Post by Rand Elliot on Oct 8, 2010 20:27:23 GMT -5
Name: Elliot Rand
Name Meaning: Elliot is a male name that can serve as both a given name and a surname. The origin of the name is obscure. Some sources suggest it may be derived from a French form of Elias, which is itself derived from the biblical name "Elijah".
The surname Rand has two distinct possible origins. Firstly, it may be a patronymic form of the medieval male given name Rand, itself a shortened form of any of the various Germanic personal names, for example Randolph, having as a first element "Rand" meaning "Rim (of a shield)". The use of the surname Rand can be found throughout the world, and its origin is not very certain.
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Town: Ryland
Former Occupation: Former surgeon
Height: 6'0"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: White Caucasian, English with a bit of Russian from his mother's side.
Hair: Light auburn, with flecks of lighter red and darker brown.
Eyes: Cerulean blue
Clothing Choice: He'll really wear whatever he can scrounge, but currently wears a charcoal grey hoodie, torn up and faded into a worn out light grey, underneath a woolen poncho. A pair of baggy cargo shorts held up by a belt of ammunition lifted from a long-dead military "Peacekeeper", as well as a pair of the same soldier's combat boots. Within the leather holster of his ammo belt holds an MEU .45 pistol, and slung over his back is a classic M1 Garand infantry rifle, taken from the residence of his former father-in-law's beachouse, a relic from the Pacific Theatre of World War II.
Personality: Elliot Rand is a laidback, easy-going, detached man . . . not exactly something you want your only doctor to be. Though his mellowed out demeanor often puts off both patients and colleagues alike, Elliot is anything but lazy, and is prideful of his authority as a surgeon and physician for the dwindling survivors of the The Infection. Survivors, unfortunately, often fail to do sufficient background checks. Elliot's experience as a proper physician is quite the mixed bag, on the scale of moral ambiguity. The lives he's saved may or may not be as high or even equal to the lives he's taken, inadvertently or not, and since Elliot himself neither confirms nor denies any of the rumors circulating throughout the camps of survivors and refugees, it is eerily left to one's imagination. One well-known fact about Elliot us his frequent habits of gambling, bribery, and smoking marijuana, all of which have gotten him into deep trouble before and after The Infection hit. Despite his shady past and involvement in rather risky business, Elliot is known to be quite the eloquent speaker, intelligent and well-read from his school days.
Strengths: His skills in the field of medicine are a needed asset for any group of survivors to continue doing what they do best, and although it isn't exactly known whether Elliot received proper training to be a doctor, but nonetheless has the skills to heal and patch up his allies.
Faults: Elliot's habitual pot-smoking and gambling has left him in deep water before and after The Infection hit the world at large, and even still the multitude of factions he is in debt to are still after his head. Elliot by no means is a fighter, and although he carries weapons, he doesn't have much training to use them to their fullest potential.
Sample Post:
"Man, that's some sweet shit," pulling the hand-rolled marijuana blunt away from his face, Elliot Rand made a puckered expression as he sucked in the hazy fumes from the blunt, satisfied with the oncoming high that would ensue. Clambering from his makeshift domain within an enshrouded alleyway, Elliot winced at the bright but overcast sky, the sun seemingly burning through like a beam from a flashlight. A storm had come in through the north days ago, causing sporadic spouts of rain and thunder from the heavens, making the streets and sidewalks seemingly stained by the downpouring rain. But early April weather was the least of his problems. Ammunition for his Garand was running low, and his bag of bittersweet weed was beginning to grow stale and few by the week. That, and a cataclysmic zombie apocalypse was wreaking the Earth and all its' inhabitants. However, when running out of weed, circumstances always change drastically. Saving his sweet Mary-Jane was his top priority at the moment. Then he could worry about flesh-eating zombies.
Wandering amongst the stalled and overturned cars of the once busy streets of Ryland, Elliot glanced into the series of derelict buildings in search of any supplies, most likely having been looted months ago. As he continued down the ghostly empty street, Elliot felt the tingling pitter-patter sensation of raindrops beginning to fall. Looking up, he watched as the streets began to drip with a misty haze-like air about them, rain drumming upon abandoned cars like a steady percussion. "Whatever," he sighed, wiping spare drops of water off his forehead. "Just a bit of drizzle."
Upon saying this, The skies seemed to open up to thick, black clouds, drenching Elliot and the surrounding area with heavy hail stones.
"Fuck you, Mother Nature!" he shouted to the heavens as he ran for any sort of cover. The nearest source of said cover was a gaping parkway tunnel, daunting and solemn like a bear's cave. Elliot shook his head steadily, not accepting his only means of shelter to be a pitch black tunnel. Though zombie were sparse and few between during the day, they lurked in the dark corners of the world, waiting in any nook or crannie they could find to wait until nightfall to stalk their human prey. Undecided and nervous, Elliot was unwittingly ousted into the tunnel by a rather large hail stone scoring a direct headshot to the top of his shaggy-haired skull. In a light jog, Elliot ventured warily into the tunnel, his eyes taking time to adjust to the expansive darkness.
The tunnel itself was darker than even he assumed, forcing him to flip out his silver Zippo lighter and saunter his way through the barren junkyard-like path. Suddenly, Elliot fell forward, having tripped over something. Shakily holding his lighter to the source of the thing that tripped him, Elliot reeled back in horror as the figure was revealed as a corpse, skin pale blue and eyes bulging. Notcing the many bullet holes in the corpse, Elliot noted dreadfully the reminder of another danger: The National Guard. Rumors had spread amongst the few survivors that the government had vainly quarantined the entire city, soldiers armed and at the ready to blow away anything that moved. Elliot tried to ignore this dreadful thought as he wandered deeper into the tunnel. but his imagination got the best of him.
Elliot imagined gaunt-eyed gunmen in hazmat suits crouched behind a machine gun emplacement, their job to mow down any stragglers that emerged from the tunnel. A sole scout, armed with a combat knife and silenced SMG, creeping toward him with killer intent. Another squad of soldiers loading a poison gas canister into a mortar launcher . . .
Just then, Elliot heared a faint screeching noise from behind him. On instinct, he dropped the lighter and swung his Garand up to his shoulder and began to fire. Single shot after single shot, Elliot screamed at every round that flashed through the M1's muzzle into whatever was lurking behind him. The recoil prodded against his shoulder until it was numb, but he still kept firing like a bat out of hell. As the final round disappeared into the darkness with a metallic clang of a ricochet, Elliot lowered the rifle, exasperated from his ordeal. Regaining composure, Elliot turned back to venture deeper into the tunnel, but felt a burning sensation on his foot. The dropped lighter had lit his shoe ablaze, the flames slowly licking up his pantleg. Swearing and screaming, Elliot ripped off his pants and burning shoe, stomping out the flames with his opposite foot.
"Perfect," groaned Elliot, shaking the soot off of his burnt shoe. "Now I'm lost, and half naked."
Name Meaning: Elliot is a male name that can serve as both a given name and a surname. The origin of the name is obscure. Some sources suggest it may be derived from a French form of Elias, which is itself derived from the biblical name "Elijah".
The surname Rand has two distinct possible origins. Firstly, it may be a patronymic form of the medieval male given name Rand, itself a shortened form of any of the various Germanic personal names, for example Randolph, having as a first element "Rand" meaning "Rim (of a shield)". The use of the surname Rand can be found throughout the world, and its origin is not very certain.
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Town: Ryland
Former Occupation: Former surgeon
Height: 6'0"
Ethnicity/Skin Tone: White Caucasian, English with a bit of Russian from his mother's side.
Hair: Light auburn, with flecks of lighter red and darker brown.
Eyes: Cerulean blue
Clothing Choice: He'll really wear whatever he can scrounge, but currently wears a charcoal grey hoodie, torn up and faded into a worn out light grey, underneath a woolen poncho. A pair of baggy cargo shorts held up by a belt of ammunition lifted from a long-dead military "Peacekeeper", as well as a pair of the same soldier's combat boots. Within the leather holster of his ammo belt holds an MEU .45 pistol, and slung over his back is a classic M1 Garand infantry rifle, taken from the residence of his former father-in-law's beachouse, a relic from the Pacific Theatre of World War II.
Personality: Elliot Rand is a laidback, easy-going, detached man . . . not exactly something you want your only doctor to be. Though his mellowed out demeanor often puts off both patients and colleagues alike, Elliot is anything but lazy, and is prideful of his authority as a surgeon and physician for the dwindling survivors of the The Infection. Survivors, unfortunately, often fail to do sufficient background checks. Elliot's experience as a proper physician is quite the mixed bag, on the scale of moral ambiguity. The lives he's saved may or may not be as high or even equal to the lives he's taken, inadvertently or not, and since Elliot himself neither confirms nor denies any of the rumors circulating throughout the camps of survivors and refugees, it is eerily left to one's imagination. One well-known fact about Elliot us his frequent habits of gambling, bribery, and smoking marijuana, all of which have gotten him into deep trouble before and after The Infection hit. Despite his shady past and involvement in rather risky business, Elliot is known to be quite the eloquent speaker, intelligent and well-read from his school days.
Strengths: His skills in the field of medicine are a needed asset for any group of survivors to continue doing what they do best, and although it isn't exactly known whether Elliot received proper training to be a doctor, but nonetheless has the skills to heal and patch up his allies.
Faults: Elliot's habitual pot-smoking and gambling has left him in deep water before and after The Infection hit the world at large, and even still the multitude of factions he is in debt to are still after his head. Elliot by no means is a fighter, and although he carries weapons, he doesn't have much training to use them to their fullest potential.
Sample Post:
"Man, that's some sweet shit," pulling the hand-rolled marijuana blunt away from his face, Elliot Rand made a puckered expression as he sucked in the hazy fumes from the blunt, satisfied with the oncoming high that would ensue. Clambering from his makeshift domain within an enshrouded alleyway, Elliot winced at the bright but overcast sky, the sun seemingly burning through like a beam from a flashlight. A storm had come in through the north days ago, causing sporadic spouts of rain and thunder from the heavens, making the streets and sidewalks seemingly stained by the downpouring rain. But early April weather was the least of his problems. Ammunition for his Garand was running low, and his bag of bittersweet weed was beginning to grow stale and few by the week. That, and a cataclysmic zombie apocalypse was wreaking the Earth and all its' inhabitants. However, when running out of weed, circumstances always change drastically. Saving his sweet Mary-Jane was his top priority at the moment. Then he could worry about flesh-eating zombies.
Wandering amongst the stalled and overturned cars of the once busy streets of Ryland, Elliot glanced into the series of derelict buildings in search of any supplies, most likely having been looted months ago. As he continued down the ghostly empty street, Elliot felt the tingling pitter-patter sensation of raindrops beginning to fall. Looking up, he watched as the streets began to drip with a misty haze-like air about them, rain drumming upon abandoned cars like a steady percussion. "Whatever," he sighed, wiping spare drops of water off his forehead. "Just a bit of drizzle."
Upon saying this, The skies seemed to open up to thick, black clouds, drenching Elliot and the surrounding area with heavy hail stones.
"Fuck you, Mother Nature!" he shouted to the heavens as he ran for any sort of cover. The nearest source of said cover was a gaping parkway tunnel, daunting and solemn like a bear's cave. Elliot shook his head steadily, not accepting his only means of shelter to be a pitch black tunnel. Though zombie were sparse and few between during the day, they lurked in the dark corners of the world, waiting in any nook or crannie they could find to wait until nightfall to stalk their human prey. Undecided and nervous, Elliot was unwittingly ousted into the tunnel by a rather large hail stone scoring a direct headshot to the top of his shaggy-haired skull. In a light jog, Elliot ventured warily into the tunnel, his eyes taking time to adjust to the expansive darkness.
The tunnel itself was darker than even he assumed, forcing him to flip out his silver Zippo lighter and saunter his way through the barren junkyard-like path. Suddenly, Elliot fell forward, having tripped over something. Shakily holding his lighter to the source of the thing that tripped him, Elliot reeled back in horror as the figure was revealed as a corpse, skin pale blue and eyes bulging. Notcing the many bullet holes in the corpse, Elliot noted dreadfully the reminder of another danger: The National Guard. Rumors had spread amongst the few survivors that the government had vainly quarantined the entire city, soldiers armed and at the ready to blow away anything that moved. Elliot tried to ignore this dreadful thought as he wandered deeper into the tunnel. but his imagination got the best of him.
Elliot imagined gaunt-eyed gunmen in hazmat suits crouched behind a machine gun emplacement, their job to mow down any stragglers that emerged from the tunnel. A sole scout, armed with a combat knife and silenced SMG, creeping toward him with killer intent. Another squad of soldiers loading a poison gas canister into a mortar launcher . . .
Just then, Elliot heared a faint screeching noise from behind him. On instinct, he dropped the lighter and swung his Garand up to his shoulder and began to fire. Single shot after single shot, Elliot screamed at every round that flashed through the M1's muzzle into whatever was lurking behind him. The recoil prodded against his shoulder until it was numb, but he still kept firing like a bat out of hell. As the final round disappeared into the darkness with a metallic clang of a ricochet, Elliot lowered the rifle, exasperated from his ordeal. Regaining composure, Elliot turned back to venture deeper into the tunnel, but felt a burning sensation on his foot. The dropped lighter had lit his shoe ablaze, the flames slowly licking up his pantleg. Swearing and screaming, Elliot ripped off his pants and burning shoe, stomping out the flames with his opposite foot.
"Perfect," groaned Elliot, shaking the soot off of his burnt shoe. "Now I'm lost, and half naked."