By Cowboy •Deacon Bennett
Alias: The Smuggler
Date of Birth: 8/12/2076
Birthplace: On a small farmstead outside of Pikeville, Kentucky.
Deacon would have scars upon his face, around his mouth and nose from blades and other various sharp objects that drugged up raiders could get a hold of. Usually wearing a duster, with his cowboy hat, or some other type of hat to cover his head from the sun. Deacon would also most likely have his bandana on him at all times, useful to help keep the dirt and disease away from his mouth, as well as a good way to cover up his face if he needs to. He would always have at least two guns on his person. His .357 revolver on his hip, and his .357 lever action rifle on his back, carrying two guns of the same ammunition made it easier to reload on the go without having to fumble among loose rounds to find the right ones. Finally with Deacon growing up in the barren wastes instead of a vault, his skin would be much thicker, a few tattoo's of things he thought looked cool would be adorned on his arms, more then likely done by raiders in forms of payments for his smuggling services.
Deacon grew up in the wasteland, being born right before the bombs fell, his family were not so lucky as others to make it into a vault, they didn't fit Vault-Techs criteria. Deacon was raised in the hills of post-apocalyptic Kentucky, learning how to smuggle and talk his way out of shit at an early age made him the perfect mule for his families moonshine operation. You see various gangs of raiders loved their brew, but hated that they sold to their rivals. In order to keep business running as normal, Deacon's family came up with the idea of telling each gang they would only sell to them, and then sending Deacon on smuggling runs to deliver the shine to each individual gang itself. As Deacon got older, his lust for caps and for the adrenaline rush grew, so he adapted to the ever growing customer base. He did anything from pushing his families shine to the gangs, to even pushing his own product of chems to the gangs as well for a little extra cash.
Soon enough Deacon grew tired of just muleing chems and shine. He wanted more, the dangers of the wastes didn't bother him, he knew how to shoot, and if all else fails he could easily trick his opponents into letting him go unscathed. Thus Deacon yet again adapted to new jobs, working not only as a smuggler but also as a gun for hire to some. Nothing too fancy, go take down this asshole here, rough up this bastard there, it was easy caps for Deacon and it beat just sitting around in between shine and chem runs.
About seventeen years after the bombs fell, a young eighteen year old Deacon went out on a run that would change his life forever. You see Deacon was selling to a very well known raider gang in the area by this time, and others caught wind after a while. They set him up, called for a fake drop point, and when Deacon got there, there was nothing to be found but a note with a sinister cartoon smile scribbled on it with what looked to be blood. Deacon hauled ass back to the farmstead as fast as he could, knowing something had gone amiss. By the time he made it there it was too late, the raiders had killed his family, taken all of his stash, and his caps. Leaving nothing but the same calling card, this time with a name. "Blood Tooth", he'd only heard this name a few times at the drops he'd go to, but he knew Blood Tooth ran quite a large operation, many raiders, and a LOT of firepower.
After eight years of tracking, working various jobs for other wastelanders, more sleepless nights then you could count, and many hangovers Blood Tooth's trail had led him to West Virginia, where he had heard rumors of the raider's causing mayhem and attacking vault dwellers emerging to the surface. Deacon knew he had little options in terms of firepower, so he did what any smart man would do. He started to help the dwellers fend off the raiders in hopes to build a large enough force to avenge his family once and for all, and take back what was rightfully his from Blood Tooth. This is where his journey begins.
"The waste's are lawless and cold, you gotta make your own rules and stand by em'."
Edited by Cowboy