|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:09:46 GMT -5
ADRIAN HENDERSON
Aliases: N/A
Affiliation: Independent, Mercenary
Species: Human (Male)
Birthplace: Unknown
Birthdate: Unknown
Height: 5'10" (1.77m)
Weight: 230lb - 250lb (104kg - 113kg)
SUMMARY
A man of mystery with an adventurous streak. A simmering sociopath with an open door policy. An impossible gunsmith with a flair for the rustic. Adrian's a walking contradiction that just seems to make less sense the longer you're around him. Secrets stack on top of secrets. Lies stack on top of lies. If he's telling you something to your face, it's because he wants you to know. There's only one way to describe a man like Henderson. He's a schemer. What for and why, you'd best hope you never find out.
|
|
|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:11:03 GMT -5
APPEARANCE
There was a man here, once. Now he's just hamburger. Adrian comes up to a bland 5'10" of absolutely nothing but scars. His fair skin's just about impossible to find under all his seared reds and splotchy whites. A rough-cut head sports a scalp full of acid burns, shrapnel scrapes, and not a single strand of hair. Pan down, his black-brown brows are a tangled mess wherever a knife didn't gouge through. His left eye is a tame, dull blue, his right is covered up with a deathly cataract. A short, dark-brown beard and moustache pair together to keep his chin and sideburns company.
Look below the neckline and there's nothing you wouldn't expect. Adrian's big. Not fat, not cut, just big. His body's stacked deep in survival blubber and hard-earned muscle. Bones and veins are nowhere to be found. Old cuts and burns cluster around his wrists, forearms, and shins. Some look a bit too serious; sudden ends and splits that bring dismemberment to mind. Wherever there aren't old scorches and stabs, there's wild hair swallowing up everything else. The man could be a carpet if he wasn't already ground beef.
Unless it's an emergency or shower time, Henderson keeps himself tucked away under a complex suit of custom-made armor. It comprises a multi-layered suite of protection, starting first with a padded pressure suit in battered umber. A black, skin-tight hood usually pulls up from his suit's neck, covering up everything but a single slit for his eyes. Even then, harsh environments usually force him to pull on a sealing set of dark-tinted goggles. Over top, a half-and-half combo of gas mask and helmet covers it up. A broad visor spans the gap between the two, fixed with a few electronic inserts along the sides. Black, fingerless gloves pad his hands. Dust-crusted combat boots bulk up his feet.
The headline of Adrian's ensemble is a suit of lightweight, handmade powered armor. It's not much of a change in color; a sea of rusty browns and desert tans, highlighted with greys, blacks, and naked silvers. Scorch marks, scratches, and soaked-in bloodstains give it all a kind of corpsy charm. Occasional deadened reds and yellows of exoskeleton components poke out around the hidden corners. Messy hydraulics and battered plates look only just better than machined scrap. Plating stays slim around the limbs and bulky on the chest. Poking up from one shoulder is usually a boxy, detachable multi-gadget - flashlight, rangefinder, camera, and more.
Trying to find the suit is close to impossible on most occasions. There's too much gear in the way. At any given moment, Henderson's covered in at least a few thousand rounds of ammunition. Knives find their way into every nook and cranny. Grenades, medical kits, random tools for random tasks - without his exoskeleton, his back would snap from the sheer volume of stuff. Topping it all off is a massive backpack that usually covers up his armor's back components. If it exists, and he can kill someone with it, he will find room for it.
Guns are what this man is about. He's got plenty. The star of the show is his go-to assault rifle. It's a worn-and-weathered classic in scratched black, with a skeletal stock and a vintage wooden handguard. A blocky, lengthy anti-materiel rifle hangs quiet on most days, with a mangled, grey finish, a hefty scope, and a tremendous bore. A fat-cheeked mutt of a bullpup carbine pops out for close quarters - or when Adrian's feeling festive enough for its grenade launcher. Two handguns keep his hips company, one a stubby hunk of black metal, the other a snowy, suppressed machine pistol. A rainbow of grenades hang off of bandoliers or deep inside bags on his belt. The only thing this man's missing is a chainsaw.
Henderson works with the digital side of his armor through a panel on his left forearm. Inside is a hidden keyboard, screen, and a few tiny, automated tools for precision assembly work. In combat, the panel's left closed and untouched - whispered voice commands and head jerks are all he needs. Out of his gear or on lazy days, Adrian's window to the electronic world is a bulky, battered, white-and-brown PDA. Whenever it's not needed, it's tucked away into a purpose-made slot on his armor's power unit.
|
|
|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:19:16 GMT -5
BEHAVIOR
Whether he's around strangers or lovers, Adrian's about the same person in any given situation. He's a confident, lively man with healthy level of cynicism. He's a man of humor no matter the situation - even if his own could stand to be a bit less homicidal. He's a talented liar and a slippery schemer who treats truth as a precious commodity. The mind of a mercenary lords over everything he does, no matter how friendly he might seem on the outside. It's only his tiny inner circle that ever sees an honest person - and there's not a sliver of insincerity for them.
[ ! LOCKED: What are Adrian's combat skills? ]
[ ! LOCKED: What else is he good at? ]
Everything about Henderson seems to make sense up until you hear his voice. He's something like a cartoon putting on a bad impression of a Londoner. It's a light voice that always sounds like it's mocking something. His native tongue is English, with Russian and German in third and fourth places. The sense hitches up again with his second language; fully-fluent Old Qashanish, a dying dialect even for the aliens who invented it. Where he came from and how he learned a redworlder language, he's not saying. He's even admitted that he's not all that sure.
|
|
|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:19:29 GMT -5
GOALS- Adrian's out to find a bunker. Not just any old bunker; he's after Madness Command Post, the Pioneer Network's old nerve center. Answers he's given so far are historical interest, a goal for his wanderlust, and scavenging opportunities. Even still, the fact that a surface-slicker knows Madness exists is a big red flag. Not many people outside the Loonies know about it. Not many are trying to find it.
- Henderson wants to find out where the Cult's hiding. He's stockpiling ammo and explosives just for the occasion. He knows it's not going to be easy, but the quest for meat is never over. He knows it might go on for an eternity, but the quest for meat is never over. It's reassuring, really; a self-admitted sociopath putting his talents to good use.
- [ ! LOCKED: An old beef. ]
- [ ! LOCKED: Someone's missing. ]
- Adrian's got a bit of a problem with keeping his strangling hands to himself, but friends mean something to him. If he can get close to someone - without tearing them in half - it's huge. Food, safety, comfort, and opportunity - if you've done right by Adrian, he'll do his best to do right by you. Given his particular predilections, there's not much he won't do to pay that debt.
- [ ! LOCKED: That special spark, hiding in plain sight. ]
|
|
|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:21:01 GMT -5
RELATIONSHIPS- [ ! LOCKED: What is Adrian's family like? ]
- The Loonies don't know about Adrian - not most of them, anyways. He's not much of a concern. He's not an alien and he's not running around with anything he shouldn't - company excluded. Henderson, meanwhile, is about the opposite. He knows who they are, how they work, and how they act. He's looking for them, for answers and help. Only time's there to tell if it'll end well.
- The Space Loonies know Henderson exists. That's about it. They know he's affiliated with Zaja'Nazari, the tooled-up redworlder they've been out to find. They don't know much more. Small hints that he's a mercenary, a tentative belief that he's a hired bodyguard. Adrian, on the other hand, is almost totally oblivious. He's got some kind of instinctual understanding that the Space Loonies are out there, but nothing solid.
- The Cult of Meat is nervous about Adrian. No one's saying why. They think - but they're not sure - that he's someone important. Who, how, and why, they're not saying. They don't seem to know themselves. Meanwhile, Henderson knows about the Cult. His information isn't exactly extensive, but he's learned enough. His fists get hungry just thinking about it.
- Species bias is a touch funny for Henderson. He gets along just fine with humans and redworlders, but press the subject and he'll side with the greyskins. In his words, there are enough pinkies to go around, but not quite so many greys. When it comes to everyone else, he's ignorant. He's not exactly comfortable with the idea that it's more than just redworlders, either.
- [ ! LOCKED: All he could do was pray. ]
- [ ! LOCKED: BUT WHY? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: Most wanted. ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Jimmy? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Zaja'Nazari? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Sylvester Duniziar? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Outlander? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Ves'Narun? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: ...AND THEY WERE BROTHERS. ]
|
|
|
|
Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:21:50 GMT -5
HISTORY
Adrian Henderson is, for all intents and purposes, a man who does not exist. His history is a massive dark spot - and he's certainly not going to shed any light on it. He'll joke, he'll spin tales, but ask him to get serious and he'll tell you to bugger off. The only people who know would all fit on a redworlder's fingers - and they're all holding up the wall of silence. The tiny scraps that exist are all loose hearsay between the Loonies and Space Loonies. Names and dates in a handful of files, and not a whole lot more.
Henderson's name wasn't one of them. For most of his recorded history, he was just an anonymous mercenary, sidekick and chaffeur to an anonymous redworlder. He was suspected of being an accomplice to Zaja'Nazari on her escape from Cloneston. He was sighted in a few wasteland towns making a nuisance of himself. Most people could only remember him thanks to Nazari; not many out in the scums associated with redworlders. A couple of months later, he and his grey partner popped up in just the right place; the Pig Pen, where the clones rise from the river.
|
|
