Name: Luke Blackwell.
Age: 27.
Race: Human.
Gender: Male.
Karma: Neutral.
Faction: Wildcard.
Reputation:SPECIAL:•
Strength: 5
•
Perception: 5
•
Endurance: 5
•
Charisma: 2
•
Intelligence: 10
•
Agility: 8
•
Luck: 5
Level: 1
Perks: Hard to See, Redneck.
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 145 lbs
Body type: Medium/Average. No notable mutations.
Hair style: Jet Black, medium length, a disheveled mop, kept clean (By wasteland standards), but otherwise ignored.
Eyes: Brown, slightly sunken, outwardly calm, yet always betraying a cold, calculating stare, thinly veiled beneath the surface.
Skin color: Blackwell is of Caucasian decent. His features bear the telltale pocks of a childhood illness, bumpy and fragmented.
Other: Blackwell's entire right arm, and a good portion of his torso is dominated by a mosaic of scar tissue, some shallow, clustered into tight groupings of several dozen tiny streaks, others large, bearing the signs of gashes, whole chunks of skin and matter brutally wrenched from the body, and painfully knitted over. All are slightly faded.
Psychical Description: Luke Blackwell is a creature shaped by opportunism, and marred by paranoia. His values are not determined by some objective, archaic as he would describe it, set of morality, but rather evaluated on how well they serve his interests. An action that does not benefit Blackwell is not an action worth taking. Aside, Luke will tolerate, barely, the presence of others out of necessity.
Inventory:
- Main Weapon: 9mm Pistol + Silencer
- Secondary Weapon: None
- Helmet: None
- Mask: None
- Goggles: None
- Clothes: Worn Leather Jacket, Jeans
- Armor: Leather Armor
- Backpack: Small Backpack
- First Accessory: Pip-Boy 2000
- Second Accessory: Handcuffs
- Other:
Defect of the Character: Blackwell's paranoia debilitates his ability to interact with others. His opportunistic and callous nature comes off as cold and unfeeling to the more empathetic, and understandable, yet devoid to raiders. As such, he suffers in self-imposed isolation, capable of small alliances of business or necessity, but little more.
Aspirations: To gain respect and notoriety with most, if not all, major factions. This does not have to be favorable, but Blackwell dreams to be recognized as a competent contractor.
Other details: Extended conversation, especially that of over inflated flattery is highly annoying to Blackwell. He serves no god other than himself.
Background story: Blackwell's birth was an inconsequential event in a seemingly inconsequential family. His mother died in childbirth, a grievance his father, a small time mercenary, never forgave him for. He spent nearly the entirety of his youth in isolation, scrounging every crevice around his home for scraps of literature, following a rudimentary education from his father, in one of his rare moments of peaceful sobriety. His father was a raging drunk, his inebriated state dissolving any moral qualms of exacting extraordinarily brutal vengeance on his child.
Each of his brief visits was marked by a lesson, of some variety or another, often involving a multitude of knives. Scars, hundreds of them, ranging from dozens of tiny slits, to massive, nearly deadly, gouges marred his arm and torso, retribution for a crime unknowingly committed by his newborn self. His trust, any resemblance of empathy companionship, or morality was fractured during this decade and a half long torture.
Only when, on his fifteenth birthday, he pressed the cold steel of his father's pistol to its owner's unconscious forehead, did this torment stop. A single round shattered any hope of rehabilitation for Blackwell.
His path from there was rough. A bookish and intelligent fifteen-year-old with personality problems does not make a good mercenary. Small jobs, short lived apprenticeships, and keen ears for new knowledge dominated his life for the next five years. Despite the depraving poverty of this existence, Blackwell, slowly, managed to learn the basics of his future career, honing his agility, stealth, and potency with firearms. Only at the age of twenty one did Luke manage to finally achieve true independence, as he could confidently turn a profit in his developing profession.
Blackwell was not content to stick to small time mercenary work, however, doomed to shape a useless, lonely existence like his father. He had aspirations of greatness: infamy, notoriety, respect, and profit. He lived frugally, despite his growing margins, investing in only basic equipment, and storing the rest away for the item that could truly start his rise: a Pip-Boy. It would be invaluable, a single place to note his position, record his contracts, organize his thoughts and client base; it would allow him to become a one-man business. Finally, finally, barely a few weeks after his twenty-seventh birthday did he manage to amass enough wealth. The depths of Old World Mourn held what he was looking for, a shady dealer obtaining precious technology from...unspecified sources sold him what he needed. A Pip-Boy...not the best, but enough.
The fire of determination was lit for him at that moment. Today he moves through the wastes, still inexperienced, and with barely a cap to his name, but filled with the unquenchable desire for glory.
Subject: Luke Blackwell 
