Name: Isaac Edgeston, a.k.a. Ares
Picture:
(EDIT: Can't get the picture to work!)
Description: Isaac is a solidly built man; not so much buff as he is bulky. Don't get me wrong, he's no fat man, but you can tell that he's had one too many beers or burgers on top of his decently built muscles. His eyes are a very light grayish-blue. Isaac stands at about 5' 9", and weighs in at 235 lbs. His voice is low and precise, giving him a very dark feel when you speak to him in a dimly lit room. His head is shaved clean, but his natural hair color is dark blonde. His face is heavy from sleep deprivation, and large dark spots have formed under his eyes from a combination of drinking alcohol everyday, and having withdrawals. The clothes he is currently wearing are the only ones he has left; a pair of worn-out black boots, dirtied up black cargo pants, a blood-stained white t-shirt, and a half destroyed, golden watch that still clings to his left wrist. His last remaining weapons include a Glock, with only one bullet remaining, as well as a nailed 2x4 that he had to make due with, once he lost his machete.
Age: 47
Skills: Mercantile, City Knowledge, People-Person, Strong Headed, Resilient, Gun Expert
Inventory: Not much left, after his group was attacked. He has a hand made sling to carry a nailed 2x4 at his waist, as well as his trusty glock, that has one bullet left, in case he needs to go out quickly. His boots are steel toed, for whatever that is worth. He has a small amount of food and a makeshift hide out, but not anything that will last him more than two days now.
Personality: Isaac is a man of action, and will often times do what he needs to survive, no matter the cost. At first glance, most see him as the silent leading type. However, if you were to speak to him now, he would decline any sort of decision making or leadership. After he watched seven other men, who were following his orders to the letter, fall under a swarm of those... things, he can't quite bear the thought of taking another leading position. Instead, he will fend for himself, and only do what he is told when he feels it will allow him, or any of his true friends, to survive. So, if he is asked his input and he turns away, it's not because he is an ass, it's because he already feels he is too unfit for leading.
It's not often that he smiles, nowadays. Severe depression and a lack of heroin has caused him to somewhat shutdown within the past dew days. He'll often shake uncontrollably at night, and he hasn't left his shelter for a few days, for fear that he may just break down and convulse in the middle of a group of the undead. Those who would talk to him within the next few days will note that he is very shaky, and will, on the occasion, stutter during one of his episodes. With the alcohol supply slowly running dry, Isaac fears that he may not survive a night without comfort.
When he isn't worried about others and when he isn't having his withdrawals, Isaac is a stern, but not all too serious man. He will often make jokes at the worst times, in an attempt to lighten other people's moods. He'll be serious and funny when he has to, and has done this for others his whole life. Most who know him at a close level will tell you he is a good man, and is often good with other people, despite his job.
Likes: Guns, Jagermeister, the company of others, the island sunrise, and trading with others.
Dislikes: Those who kill in cold blood, Elitists, Frigid air, large bodies of water, his withdrawal states.
History: Isaac was not a man with clean hands. In his life time, he has smuggled and sold weapons across the globe, and has been very good at it. His natural ability to speak with others and with trading has made his life a good one, more or less. Sure, he has had to put down some people here and there, but never anyone who didn't deserve it. Drug lords, corrupt military officials, rebellions... You name it, he has dealt with them, and has probably put a bullet or two between the eyes of one. Growing up, he lived in a rough area in Detroit. He learned to survive off of what he needed, and saved cash until he could one day leave his neighborhood. When he finally did, he was 16 years old, and moved to New York City. When he got there, he felt like he could finally start anew, but... he knew nothing but crime. So he did what he could, working for mob bosses and thugs, stealing and beating people down for a lackey's pay. Until, finally, he got his break, after a job in Little Haiti. A man came to him, offering a share in an arms dealing business. He accepted.
Over the next few years, he worked with the man, Ulfric "Thor" Skivashi, a German man who decided to use the names of legends and gods to refer to those close to him in his business. After a time, when Ulfric had come to the conclusion that Isaac would not die anytime soon, he began to call him Ares, after the god of war. It was a fitting name for a man who sold weapons. For years, they had built up a black market empire based around large caliber weapons. Ulfric, being much older than Isaac, died two days after Isaac's 32nd birthday. His death was not a sad one. Isaac felt pride that he had worked with him, and he would always remember everything he was taught. Unfortunately for Isaac, more of Ulfric's personality rubbed off on him than he might have wanted. He became a skilled people-person, but he also developed a bad heroin addiction, and sustained it for years.
Isaac's time in Bohmia was short, before the undead attacked. He had been there long enough to sell to a few buyers, and find a place to stay, when the first of the undead had began their attacks. He saw it first hand, one of the first attacks... people were flooding the streets in terror, scrambling for escape routes and alleyways, screaming in terror as they were bit into by the shambling dead. Isaac fled through the side streets, dodging the undead when he could. Luckily, he was great at remembering maps and places he had been before, and had a really good feel for the city. His plan was to hitch a ride on one of the evacuating planes that were carrying important political figures, but by the time he got there, the airport had been bombed, either by the military or by someone insane. So he fled back into the city, towards the market district. There, he met and lead a small group of 7 other survivors for a short time. They managed to do well for awhile, until one of the member came back bitten. You can figure out what had happened from there. Now, after running out of his drug of choice, and running very low on food and alcohol, he came to find himself in a half-finished home in the western part of the city. The place was small, but the undead very rarely come by the area.
It is here, where we will find Isaac, doused in cold sweat, and waiting for the sun to rise.