Mason "Dino" Dinowitz
Deadliest nerd in the Wasteland.
Mason “Dino” Dinowitz
5’10", 180 lb.
22 years old.
Long red hair, shaved on the sides.
Red beard, full but short.
Wears glasses with multiple repairs.
Dressed in an orange Brotherhood of Steel uniform, covered by a brown hunting jacket with leather padding on the right shoulder.
See image for reference: Character Portrait
- There is strength in numbers. I will find where I belong, and take care of my companions.
- I want to live. I will make good on the sacrifices that others have made for me by staying alive at nearly any cost.
- Self-reliance equals survival. I will accept help when it’s convenient, but it is important that I always maintain the skills to survive on my own.
- If someone threatens me or a companion, I try to step in and defuse the conflict. When conflict is inevitable, I seek every tactical advantage possible.
- I am slow to trust, and rarely take people at their word.
- If something sounds important, I write it down.
- Long red hair, buzzed on the sides.
- Near-sighted, wears heavily repaired glasses.
- Outgoing on the surface, but keeps his true thoughts and feelings mostly to himself.
- Overly Cautious, which sometimes leads to indecisiveness or inability to act.
- Persuasion (MF – 7) Why fight when you can talk your way out of it?
- Stealth (PF – 7) It’s harder to hit what you can’t see.
- Archery (PF – 6) Guns are too heavy, too loud, and too bloody.
- Observation (MO – 6) The more you see, the more you know.
- Athletics (PO – 6) Rule 1: Cardio
- Deception (MF – 6) What they don’t know won’t hurt them.
- Maintenance (MO – 6) Take care of your stuff and it’ll outlast you.
- Survival (MO – 6) But you should still try to outlast your stuff.
- Poisons (MO – 5) It was only once, I swear.
- Explosives (MO – 5) Uh, this was also only once. A different time, though.
- Marksmanship (PF – 5) See “Archery”.
Roughing it in the Missouri wilderness sucks, and I’m definitely not the biggest bear in the woods. I’d prefer not to fight, but when it comes down to it, I’ve learned enough to handle whatever the wasteland throws at me.
I grew up in the Midwest as part of a ragtag group of scavengers. I never knew my mother and I only have vague memories of my father, who died in a raider attack when I was just a boy. Taken in by an industrious scavenger with a soft spot for orphans, I spent my formative years retrieving valuable parts in hard-to-reach places. As my skillset grew, I started taking more lucrative jobs that involved things like grifting, breaking and entering, theft, and even poisons and bombs.
A run-in with a rival group of scavengers left me fatherless once again. I was 18 at that point, just old enough to appreciate how unfair the world had been to me. The rest of my family scattered when rival scavengers overran our territory; gone was our business, and my prospects with it. I was able to keep under the radar for a while, but eventually they caught up to me and I was almost sure that I’d die at their hands, just as my mentor had. I was desperate for a way out, and I thought I had found it when the Brotherhood came to town.
We had heard stories, of course, but seeing them up close was unreal. These soldiers were different from the East Coast/West Coast Brotherhood, they were our people, rugged and capable. They operated with one mind, and every member was valuable to the cause. The best part was that they were recruiting. I had never been drawn to anything more in my life. I went home to sleep on my decision, but my brain couldn’t stop dreaming long enough to let me. The very next day I was in a Brotherhood uniform, sitting in a barber’s chair getting the sides of my mane shaved. After a short aptitude test, I was told that I would be joining the other Initiates who were becoming Scribes in Training. “Scribe Dino”. It was a name I could get used to.
I’m not saying I don’t believe in the Brotherhood as a whole – in fact, I’d still try to make it in if I could – but one bad apple can ruin the bunch. I thought that I had put my days of illegal shit behind me, but my commanding officer on my first mission ordered me to do some shit I didn’t agree with. Just when I thought I’d found my place as a Scribe, too. I left in a hurry, and it turns out I’m not the only one out here who’s running from something. Only thing is, it’s only a matter of time before those things we’re running from catch up to us all.