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 Vincent Kincaide

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Kincaide
Wasteland Wanderer


Posts : 40
Caps : 90
Karma : 2
Join date : 2009-10-02
Age : 30

Character sheet
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PostSubject: Vincent Kincaide   03/10/09, 12:42 pm

OOC Info

Name/Alias: Stephen/The Hammer
Also Plays: Garret Bourne

IC Info

Name: Vincent Kincaide
Age: 225
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 210 lbs (He's lost weight since he became a Ghoul)
Hair: Black, where he has it.
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Skin? It was sorta Caucasian. Still is in places.
Race: Ghoul
Top Three Skills: Big Guns, Melee, Unarmed (Certainly not Barter)

Hometown/Origins: Moose Jaw
Current Residence: Mobile
Employment/Hobbies: Textiles! Merchant of!
Companion: Textiles!

Personality: Kincaide is sarcastic, and hardened by two centuries of violence. He is however, finally living his life long dream as a textiles merchant, traveling the wasteland with his wares. Therefore, he is extremely happy, not that it's obvious all the time. Kincaide however, ranks as the worst merchant ever. He gets far too excited when someone actually wants to buy something from him, and he usually gives away trial samples of his textiles in an attempt to get repeat customers. He is terrible at it.
What he is good at is killing. Kincaide is a born natural, with two hundred years of fighting tooth and nail (and Minigun and sword) for his survival to hone his inborn skills. His combat abilities are the exact opposite of his merchant abilities. He is a terrifyingly beautiful sight to behold while he fights. However, if you hear him during a fight, he is always complaining that he'd rather be selling textiles.

History: Kincaide was born into money in Moose Jaw. His father was an extraordinarily successful businessman, and his mother was a lawyer. From an early age, Kincaide showed signs of above average strength and coordination. On top of that, he was huge, much bigger than the other children he went to school with. He had a natural affinity for fighting, and never lost any of the schoolyard fights he was forced into. He was picked on constantly, because of his size, because of fear of his fighting abilities, and because he was fascinated with becoming a textiles merchant from the early age of five.
When the war happened, Kincaide was twenty-five, and owner of a tiny textiles shop that cost more money to run than he made. He was far enough from any actual strikes that he wasn’t killed right off, but the world erupted into chaos right off. His inborn talents kept him alive, and he lost track of how many men he was forced to kill in self-defense in the opening weeks. He was eventually forced out of his shop (where he had been living) and out of Moose Jaw by the gang who took over the area. He left peacefully, wanting to avoid a fight (which the gang was silently grateful for).
While wandering the destroyed Canadian prairies, Kincaide slowly underwent his transformation into a ghoul. In total, the process of ghoulification took him twenty years form bombs to ghoul. Now a freak, he was shunned by the local settlements and headed southwest, where he figured there would be more abandoned textiles he could claim as his own and sell. He ended up becoming a mercenary in order to get by. His reluctance for violence was overwhelmed by the need to survive, and for the currency needed. He took mostly protection and escort contracts, though he would also take ones where he shooed bandits out of settlements, and when times were tough, the straight up murder ones.
He arrived in the Capital Wasteland about fifteen years ago, and became an escort for wastelanders traveling through the D.C ruins. He spent his spare time searching for a textiles warehouse he knew existed, but was never able to find it. As a result, he now knows the dead city like the back of his hand, though he sometimes has to relearn his hand when a bit falls off.
A few years ago, Kincaide met Calico when they worked together bring down a group of raiders. They then worked as a team, taking jobs all across the Wastes for very good money. Not long ago, while in the D.C ruins, Calico and Kincaide were attempting to pry open a tipped over Nuka Cola machine (he was thirsty, she wanted the caps. And was thirsty), when a nearby firefight between the BoS and Super Mutants caused the building to collapse.
When Kincaide pulled himself from the shattered building, he believed his partner dead, crushed beneath the fallen structure. Still in a daze, and nursing a shattered arm, Kincaide staggered through the ruins, collapsing in a pool of irradiated water. How long he laid in the water, he doesn’t know, but when he came to his arm was healed, he was hungry, thirsty and weak. He sated his thirst from the irradiated pool, and then dragged himself into the nearest building for food and safety. Inside, he found something he wanted more.
The building was filled floor to ceiling, front to back, with textiles. Shelf upon shelf, rack upon rack of textiles. Silk, cotton, velvet, velour, polyester, wool, burlap. Everything and more. It was the happiest day of his entire life. He has just recently gotten back out in the Wasteland, since he first catalogued and organized his dream warehouse, and then found a safe path to move his pack Brahmin to and from his warehouse. Then he loaded up and headed out, to live his dream.

Preferred Weapons: A Minigun, two Chinese Officer's Swords, a pair of 10mm pistols, and his body.

Preferred Armor: Leather. He rarely gets hit (if at all) so he doesn't see the need to wear anything heavier.

Motto: Would you like to purchase some fine, high quality textiles?


Last edited by Kincaide on 08/07/10, 10:13 pm; edited 4 times in total (Reason for editing : My wordy History!)
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Kincaide
Wasteland Wanderer


Posts : 40
Caps : 90
Karma : 2
Join date : 2009-10-02
Age : 30

Character sheet
Group:

PostSubject: Re: Vincent Kincaide   10/07/10, 08:20 pm

Kincaide tucked the last of his wares into the brahmin's pack. It was a roughly woven, yellow and green striped swatch, that Kinciade could probably sell to someone to make into a blanket. Or poncho, that's all it was probably good for. As he secured the pack, a grin crossed his features. He was finally going to do it, he was finally going to break away from all the killing, all the violence. Instead of screams of pain because he's breaking someone's arm, he would get exclamations of glee because he's selling someone fine textiles. He was going to make the wasteland a better place, one sale at a time.

The massive ghoul rubbed his brahmin's left head and took up its lead rope. Then, he settled his swords on his belt so they were comfortable and lead the beast of burden out through the warehouse's loading door. Once outside in the harsh dawn sunlight, Kincaide turned, took one gleeful look at the stockpile of textiles the warehouce contained, and then hauled the door shut. He locked it firmly with a heavy gauge lock he had pulled out of a military base while his brahmin poked at the neaby rubble with its nose.

Kincaide straghtened to his full, imposing height and breathed in a deep breath. "Well, you two," he said to his brahmin. "We stand here at the beginning of the greatest journey we will ever embark upon. We are going to travel the same wastes I have spent two hundred years fighting across to deliver high quality textiles at the reasonable prices people want to purchase them at. No more is Vincent Kincaide a hired gun, a strong amn or a thug. No more will I be paid to bring destruction and ruin to the people of this land. Now, I bring them weaves and colours, fabrics and patterns!" He clenched his fist for emphasis, his voice ringing out clearly in the parking lot of his warehouse, every word delivered with absolute conviction. "I will live my dream! Before today, Buttercup and Tessa, I was but a textiles merchant at heart. A textiles merchant in my soul. Today, today I become a textiles merxhant in the flesh!"

Tessa let out a long moo in response. Buttercup chewed her cud. Kincaide beamed at them, his spakling white teeth standing out against his ghoulish flesh. "I knew you two would agree. Now let's go make some people happy."

With that, Kincaide easily scooped up his minigun from where he had set it earlier in the morning, gathered up his animal's lead and started walking north. "Canterbury Commons is our first stop ladies. Uncle Roe can cut us into the trade routes." He started humming cheerfully. "I feel so alive."

The distant crack of a gunshot broke the morning's silence and Kincaide narrowed his eyes in the sound's direction. "Remeber what I said about violence?"

"Moo." Tessa said.

"Well if anything comes near you two or my textiles who isn't looking to buy, I will tear their fucking arms off."

"Moo."

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