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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:57:05 GMT -5
OUTLANDER
Aliases: N/A
Affiliation: Independent, Wanderer
Species: Unknown (Male?)
Birthplace: Unknown
Birthdate: Unknown
Height: 5'4" Overall, 4'8" Standing (1.62m Overall, 1.42m Standing)
Weight: 410lb - 450lb (185kg - 204kg)
SUMMARY
A mutant of mystery. A man of few intelligible words. A good-natured shrimp without a name, a history, or much of a clue as to why he's here. Outlander is the only name he's got now, and it's as apt a description as he could ever come up with. He's somewhere between human, redworlder, and glass siren, with the problems of all three and the recognition of none. In spite of it, Outlander's got his head on straight and his heart in the right place. He's just not sure how to get his foot out of his mouth.
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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 3:59:19 GMT -5
APPEARANCE
Outlander doesn't have much of an idea as to what species he is - and neither does his body. His chest is immense, with wide shoulders flowing into muscular arms. As soon as his ribs end, so does his mass; his stomach is nothing more than a fleshy twig supporting the rest of his body. Ungainly hips and chunky thighs exacerbate the contrast. A terrible hunch from all that weight on his top half keeps him low and uncomfortable. Mangled feet cap out with only two spindly toes apiece. His hands end in four curved fingers each, thumb included, with his ring finger short and stubby.
The entire surface of Outlander's skin is a spotty, mottled mess, translucent in some places, covered in dark moles elsewhere. Agitated reds pulse and throb all over his body, usually around joints. All over are tiny tumors and cysts, occasionally paired up with skin flaps that don't have a reason for being. Hair sprouts randomly, falls off the next day, and reappears somewhere else by the end of the week. Lines of keratin trace through his skin for no discernible reason. It's really not much of a surprise that Outlander doesn't have a scar on his body. He might as well be one big stretch mark.
Outlander's face tops it all off. His skin fades to invisibility around the middle of his neck in ragged lines. His face is nothing but visible veins and tortoiseshell muscles, dashed sparingly with milky-white moles of pale flesh. He simply does not have a nose; a pair of dark, fleshy holes lead into his head with his skull scarcely hidden inside. Muscles turn to dark browns and deep purples around his eyes. Inside his sockets are two bright, orange orbs, soaked in a viscous slime of bile-yellow fluid. A faint glow hides inside them, plainly visible as a peach shimmer behind his mask. Long, matted, salt-and-pepper hair hangs back from his scalp. A patchy beard tries, fruitlessly, to grow along his chin.
Much to the fortune of stomachs everywhere, Outlander is keenly aware of his looks. He keeps himself hidden with as many layers as possible, starting first with a loose environment suit in bronze. Soft armor wraps the suit in a layer of stippled tan, covering up his limbs and groin. Temperature permitting, a light combat vest fits over top, camouflaged in splotchy auburns, deep browns, and crimsons. A handmade, bone-white gas mask covers up his face, head, and neck. Most days, it's flooded with vomit.
Outlander's not choosy when it comes to weapons. As long as he can pick it up and hurt someone with it, he'll grab it. Usually, his preference is in light automatics. Carbines, submachine guns, or even machine pistols - as long as the recoil isn't slapping him around, that's all he cares about. A knife often hangs from his belt or chest, usually for nothing more than utility jobs. On most occasions, he tries - with spotty success - to keep a handgun with him. Grenades are seasonal at best.
Outlander's digital work is carried out through a chunky, bright-grey brick trying to pass for a PDA. In fit, feel, and function, it's nothing more than a digital assistant. The only mysterious fact about the device is its model; if there's more than the one in the mutant's hands, no one's ever told him. On most chances, he keeps it out of sight and out of mind. His mask is his primary digital device; vision filters, air quality readouts, radio, and more. Even his suit's as spartan as it gets when it comes to electronics.
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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 4:01:17 GMT -5
BEHAVIOR
When it comes to looks, Outlander's not one for deception. He is how he looks. He's a freaky, jumpy, puny mutant who's afraid of the sun and scared to death by loud noises. He spends his time running for cover in dark, quiet spaces, somewhere people won't hear the gagging. Toilet trouble is his daily life. Half of every meal he eats ends up coming right back up the way it came. When it makes it through to the other end, it's the stuff of nightmares. When he's not coughing up his stomach contents, he's choking on his words. It's close to impossible for Outlander to say anything that makes any sense - and the poor man knows it better than anyone else.
Outlander's best comes out when he's listening instead of speaking. Dig past the language barrier and there's a solid, keen companion waiting in store. He'll hurl himself into danger, throw himself up into the path of gunfire, and spill his guts of every secret he's got. In a way, Outlander is transparency defined; he sees everything and hides nothing - skin aside. He's got an eye for detail, an ear for trouble, and a nose - or lack thereof - for lies. Paired up with his uncanny intuition, there's nothing that slips by him. He's just not all that great at getting the message across.
Outlander's intuition isn't just a personality quirk or a skill. It's something as strange as he is. Sit him down with a machine he's never seen before, he'll have it figured out before he's finished opening it up. Chat him up in a language he's never heard before, he'll have it broken and mangled by the time the conversation's over. Where he breaks down is where the finer details come up. Complicated subjects with unintuitive relationships or a cerebral emphasis turn Outlander into a squirming mess. Eager learner or not, academics are a stroke too far.
Same as his name, Outlander doesn't know where he's from. He doesn't have much of a culture, background, or an upbringing to draw from. He simply is, as much as it bothers him to know it. When he can summon the gumption to start speaking, his language is usually a broken, ear-upsetting mesh of English, Russian, and Old Qashanish. Most of the time, even Outlander's not sure whose tongue is flopping around in his mouth. His voice is a hushed, confused mumble, eaten up by an accent that's not sure if it's from Kiev or Naza's Prong. When he's asked to bring his voice above a whisper, the same confusion starts to sound more like jittery terror - even if he's perfectly calm and comfortable.
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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 4:01:32 GMT -5
GOALS- To continue breathing. Outlander doesn't ask for much. He's just not all that fond of being dead.
- Outlander wants...something...from Adrian Henderson. Something. He doesn't know what. He doesn't know why. He has absolutely no idea how to explain it. It's not love, hate, jealousy, hunger - it's something that just cannot be conveyed. It's been driving him up a wall since he first met the guy.
- Safety, security, shelter, and happiness for the people he's grown fond of. Maybe he's the stereotype of a cave-dwelling mutant, but he's a good man at heart.
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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 4:02:23 GMT -5
RELATIONSHIPS- If Outlander's got family, he's never met them. For all he knows, they're not even sentient.
- Exactly one Looney knows Outlander exists. All things considered, he's not doing too bad by them. Still, it'd be for the best if the rest never found out. Mutants are about as popular as aliens with the men below the Erf.
- The Space Loonies have some kind of idea that Outlander exists, but that's about it. What he is, what he sounds like, or even the fact that he's called Outlander - all big mysteries. Outlander's about the same. He doesn't know they exist in any way, shape, or form.
- The Cult of Meat has approximately the same amount of information on Outlander as the Space Loonies. He exists, and that is as far as they can attest to. Outlander doesn't know much about the Cult's inner workings, but he's seen enough to keep them out of mind at meal time.
- Outlander wears his preference in species on his sleeve; even his body's not sure what it wants to be. He knows better than to start getting selective.
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Jimmy? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Sylvester Duniziar? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Adrian Henderson? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Zaja'Nazari? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: How does he feel about Ves'Narun? ]
- [ ! LOCKED: STOP SCREAMING. ]
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Post by Insano-Man on Jul 7, 2019 4:02:53 GMT -5
HISTORY
Where Outlander came from is a mystery not one person on Erf can provide an explanation for. He doesn't know himself, either. All he knows is that, some time in the past, maybe ten or twenty years ago, he woke up in the middle of nowhere with a gun he didn't remember picking up. The classic start to any adventure. Things just started to get more and more confusing after that. Somewhere along the way, he met Sylvester Duniziar, lost him, met him again, lost him again, and repeated that a few more times. He's lost track of how many strange things have happened along the way. He's been too busy trying to stay out of a coffin the whole time.
The first time Outlander entered public record was as a tiny piece of text attached to a Space Looney dossier. It wasn't Outlander's name at the head of the file. They didn't even know he had a name. All they knew was that he was a mutant mercenary working alongside Zaja'Nazari on her escape from Cloneston. A few Cloneston wastelanders remember him for associating with a Looney during his trip through the badlands. Not many remember anything else about him. It took until his arrival in the Pig Pen, still in the company of Zaja and her other accomplices, for anything to change.
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