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Server time: 2019-05-19, 13:23
Chance Ryder
YNW Jasper
Character information
  1. Alias
    Chance, Ryder, Mr. Ryder, Cowpoke
  2. Mental
  3. Morale
    Self Preservation Above All Else
  4. Date of birth
    1984-06-21 (34 years old)
  5. Place of birth
    Canyon, Texas
  6. Nationality
  7. Ethnicity
  8. Languages
    English, Some Spanish,
  9. Relationship
  10. Family
    Colson Ryder (Brother, missing)
  11. Religion


  1. Height
    185 cm
  2. Weight
    81 kg
  3. Build
  4. Hair
  5. Eyes
  6. Alignment
    Lawful Evil
  7. Occupation
    Former Firearms Dealer
  8. Affiliation
  9. Role
    Hired Gun




Born in Southern Texas Chance Ryder was always a bit down on his luck. He had a pretty rough upbringing. His father wasn't absent but Chance truth be told wishes he was, as then, he'd have been spared many scores of beatings his father drunkenly dealt to him, his mother and his brother alike. His father was a raging alcoholic, and on the side, a mechanic. When he wasn't being a degenerative piece of shit, he was teaching his sons Chance and Colson all there was to know about fixing up cars, alongside how to do other shady shit that kids probably shouldn't be taught. 

Being brought up like he was Chance was never a particularly kind fellow. Throughout his teens and early twenties he got into his fair share of trouble with the law from time to time. Mainly for petty theft or unlawful weapon possession or for getting into fights in public places. 

Eventually this led him down a downward spiral of a path in life. He got into dealing firearms and slinging drugs in the local trailer parks. His brother Colson however grew up to be an officer of the law. Wound up somehow being a goody two shoes that was too good to hang around his brother anymore. While Colson largely didn't associate with Chance the older they grew, he was unbeknownst to Chance, looking out for him by greasing some palms at the station whenever Chance was brought in. Whether it was reducing his sentence or even occasionally paying for his bail on minor arrests. 

Living the way he did Chance eventually grew distrustful of what he called "The Machine" and "The Conditioning" and the "man" as a whole. He hates doctors, corporations, big pharma, and government institutions with a passion. He does not eat unless he cooks it and does not drink unless he boils it first. 

The older Chance grew as did the need and desire for bigger bankroll, but as a High School dropout, he did the only thing he knew knew how to do. Same old same old. Selling firearms to local two bit criminals and occasionally gangs simply wasn't cutting it anymore. He wanted to have more money than to just pay the bills and buy some blow with every now and then. He wanted a good financial cushion. 

So? He expanded accordingly. He broadened his fire arm dealing to the Cartels that stayed near the border of Texas and Mexico. He hired on some extra help to assist in the deal making and for protection. At first it seemed great. No sign of law enforcement catching on to his racket, and none of the deals had really gone south in the near three years he had been dealing with the cartels. This however changed when he had a deal with one Juan-Carlos Martinez of the MS-13 gang.


To spare the nitty gritty details of the encounter he had with Juan-Carlos, by the end of what was meant to be a small arms deal ended with all of Chance's hired men being beheaded in front of him and Chance being beaten within an inch of his life by MS-13 members. He was then instructed to set up a larger scale deal with his contacts that had been providing him the firearms from over seas thus far. He was to pull as many strings as he could to start the lines of communication between MS-13's Martinez branch and stage some massive firearms deal between the two parties, or he would, as Juan Carlos put it, "Wish he had simply been beheaded and given that quick of a death" if he were to fail. 

Without many other options Chance obliged the Mexican gang and pulled as many strings and silver tongued his way into making the massive fire arms deal happen. He had to swear up and down and provide assurances that he knew the MS-13 men well, and that the deal was a good thing. Since Chance had been dealing with the firearm providers for over a decade, they obliged. Under the condition that Chance himself would be in attendance. MS-13 was reluctant to do so, as they probably wanted to kill Chance and be done with it, but seeing no other option they dragged him along. 

The meeting took place in Takistan. What followed one hell of a mess.


Just as fast as the meeting had began it was over. MS-13 apparently never intended on paying for the firearms at the warehouse both parties had entered. Once the deal began Chance was taken into one of the vehicles that MS-13 drove to the meeting with and was kept at gunpoint in the passenger seat by one of the lower rung members of the gang. 

Not twenty minutes after the deal began the whole place erupted into a hail of gunfire. When the man aiming the weapon at Chance turned his attention away, Chance seized the opportunity and wrestled the firearm away from him and promptly shot the man in the face, taking the keys and the pistol and creeping around the newly made war zone. He peered inside the warehouse to see MS-13 and the dealers still fighting it out, many corpses of both sides strewn all about the place. 

Not wanting to make it out of there empty handed and presuming both sides would kill each other off, Chance seized the moment and grabbed a brief case of cash, and returned after dropping it off to retrieve some automatic weapons from the weapon crates. He then drove off and headed for the Chernarussian border, some Eastern European country that bordered Takistan. 

Turns out, USD is quite beloved by Chernarussians. All it took to get across the border was a few stacks of cash from that briefcase and he was in. 


Shortly after arriving to what Chance hoped would be his salvation proved to be his purgatory. He paid quite handsomely to end up in a motel while he could think on what his next move would be. While calling his brother to tell him where he was and what kind of trouble he was in, he was interrupted by some emergency alarm blaring throughout his town. He hadn't been out of his hotel room in nearly three weeks. When he looked outside it was chaos. Military personnel nearly everywhere, the sound of distant shots, and a message he couldn't understand in a foreign language being repeated over the towns intercom. 

Not knowing what was going on and not willing to part with his newly found wealth, he barricaded his hotel room and waited the alarm out. 

A few days passed much the same. Alarms in a language he didn't understand, distant gunfire, and confusion. By the end of the month the town was near empty, people were apparently getting sick from what he understood. Going rabid and attacking other folk. The phone lines were down, as was his cell service. Weeks turned to months and the group of people he found himself hanging in the town with's knowledge of what exactly was going on grew. 

By the time they knew what was truly happening it was too late to do anything about it or try and leave. The world was going to shit, some newfound illness that many were simply dubbing the infection. It claimed the minds of folks and turned them into rabid animals. Some contracted the illness simply by bad luck it seemed. Others gained it by direct contact with infected individuals. Those that didn't get the virus from direct contact were presumably immune to the infection that was ravaging the world. 

Fast forward a few years and Chance has learned only two things since the outbreak. One: Everyone is out for themselves. There ain't no concept of good nor evil anymore. There's just surviving. And two: His brother Colson wound up here at some point, but is currently missing. Anyone that gets in the way of him and his search for Colson is going to die. 

He currently works for the Jackals as a hired gun and nothing more. He has bigger ideas for starting something of his own up here someday, but for now, he's quite happy in his line of work.


- Mercenary Work

- Binge Alcoholism 

-Good music

- His family and co-workers 


- Whoever he's paid to dislike 

- People that complain too much

- People he deems "city slickers" 

- Annoying kids



The Jackals

"My current employers. I don't pretend to understand their motivations nor do I understand the weird carving shit and other oddities they get up to. But that's irrelevant. They're my employers and stable ones at that. Pay decently and most of the fellers in there are alright to shoot the shit with every now and then, both literally and figuratively."

Funeral Parlor 

"I do not quite think I know what our standing with these folk are. Are we friends? I've shot at them before and they have shot at me. Are we enemies? We've hung out in each others respective territories before and had a swell time. I do not fully understand. They don't seem quite so deplorable to me and yet half the Jackals say otherwise and yet again, half them say the opposite. I am quite confused where we stand with these folk. I 'spose i'll keep going as we have been. Shooting eachother one day and high fiveing the next."

The House (?)

"While I have yet to meet these folk personally yet, I think we are not quite meant to be friends nor enemies with them. Some say we are, others say we just don't rightly give a shit. I heard rumor of a skirmish between our groups in Chernogorsk but nobody seems to be able to confirm that. I will approach with caution should the need to interact arise."

The Chedaki

"Right. Finally a group that I fully understand. Fuck these commie sons of whores to the highest degree. Had several firefights with them, had a few interactions with them, all negative. Apparently they done gone and killed some friends of the Jackals and even a member shortly before I was put into employment by the Jackals. They gunned him down and publicly displayed the poor old bastards body. Needless to say I'll be killin' these folk as need killin'."


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