she eventually learned to speak, it's always been soft, scratchy, and nearly inaudible. No cause for alarm, then, in her parents eyes, and she was raised exceptionally soft for the Wasteland, in a secluded little beach house north of Naples. Mirelurks and fish were plenty and though they struggled with the sand, they managed to keep a farm going nearly year-round that consisted of tatoes, ardent peppers, melons, and gourds. It was a perfect life— until the raiders came and turned it upside down. That was five years ago, when her mother and father were murdered by a gang of traveling raiders. They would have killed her too, had her father not told her to hide. For nearly three days she hid in the rusty boat out back, waiting for them to leave. To finish their raiding. When they finally left, she buried the bodies of her parents, packed what little goods hadn't been destroyed or looted, and left— incapable of escaping the clashing memories.
She's been travelling the wasteland ever since, wary of fellow travelers— but it's on sight with any raider wearing a chem-mask.
It's almost a compulsion, ridding the world of those who took everything from her.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L
Strength: 5
Perception: 5
Endurance: 8
Charisma: 4
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 8
Luck: 5
//
Caps: 472
Inventory, including Weapons & Armor: A smattering of mix-matched armor from the Fen and raiders. A shotgun and a lever action rifle, with only a handful of ammo left. A bow with handmade arrows. Rations that'll last for about a week. Handful of daggers. Blanket and sleeping bag. Canteen. A journal that once belonged to her father, outlining the reason he was banished from the Fen.
Fighting Style: Ranged. Rifles, bows, throwing knives.
Companion: N/A
Miscellaneous
She is exceptionally fast and agile; her father always said her blood was kissed by the Pale Mother, despite the fact she wasn't born in the Fen. Regardless, it isn't as exceptional as other swampfolk she's met, and she denies the fact that she may be a psychic.