Full Name :
Frank Victor MarcusNicknames / Aliases :
"Vick" "Ironhead"Age :
maleMarital Status :
Never Married, got close then the world fell.Former Occupation/Position :
Rancher/Vineyard workerStrengths :
Iron Jaw-Bare knuckle fighting was common on ranches for the workers, he was only knocked out once.
Agile-Never fights face to face, constant movement around the target was his way.
Farm hand upbringing-He has been shooting since he was a boy. Best with a long rifle lever or bolt action, or a revolver. Horrid with auto weapons and pistols.
Stubborn with reason- He knows when to stand and argue and when to shut up and move on. The group comes before personal beliefs.
Animal/medical knowledge- From vet work to taming a wild stallion he has decades of experience.Weaknesses :
Simple- The big picture is not in his control, so he never focuses on it.
Country boy- Dresses and acts like he is from the deep south, minus the prejudices. Does not understand people in cities.
Quiet- Often he will not even speak to people he walks past, rides past, or just runs into on the road or plains, even if he is working with them.
Mechanically dumb- Doen't know much on how to fix anything modern. Sharpening a knife, making old rifle rounds, cleaning and fixing older firearms, and building a strong home is all that he knows that could be considered useful in the modern world.Special Gear :
1) .45 Calvary revolver in a leather holster on his hip, old west belt of ammo across the belt section of the hip holster.
2) Lever Action 30-30 in a saddle holster, if on foot he wears it over his back with the butt stock up over his right shoulder.
3) 10 inch bowie style knife. Tough heavy steel made after the change in the world.
4)Wears older style clothing, tougher as well as rougher on the wearer acting as an added defense. Always wears a vest of rough out leather over a thick collar shirt and heavy ranch boots. (Like cowboy boots with less smooth leather and no pointed toe.)
5)Always wears a black leather hat, adding to the look of a cowboy, but not on purpose he just knows how bad a sunburn is and a wet set of hair.
6)30-30 Rifle parts, Calvary .45 parts, sharpening stone, 36 .45 rounds six in his gun 30 on his belt, 50 rounds for his 30-30 eight in his rifle and 42 in a box in his duffle bag on the outside pouch for easy access. He maintains all of his weapons daily as an OCD like obsession, or just boredom.More photos for support of description:Height :
6'2"Weight / Body type :
163lbs./Lean wiry muscle from constant work all his life, but never has been considered the big man. Living off the land has helped him maintain body mass.Hair :
Slightly tanned white skin.Eyes :
Pale Green/BlueDistinguishing Features :
A scar under the right ear running back almost to the back of his neck. His first run in with a herd and the escape required to go over a razor wire topped fence.Personality :
He is quiet in nature. Spending more time with livestock and horses than humans made him spend a lot of time thinking. He is not anti social by any means, but he sticks to the theory of only speaking when it matters. He often stares at people even after they have finished speaking, and enjoys the night sky. He would rather sleep under that stars than a roof if he could manage without being eaten. His favorite past time is sharpening his knife, whittling, and cooking over an open fire. A loner by situation not choice.Likes :
Calm people, Women (not in a sexual sense, he just respects women more than men.), Outdoors, Horses, open fields, and fresh food.Dislikes :
Canned goods, vehicles, Brutes, loud mouths, shoot first type of people.Fears :
Slightly claustrophobic indoors (elevator or smaller areas make him panic at times.), not being able to protect himself and those he cares about, and being tied or cuffed up.History :
Frank has never been one to look around him at the big world, he rather was happy living a simpler life. Though with advancements just in his lifetime, he was already the last of a dying breed. He didn't realize it would be because he was human rather than because he still preferred a horse to a car. From his simple birth to two older parents in their 40s, he was on his own early in his life. His parents dying before he was 21 he stayed on the Ranch they had in Nevada. As times got tough and Frank was forced off the land by the government before he was even 30. It was a short trip west that landed him in northern California with Ranches and farms where still available, in use, and needed workers. Often he was left with no one around him speaking English as they did things as simple as pick crops to sorting to shipping. On the Ranch hand of his life, he mostly hoped farm to farm, owning only a horse, a saddle, his rifle and revolver.
Most would call him a Vagrant by his lifestyle, doing migrants work and shit detail in stables didn't exactly seem like a good cause to most people. He wasn't most people. He never took more than he needed for pay, often he would return money to the people he worked for simply saying to just feed his horse and him and that would be enough. It was his way, he enjoyed living a century behind everyone else. It was liberating and true freedom. Leading up the event that changed the world, Frank was on the move from Lodi towards Raymond (Eastman Lake), Frank as living off the land so to speak. Roaming the plains and hills in the very small portions of California that weren't populated heavily. He often did that in the Spring, as work wasn't heavy until late in spring and all through summer.
It wasn't like he kept up on current events, or even watched a TV for more than five minutes in his life, he was unaware of how much the world was changing. Raymond was nothing more than a few groups of houses, a gas station, and a small air strip for small planes, but even then he knew a few people here, he passed through a lot over the last decade he was working there. Upon visiting, he nearly shit himself as he found himself surrounded by the walkers of the town, all the faces he wanted to see, he saw in a new dead form. He couldn't understand what was happening, but once they bite his horse out from under him he pulled his 30-30 from the saddle and fired as quick as he could at everyone. Nearly 8 hours later Frank had killed everyone in town, the small 80-100 person population obviously outnumbered him, but as the town was small they homes were spread out. Making theses walking corpses easier to handle in the 5 to 10 person groups they often were in. Often from more than 100 yards away from his 30-30.
After checking his horse and deciding to let the animal go, putting a .45 from his revolver in its head instead of it bleeding out from the bites all over it. He spent three weeks clearing every single home in the town for supplies. He really had just killed an ENITRE town of people, he had no intentions of going back to the world now, expecting to be arrested and put away in a cage. He collected ammo for his weapons, small towns luckily had the weapons he favored there. He left all the rifles but took them apart and removed the best pieces from each of the 30-30's he found there, spare parts. He ended up on foot with a duffle bag of ammo, rifle and revolver parts, jerky, three large water bottles, a sharpening stone, a few changes in socks and shirts, and 12 MRE's he found from a vet he knew lived in Raymond. He had nothing else but his weapons, it was a sad state of affairs at this point, but he knew in the end he shot them because they wouldn't stop trying to kill him. He shouted and kicked them away from him several times before he was unhorsed.
Around the third month into the event, Frank luckily had run across another town further west and south to see the same thing, everyone already dead. This town was at least 700 strong, but the entire town was already dead and somehow still walking around. Frank hadn't been one for fantasy and scifi, but this was something straight out of a movie he saw when he was a kid. Night of the living dead, it was the only thing "modern" in his imagination that made sense. So he turned towards the Freeway, the I-5 he knew it as. Though he didn't enjoy going near cities, he wasn't ignorant to how the world moved. He moved down the I-5, well more like 3 miles east of it on the raised plain like hills below the high mountains behind him. He had no desire to go somewhere populated, but he knew the cities would have food. If those corpses who ate his horse were any proof, he knew most of the wild life would either leave the state or be killed by the wandering corpses. He walked what seemed like months, in truth it wasn't far from that. Sleeping in the fields if he could, but with the corpses everywhere he took to small caves and cutouts below the mountains running through California's eastern half. He only wants to find a new horse, but in the mean time he is simply trying to get somewhere safe.Sexuality :
Straight.Sexual On's and Offs :
Ons-relaxation, outdoors, dinner and fun, In shape women, brunettes. Offs- Heavy women, Bondage, disrespect. (characters on and offs not my limits)Player :
This is almost finished, I figured I would put it up and see what you think Kokaine and BP, let me know if I have over done anything and while I write his history I will add it to my edit.