The Savage Wasteland
Sebastian Hans Müller ('Seb')
Mentally Handicapped German Pit-Fighting Cyborg that Makes Terrible Art.
- Hard to Kill
- Clueless (Major)
- Illiterate (Minor)
- Delusional (Minor)
- Agility : D12
- Smarts : D4
- Spirit : D8
- Strength : D6
- Vigor : D4
- Skill focuses: Shooting and Fighting
- Secondary skills: Swimming, Stealth, and Streetwise
Just under 6’ and 190 lbs, 43 years of age and lifestyle have not been kind to Seb. His face being broken so many times has led to a sprawling and protruding bone structure that makes the regular human look almost like a 2nd generation mutant (if anybody can look past the renaissance cannon Seb has for a right arm).
The cannon is a blackpowder blunderbuss named “Jurig” and has been with Seb for the majority of his life.
Seb is a starving artist that wears shabby clothes and an artists’ smock and little else. His leathery skin has taken a beating from the sun and the winds of nuclear fallout have left melanomas that are cracked glaciers of cancer waiting to take Seb if his decreasing mental faculties don’t first.
Interstingly, Seb carries most of his belongings in a briefcase that he found.
Sebastian Hans Müller started life in the fighting pits of hedonists in Hochdeutscheland, near Frankfurt. Seb’s childhood was spent killing his own friends and his own friends trying to kill him in gladiator matches. Each match tore off a little humanity and a little piece of his body. The hired resurrectionists could replace the missing pieces with machines, even if they couldn’t do anything for the lost bits of his soul. He lost his right arm to his best friend at age 17 and then killed his friend a week later with the blunderbuss that replaced it. He named the cannon that was now his arm after his friend, “Jurig”.
He didn’t so much earn his freedom as much as he was forced into it, being shanghaied the hedonist settlement and into a group of radicals all liberated from hedonist camps themselves to trek across the ocean and into North America, crossing an ocean to seek a land of their own away from the hedonists.
Sebastian, bitter from never being able to seek revenge for his destroyed body, killed his way to the top of the undisciplined group of radicals and, by his thirties, commanded the now lean and blood thirsty radicals, “Children of Sebastian Hans Müller.” As uncreative as the name was, it was just as feared in the scattered settlements all across the former Canadian Province of Ontario and in the former US State of Michigan. ‘The Children’, raided trading caravans, small settlements, and made no distinction between defenseless child and primal war parties.
Over the years, Sebastian had grown a taste for the mineral-rich waters, but had not taken any precautions to first treat the water. Sebastian bathed, drank, and washed in the very, very mineral-rich water, particularly enjoying the earthy flavor from the “Flint” region.
Years went by.
Sebastian, from long-term lead poisoning had started to develop large holes in his brain, accelerated by the inhaled powder residue from his signature arm-cannon. He had gone from a brilliant and cunning military commander to the intellect of a small child, unable to read, and even unable to say his full name past the syllable “Seb”.
Seb had grown attached to art as an outlet for his frustration at being a moron and settled into a humble life in Tucumcari. His art isn’t very good (mostly pictures of peoples’ pets, flowers, and portraits), but pity from kind hearted townsfolk brought him food, the occasional shelter in garages, and even a bit of recognition not at the end of a blunderbuss.
In recent years, Seb, with his terrifying weaponry to back up a mostly harmless desire for recognition of his terrible art, has been conditioned to like most people. He sees mutants, humans, robots, dogs, and tree stumps alike as “friend”. However, that shallowness leads to rage-filled depths that make him quick to anger and resorts to violence at any provocation.
- Seeks appreciation of and recognition for his art.
- Wants to get revenge against the hedonists that tormented him in his early years. Despite having very little remaining memory of who they were.