The Irregulars Savage Rifts
Jad seems confused most of the time. Lost, furtive, paranoid, manic, by turns blissed-out when some piece of nostalgia comes across his path (he’s fond of pre-rifts music, in particular; something he calls “show-tunes” and “pop” music), and driven to fulfill some imperative, constantly muttering about being sent to the wrong period, being unable to complete his mission. He tends to smell (badly), be completely unkempt (though he does keep his hair shaved… perhaps someone does this for him?), in an assortment of rags from various periods throughout history. He has learned, through his “travels” to be completely self-sufficient, including carrying his very-own bar-stool (“I never know what I need it for, but I always seem to need a seat…”) and towel, because he was fond, as a young man, of reading what he calls “histories of tomorrow”. His current ‘model’ of bar-stool is actually the flat-soled liner and hydraulic ankle/knee brace from a suit of power-armor (he has no idea what ‘kind’ it is, simply that it has been the only bar stool he hasn’t destroyed to date).
He works, sporadically, as the janitor in the bar of Castle Refuge, usually when recuperating from whatever terrible beating comes his way any time he ventures out. Blessed with a rapid metabolism, he eats nearly anything that can’t get away from him, and can regularly be found prowling the dumpsters on the hunt for particularly savory, if discarded, left-overs around camp. Strangely, nobody has seen him sick. This voracious appetite is the only logical explanation for how quickly he bounces back, recovering from thorough thrashings in an astonishingly short time (as long as he has food, that is).
Being employed at the ‘hub’ of Castle Refuge has given Jad plenty of opportunity to overhear, eaves-drop, and chat-up most who come through, and as such, he keeps a constant ‘ear to the ground’ as he says, for chances to pursue “the Mission… from the Scientists…”. When he’s fit (and often when he’s not), he will join expeditions of all kinds, often employed as a scout, but rarely as a combatant. He seems unfazed by the variety of D-bees in Castle Refuge, and is completely unaware of other people’s perception of him…