Name: Allyson Marie Beckett
Age: Thirty-three
Gender: Female
Job: Bartender / Ex-mercenary
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Wouldnât do to let someone reminisce over the past, even glorify it. But again, the past isnât a concept Allyson has a firm grip on either way. Not from first glance, and there doesnât seem to be any other clues that would prove the contrary.
So, raised with a gun in hand and a gloomy outlook that said to give Hell to whoever wants your knicknacks, Allyson was a mercenary born and bred. People paid her and she protected them. Some painted a mercenaryâs life as shady, a grey area that meant you might as well save the poor folk as likely as youâd steal from them. But Allyson didnât sway, it was one of the things she could claim as having honour. Caravans looking for a solid scout with a knack for spotting and killing would-be marauders werenât double-crossed. Instead, any who did gamble with Allyson were shunned and given a proper staring down. There were some hard times where the issue was muddied, of course, but those were rare and far between the better deeds the woman had done. She was a glorified marshall, dammit, no matter what some thought.
It was one of the latter times that Allyson managed to find solace in the company of a treasure hunter by the name of Lynn. Food and money had grown scarce, and after a nasty run-in with some of the local police the woman hadnât much to claim as her own anymore barring a broken rifle and some crumbs for breakfast.
She was promised a cut if sheâd help the other woman retrieve old world data. The road was tough and the place well-defended by raiders with a proper funding, so efficiency and a good eye was needed. The job went off without a hitch, and besides some money to spend Allyson found, for the first time in her life, a companion she couldnât go without. Over the years the two traveled together, earning a wage and enjoying each others company when they werenât hunted by some angry bloke with a machete.
However, eventually all good things must come to an end. After a serious accident during one Hell of a job, Allyson found that her partner was no longer the same person. Things had changed, and feeling she couldnât (or perhaps wouldnât) adjust the mercenary left after a heated argument⊠And so she fled to a remote settlement, making a life as a bartender for any willing drunkard or other whoâd brave her bar.