P
player of games
Member
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2019
- Messages
- 34
- Points
- 18
Character Name
Miles Krueger
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
Yes
Age
44
Blood Type
A+
Personality
Miles, throughout the original lore of WWB, developed into a cold, cynical shell of a man driven by rage and emotion alone. From the time since, he has let go of a lot of his past trauma and regained a little of his composure, his sole desire in life no longer to hurt the bastards that hurt him and his people. He's a lot more well-rounded in the head now, age and experience in the apocalypse teaching him temperance, resulting in him not being so quick to anger.
Character Motivations
Miles operates solely on the plane of existance, with no goals above his station - they were all stripped from him around ten years ago, when the cult of the Lazarites destroyed everything he had worked since the start of the outbreak to build. For years, he's searched for another cause to put himself behind - something to believe in again, a group of people or an idea; he's always come up empty. Most recently, he's found himself in Pittsburgh, operating out of Bartertown for a caravan company there, working for meals and a warm roof over his head.
Physical Appearance
Miles stands at a height of six foot two, his physique both affected and improved by the apocalypse, leaving him seemingly athletic and somewhat bulky. Despite this, his left arm is maimed from the elbow down, flesh replaced by the nuts and bolts of a crude prosthesis, showing some rust and age - though the joints have clearly been looked after pretty well. Atop his head is a mess off brown hair with greys mixed in, kept somewhat short - though crudely cut, seemingly in a hurry with no thought for aesthetic - his beard tells a similar story, though is longer and more unkempt.
Character Image Link
Mechanical Occupation
Mechanic or something.
In-Character Occupation
Surveyor for a Caravan Company
Biography
"You're my brother." were the last words Miles uttered to Don Jones, his right hand man and closest friend - a meek showing for an otherwise unhinged man, brought down by the heat of the hours of combat they had endured to reach this point - the docks a short way from his hometown of Valley Station, the home of the Mall they had found themselves cooped up in at the start of the outbreak, and the home they had lost to a band of lunatics preaching Lazarus. As gunfire rained all around them, a brief lull in the fighting followed Miles taking several rifle caliber rounds to his kevlar, allowing him the opportunity to say goodbye to his longtime friend and ally who had chosen to stay behind to allow the others time to escape.
These were the words that would stay with Miles for the next decade or so, haunting his dreams and plaguing his memories - the scant few that remained were the bad ones, mostly of that day; the combat, the beheading of two people he was supposed to protect, and the implementation of his strategy to destroy the Lazarene cult. Days turned to weeks aboard the yacht he and his right hand man had stolen from a merchant weeks prior to their cast off, the engine chugging along as the ship sailed west along the Ohio, course only being corrected as they met the Mississippi, that course being south - towards the Gulf. WIth his ragtag band of survivors from the Valley Station Mall thinning out by the day, people jumping ship in protest of the downright suicidal plan to float out into the ocean and find a nice patch of land the red-eyes hadn't touched yet, Miles couldn't help but think it was all for nothing. By the time their plan had borne fruit, and they found their promised land, there was only a handful of them left to colonize it.
The weeks turned to months, the months to years. People came and went, word passing around the coast of the gulf about a safe-haven on a small patch of land just to the north and east of Havana, boats containing supplies and survivors showing up scarcely to bolster their meagre stockpiles of each. As hard as life was, there were no red-eyes. It was peaceful, save for the occasional 'pirate' attack, though they had enough firepower left over from their days on the mainland to ward them off. The place ran smoothly otherwise, going through their ups and down as all fledgling communities did, as they all had in the places they came from - for better or worse, this tiny speck of land was their home.
Over the years, as the community grew larger and wealthier, systems changed and grew, those who were seen as the most competent were elected to positions of power so they could guide the people with a steady hand, Miles remaining as the overall 'leader' for a few years until passing the reins off to Laurel Kent, the wife of Jonathan Kent - both of whom were his trusted friends from their days at the mall. Nobody really knew why, nobody really asked - Miles, however, was just tired. Tired of the responsibility, tired of the tough decisions. He knew he had left the place in good hands, watched it grow into a somewhat stable society with the means to grow and protect itself - and with that, he was happy.
Eight years after the mall fell, Miles left the island paradise they had retreated to. Taking passage on one of the fishing boats that were maintained, he made land in southern Florida, saying his goodbyes to the crew of the vessel and handing them a few letters to pass on to those closest to him. The next few years were a blur, Miles regaining his footing on the mainland, getting a feel for the culture of the new America and, of course, re-familiarizing himself with the red-eyes they had done so much to escape from all those years before. Surviving in the South wasn't easy, but he could find enough work as a hired gun to make do. He first met a representative of the caravan company he would come to work for in 2026, and in a stroke of dumb luck, the caravan was on a return trip to Pittsburgh from Norfolk. Hitching a ride for some easy scraps, he struck it up good with the caravan's boss, who said he would put in a good word for him at the company HQ in a place called Bartertown, nestled deep in the ruins of Pittsburgh - something Miles was ambivalent to at the time, simply wanting a place to lie down and not get shot at for a few nights before moving on. Things changed when he got to Bartertown.
The hustle and bustle of the town's streets were something Miles thought had been lost to time years ago, and although everything in his gut told him to stay away, the lights were blinding. He met with the head of the caravan company, and was charmed by his straight-to-business ruthless attitude, taking a job working for the company at the caravan bosses insistence. For the past few years, Miles has been operating out of Bartertown for this company, first as a guard for their caravans, then after proving his use as both a gun and a critical thinker, was offered a much more lucrative position with more benefits. He'd be their forward scout, essentially, running surveys through potential routes then reporting back to company HQ in bartertown, gone for months at a time - but he'd have a permanent residence, a much nicer one at that, and access to all sorts of perks being what equated to the boss's chief advisor. Miles took the opportunity, running several different route surveys for the company in the past few years before his latest assignment - the Barrens.
So with his equipment and mind readied for the insurmountable horrors he'd find in the Barrens, he set off for upstate New York on his own. Thoughts came and went, but the one that always stuck with him never stopped.
"You're my brother."
Would you like your character to start with any items?
Lumber Axe
Large Alice Pack
Is your character a member of a group?
No
Miles Krueger
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
Yes
Age
44
Blood Type
A+
Personality
Miles, throughout the original lore of WWB, developed into a cold, cynical shell of a man driven by rage and emotion alone. From the time since, he has let go of a lot of his past trauma and regained a little of his composure, his sole desire in life no longer to hurt the bastards that hurt him and his people. He's a lot more well-rounded in the head now, age and experience in the apocalypse teaching him temperance, resulting in him not being so quick to anger.
Character Motivations
Miles operates solely on the plane of existance, with no goals above his station - they were all stripped from him around ten years ago, when the cult of the Lazarites destroyed everything he had worked since the start of the outbreak to build. For years, he's searched for another cause to put himself behind - something to believe in again, a group of people or an idea; he's always come up empty. Most recently, he's found himself in Pittsburgh, operating out of Bartertown for a caravan company there, working for meals and a warm roof over his head.
Physical Appearance
Miles stands at a height of six foot two, his physique both affected and improved by the apocalypse, leaving him seemingly athletic and somewhat bulky. Despite this, his left arm is maimed from the elbow down, flesh replaced by the nuts and bolts of a crude prosthesis, showing some rust and age - though the joints have clearly been looked after pretty well. Atop his head is a mess off brown hair with greys mixed in, kept somewhat short - though crudely cut, seemingly in a hurry with no thought for aesthetic - his beard tells a similar story, though is longer and more unkempt.
Character Image Link
Mechanical Occupation
Mechanic or something.
In-Character Occupation
Surveyor for a Caravan Company
Biography
"You're my brother." were the last words Miles uttered to Don Jones, his right hand man and closest friend - a meek showing for an otherwise unhinged man, brought down by the heat of the hours of combat they had endured to reach this point - the docks a short way from his hometown of Valley Station, the home of the Mall they had found themselves cooped up in at the start of the outbreak, and the home they had lost to a band of lunatics preaching Lazarus. As gunfire rained all around them, a brief lull in the fighting followed Miles taking several rifle caliber rounds to his kevlar, allowing him the opportunity to say goodbye to his longtime friend and ally who had chosen to stay behind to allow the others time to escape.
These were the words that would stay with Miles for the next decade or so, haunting his dreams and plaguing his memories - the scant few that remained were the bad ones, mostly of that day; the combat, the beheading of two people he was supposed to protect, and the implementation of his strategy to destroy the Lazarene cult. Days turned to weeks aboard the yacht he and his right hand man had stolen from a merchant weeks prior to their cast off, the engine chugging along as the ship sailed west along the Ohio, course only being corrected as they met the Mississippi, that course being south - towards the Gulf. WIth his ragtag band of survivors from the Valley Station Mall thinning out by the day, people jumping ship in protest of the downright suicidal plan to float out into the ocean and find a nice patch of land the red-eyes hadn't touched yet, Miles couldn't help but think it was all for nothing. By the time their plan had borne fruit, and they found their promised land, there was only a handful of them left to colonize it.
The weeks turned to months, the months to years. People came and went, word passing around the coast of the gulf about a safe-haven on a small patch of land just to the north and east of Havana, boats containing supplies and survivors showing up scarcely to bolster their meagre stockpiles of each. As hard as life was, there were no red-eyes. It was peaceful, save for the occasional 'pirate' attack, though they had enough firepower left over from their days on the mainland to ward them off. The place ran smoothly otherwise, going through their ups and down as all fledgling communities did, as they all had in the places they came from - for better or worse, this tiny speck of land was their home.
Over the years, as the community grew larger and wealthier, systems changed and grew, those who were seen as the most competent were elected to positions of power so they could guide the people with a steady hand, Miles remaining as the overall 'leader' for a few years until passing the reins off to Laurel Kent, the wife of Jonathan Kent - both of whom were his trusted friends from their days at the mall. Nobody really knew why, nobody really asked - Miles, however, was just tired. Tired of the responsibility, tired of the tough decisions. He knew he had left the place in good hands, watched it grow into a somewhat stable society with the means to grow and protect itself - and with that, he was happy.
Eight years after the mall fell, Miles left the island paradise they had retreated to. Taking passage on one of the fishing boats that were maintained, he made land in southern Florida, saying his goodbyes to the crew of the vessel and handing them a few letters to pass on to those closest to him. The next few years were a blur, Miles regaining his footing on the mainland, getting a feel for the culture of the new America and, of course, re-familiarizing himself with the red-eyes they had done so much to escape from all those years before. Surviving in the South wasn't easy, but he could find enough work as a hired gun to make do. He first met a representative of the caravan company he would come to work for in 2026, and in a stroke of dumb luck, the caravan was on a return trip to Pittsburgh from Norfolk. Hitching a ride for some easy scraps, he struck it up good with the caravan's boss, who said he would put in a good word for him at the company HQ in a place called Bartertown, nestled deep in the ruins of Pittsburgh - something Miles was ambivalent to at the time, simply wanting a place to lie down and not get shot at for a few nights before moving on. Things changed when he got to Bartertown.
The hustle and bustle of the town's streets were something Miles thought had been lost to time years ago, and although everything in his gut told him to stay away, the lights were blinding. He met with the head of the caravan company, and was charmed by his straight-to-business ruthless attitude, taking a job working for the company at the caravan bosses insistence. For the past few years, Miles has been operating out of Bartertown for this company, first as a guard for their caravans, then after proving his use as both a gun and a critical thinker, was offered a much more lucrative position with more benefits. He'd be their forward scout, essentially, running surveys through potential routes then reporting back to company HQ in bartertown, gone for months at a time - but he'd have a permanent residence, a much nicer one at that, and access to all sorts of perks being what equated to the boss's chief advisor. Miles took the opportunity, running several different route surveys for the company in the past few years before his latest assignment - the Barrens.
So with his equipment and mind readied for the insurmountable horrors he'd find in the Barrens, he set off for upstate New York on his own. Thoughts came and went, but the one that always stuck with him never stopped.
"You're my brother."
Would you like your character to start with any items?
Lumber Axe
Large Alice Pack
Is your character a member of a group?
No
