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Martin


Djacob91

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Basics

Martinartificer.jpg.337f03bec0abd3d32b4a55a2cffd433b.jpg

Classes: Blacksmith (Techsmith) | Technician (Rigger)

Party Role: Ranged Striker; Buffer; Crafter; Trap Breaker

Crew Role: Engineer

Secondary Crew Role: Driver; Gunner; Loader

Statblock

Martin
male NG Human Blacksmith 6 | Technician 6, Level 6, Init 6, HP 80/80, Speed 30
AC 26, Touch 17, Flat-footed 21, CMD 26, Fort 9, Ref 12, Will 9, CMB +9, Base Attack Bonus 6   
+2; SA/Auto Assault Rifle +14 (1d10+7, 19-20/x2)
Grenade Launcher +12 (Variable, varies; Integrated Armory)
+2; Anti-Ballistic Breastplate (+8 Armor, +5 Dex, +2 Natural, +1 Deflect)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 21, Con 14, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 10
Condition None 

 

Personality: Martin is often quiet and contemplative, a habit learned from years of avoiding the gaze of those who held him captive. Despite, or perhaps because of, his captivity, he is fiercely determined when he sets his mind to something and will stand his ground when pressed. He is curious, an interest sparked primarily by his new found ability to learn whatever the world has left to learn. Though, he typically chooses, when possible, to gather information from afar, trying to limit any change that he would cause by being present. He believes that those with strength are those that can resist when others try to force their will on them. On most topics he decides on a case by case basis. Having fought too hard to have his own view, he is unwilling to give his support to any side without giving it thought first. Slavers being one of the few groups that he will actively oppose on principle.

 

Description: Martin is tall and skinny. Years of slavery has him marked with numerous scars from beatings and callouses from endless work. His green eyes hold, against all odds, a fierce determination. He usually wears muted colors and often looks small, a habit formed from his early years that he hasn't quite broken. Most glaring about him, though, is a firebrand that dominates the center of his forehead. While the raider group that the brand belongs too has since disbanded, it isn't hard to guess that it marks Martin as a once slave to one of the numerous raider gangs that plague the Wastelands. Martin once tried to hide the mark, but has since accepted it. Instead, he keeps his black hair pulled back to let all the world see it, a symbol of how far he has come.

 

Background: Martin grew up as a slave to a raider gang. For most of his younger years, he lived in the remains of an old manufacturing plant south of what had once been the Great Lakes. Close enough to trade lanes to prey on them, but far enough from the growing settlements to escape most of the militias, the raiders carved out a small kingdom for themselves. Here, they dabbled in anything and everything that would make a profit. It was here that Martin grew up for most of his life, doing his best to avoid the worst of the raider's cruelty. 

A year or two after his failed escape attempt, a strike was made against the raiders from New Chicago. When the explosions started, Martin gathered his fellow slaves together. A massive tank punched through the outer wall in a clash of belching fire and chattering guns. Even as the tank routed the overmatched raiders, a half dozen soldiers poured out from the thing and into the machine complex. The first friendly face Martin saw was one of the crew, a man named Jenkins, who stood by the slaves and lead them out into the safety of the night. Martin later learned that Jenkins was one of several men apart of the Tank Crew, there to oversee the reclamation of the plant, nothing more. But that did little to quell the need to repay the group. And so, when he was taken into the city, he asked to join the Crew.

Being an apprentice to the Crew was no small task. But he was treated like a person, not a slave. Not to mention that he ate well and learned far more under those few than he ever would have imagined back at the plant. He was given the chance to learn whatever he could, see sights he had not dreamed of, and find a purpose in living that he saw missing in so many others. For the first year, he tried to hide the scars, and most notably the brand, that he had gotten during his time as a slave to the raiders. But, one of the Crew pressed him. After telling his story, he felt some of the weight of the memories lift. Not all, not even a lot of it, but enough of it. From that day on, he showed them to the world. And with every retelling, every answered question, he felt the weight of them lift a little bit more. Soon enough, they were simply a part of him, no heavier than his arm, as much to be ashamed of as his shadow.

With his joining of the Tank Crew, Martin spent as much of his time learning as much as he could. When he was finally given the chance, it turned out that Martin was quite intelligence and had a natural grasp of electrical and mechanical lore. Before he was freed, his world was limited to the small plant, and what little he could see from the gaps in the wall. Now, he made up for it with a vengeance, learning everything he could about the Tank, the weapons and armor that protected its crew, and the history that made them the force in that world that they were. His time at the plant helped in another manner, giving him skill at using the milling machines that the Crew kept. Skills he repurposed turning raw scrap into various items and ammo for the Crew and Tank to use. He even ended up making his own rifle, which he still uses to this day. They taught him to shoot, drive, scavenge, and all the little tasks that made up life aboard the Tank as they made their way across the wastelands. In the few years since his promotion to full Crew, he still favors his more tinkering duties among the Crew, as he fine tunes the tools of their trade and turns random bits into useful trinkets.

 

 

RP Sample: Martin waited in the shadows for the raider to pass by. Not that he had to try hard to hide, most of the raiders simply looked right through him, unless then needed someone to blame for something or another. He had learned long ago to hide unless directly asked for, and then to stay in sight as short a time as possible. As the raider walked by and turned the corner, Martin made for the wall. One of the sheets of metal had rusted away from the others, and with only a little push, it opened up a hole just big enough for the malnourished boy to squeeze through. With a rush of exhilaration, he ran off into the night.

He didn't know which way to go, they had never let him outside the walls after all. But he didn't care at this point, all he knew was that the world was wide open, the sky filled with stars and open hills all around. He ran to the nearest hill, stopped and looked around. Picking a new direction at random, he started running, thinking only that he might be free. It didn't take long before he heard the raider shouting behind him, the alarm went up, they knew he was gone. He ran for all he was worth. In the starlight, he didn't see the rock. He scrambled off, but the shouts got closer, and the gash in his leg reduced him to a limp at best. The shouts drew closer and closer, until the lights from flashlights shone down around him, illuminating his ragged form.

"There you are can't have you running off. Can't be letting the rest of the captives gettin' any bright ideas." He said with a laugh. He yanked Martin up to his feet by arm and pinned it behind his back, twisting and pushing him forward. Martin cried out in pain as the twisting nearly popped his arm out of his shoulder. "Cry'n already?" he asked with another laugh, "Its going to be a long night then." He added with another laugh as he halve pulled, halve dragged Martin toward their makeshift fort.

Martin returned to find everyone awake. A couple dozen raiders and the handful of slaves watched as Martin was thrown into the main square, a large open area that was a loading dock long ago. The warlord, a large mutant of a man, whose chipped and yellowed teeth were arguably the cleanest part of him. "Looks like we got a runaway boys." He called out as he stared down at Martin. The gathered raiders hooted and hollered, egged on by the warlord and his lieutenants. "We take you in, give you our hard earned food, protect you from the mutants and wilds of the Wastes, and this is the gratitude that we get." He called out, rousing his men further. He waved at several of the raiders, who jumped into the bottom of the sloped loading dock. "Make sure that he doesn't move." He commanded. The four men advanced on Martin, punching and kicking the elf even as he did nothing to resist. After a minute, which felt longer to Martin by far, the mutant called out for them to stop. 

"I think that this one has forgotten his place." He called out, waving to someone outside of Martin's sight line. Martin's only reply was a ragged groan as each breath between raddled between cracked ribs. Two people brought forward a metal barrel to the edge. Smoke reached up into the night sky, outlined in an angry orange glow that flared from the top. Plucking a metal rod from the barrel, the mutant called out, "I think he needs a reminder to who his life belongs." Martin tried to scramble away, but the four raiders hauled him to his knees and held him still as the warlord jumped down, the brand held up high. With the crowd of raiders cheering on, he shoved the heated metal against Martin's forehead. Martin cried out into the night as the pain spiked into his head, the heat flared across his face, and the smell of burnt flesh could be smelt by all in attendance.

Later, he would be asked by many if it was worth it. At the time, he never thought about it. Afterward, having the chance to reflect on the pain, the sense of freedom, and the look of despair on the other slaves, he thought so. Not the night itself, but what it meant, what it represented. The night was a reminder to fight on, the brand a painful reminder of cruelty. But it was nothing compared to the empty, sightless gaze of his fellow slaves. To the walking death he saw in them. To give up so, to surrender so completely seemed a fate worse than whatever pain they could inflict upon him.

Edited by Djacob91 (see edit history)
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@Paxon I do believe that Martin here is ready to be submitted. Although, quick question, I have given him a few crafting abilities, is it likely that we will have some downtime from time to time for that, or would it be better to grab something different? 

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On 5/29/2022 at 10:11 AM, Djacob91 said:

@Paxon I do believe that Martin here is ready to be submitted. Although, quick question, I have given him a few crafting abilities, is it likely that we will have some downtime from time to time for that, or would it be better to grab something different? 

Sounds good, looks good, I'm adding a "submitted" tag, and will fully review with the others. Feel free to continue to make tweaks up to the point I announce submitted applications are under review.

As to crafting, yes I expect the will be downtime for crafting. I can rarely make a 100% guarantee as it depends on how the party approaches the game and decides how long to stay or not in certain locations. But at the very least I expect there to be days of travel that are "fast-forwarded" through, during which you will be able to accumulate crafting hours. I do intend to support both personal crafting and time to modify the tank.

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Alright. I'll probably tweek something or another between now and then, but nothing major should change. Most notably another blurb in the background I think, something between joining the Crew and now seems called for.

 

As for the downtime bit, that sounds good. No good DM plan survives contact with the players and all, but as long as the intent to have it is there. It's just kind of awkward when you pick up the feats and such, only to find out that the campaign pacing says you should be chasing down one lead right after another with barely more than a long rest in between.

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