"I've been around for a while, I have an insane amount of knowledge I can share with you people! Just don't eat my legs!"
―Walter to the Cannibal Court.
Date of birth:2100
Date of death:2280
Blood type:A/B
Mass:120 pds.
Occupation:Vault handyman, merchant, fisherman, prospector, waster
Status:Passed on.

An intelligent ghoul wandering the wastes in search of a purpose. Walter has been through it all dealing with crazy cults, genocidal factions, and hazardous war zones and through all of it, he hasn't been the most fortunate or lucky, but throughout all of it he never attempted to coerce people, hurt anyone or give in to the horrors of the wasteland.


Born Unto the Wasteland

To whom Walter was born to in Vault 113 is unknown, mostly due to the fact that Walter never bothered to tell anyone and the descendants of the Vault 113 dwellers are a bit less than social. Anyway, Walter can trace his roots back to this Vault buried somewhere under the Central Texas wasteland, there he grew up enduring the Vault's very odd experiment. Essentially the Vault was designed to instill a sense of superiority to all those who inhabited it, they were told day after day that when the doors opened and they stepped out into the wasteland they would be worshiped as Gods. They would rule nations, have Oceans named after them and be written into the history books as the men and women who refounded civilization. This mentality was instilled within the citizens of Vault 113 through a series of holotapes, seminars and of course through the assorted books that were spread out through the Vault, each telling of different rulers. From Louis XIV's rise to power in France to Alexander the Great's power hungry conquest of Greece in the name of Macedon. Throughout the Vault's indoctrination program there were to be subtle hints dropped that those on the surface who don't bow down to them should be eradicated to make room for the more obedient masses. Thus Vault 113's experiment into the human psyche now was creating a population of genocidal megalomaniacs. However unlike his compatriots in the Vault, Walter never truly fell in with these ideas of self-righteous superiority, as a child he would read children stories while other children were watching a TV show about Julius Caesar, as a teen, he read the works of Mark Twain rather than The Prince and so on. This rebellious streak continued well until he was in his early twenties when his fellow Vault dwellers began to take notice, at first they thought that the books and novels he read were somehow concealing some sort of information they had no grasp on, when they were proven wrong they began to look upon Walter with suspicion and distrust.

The Vault's Overseer having seen Walter's break from the pack took pity upon young Walter and had him inducted into the Vault Security Service so he could avoid the suspicion of his fellow Vault dwellers. While in the security service he proved to be a rather resourceful fellow, knowing how to make repairs to certain systems that baffled the other engineers (Walter had taken some time to read through some mechanic's magazines), proved to have an even-handed member of the force and soon had become the poster boy for the Vault's security service. However when the Overseer met privately with Walter, and four other officers it was to deliver some startling news. In exactly three weeks the Vault doors would be opened and the population would be free to recolonize the wasteland. But before any of this could happen, the Overseer wanted a thorough evaluation of the outside world, he wanted no surprises for himself or his people when they emerged. Thus he selected Walter, his friend Officer Mike Kelp along with Officers O'Brien, Capelli, and Johnson for the job. A day later, outfitted in armor, riot helmets and armed with 10mm Submachine Guns and 10mm Pistols they exited the vault to explore the wasteland above. Outside, after wandering the wastes for a time they came upon a few towns and had a brief skirmish with a group of raiders but for the most part the trip was uneventful. On their way back to the Vault they decided in order to cut their travel time they would move across a patch of barren ground while moving across however they attracted the attention of a gang of raiders moving through the woods. Seeing their gear and weapons the raiders decided to attack the squad, in the ensuing firefight the squad was split up and Walter was chased into the woods by three of the raiders. Hiding in a small dip in the ground he waited for the raiders to get almost on top of him before killing them with his 10mm.

Happy to have survived the encounter he had hardly noticed that the dip he had taken shelter in was, in fact, an irradiated crater, his ears no longer ringing from gunfire he suddenly picked up on his Geiger counter ticking crazily on his hip. He quickly got out of the crater and walked back to his squadmates, praying that there'd be no adverse effects from the radiation. Upon returning to the Vault they reported their findings and promptly went back to normal duty. Over the next week, Walter's hair had begun to fall out and his skin beginning to peel. By the end of the week, he halfway to becoming a ghoul. When he showed up to the security office in the final week before the Vault doors were to be opened, the chief of security took one look at him and ordered him down to the clinic. There the doctor deduced that he was suffering from an extreme case of radiation sickness. Upon hearing of this developing case the Overseer was livid, he ordered that Walter be thrown out of the Vault before he turned more people into whatever monstrosity he was transforming into. Thus three security officers promptly headed to the Clinic and escorted Walter to the Vault door, where he was promptly thrown out. But due to his prior service to the Vault and its people, the guards gave Walter his 10mm pistol and some ammo, saying they'd lose the paperwork. The door closed on Walter and nothing but the wasteland awaited him.

A Taste of Chicken

The wastes of Texas aren't a kind place, when he wasn't dodging tornados in The Crucible he was dodging bullets in the Corpse. However on particular adventure sticks out of them all, the week he was held captive by the Cannibal Court. It happened while he was wandering the wastes near the ruins of Corpus Christi in Southern Texas, it was getting late and having traveled the wastes enough to know that night is a bad time to be out in the open, Walter found himself a nice abandoned home and fell asleep in an old arm chair. It was while he was sleeping that Walter was assailed by a group of cannibals from the court, who promptly drugged him and dragged him off back to their lair. Once there he was placed in a massive holding pen along with the other various prisoners of the court, there he awoke chained to the wall and watched as one by one as the days went by the other prisoners he was being held with were carried off by their brutish captors to be 'tried'. However it was on the fifth day of his stay that he was muscled from his binds and up to the chamber to be tried by the court, however instead of being put on the stand he was placed in the jury booth with two other prisoners facing him and the court in the background looking on. It turned out that the court had decided to make Walter a victim of a rather cruel joke, he was to decide which of the two would be eaten. After much consideration (and a good deal of pleading from the two prisoners) he chose the right prisoner to be eaten. To his horror, a guard approached the prisoner with an axe and began to chop up the prisoner right before his eyes. Walter sat stunned as the howling and bleeding prisoner was hauled off to a back room, meanwhile the other prisoner, now sobbing was taken back to the cage. Just as quickly as the guards had taken the survivor away they brought two more forward forcing Walter to make the same terrible choice three times more. When the third prisoner had been chopped up and his compatriot carried off, they pulled Walter out of his seat and tossed him out of their court, the court didn't eat ghouls.

This traumatic week was forever etched into Walter's brain as he made his way through the wastes once more, this time on his way even further south. All the way he tried to his own rationalize his actions, telling himself he didn't have a choice or they would've killed him too if he hadn't gone along with them. It was three weeks after he had been released from the Court that he arrived in the small town of Hidalgo, and after spending a few days in town he headed south into the wilds of Tamaulipas.

Walter's Traveling Caravan of Wasteland Necessities

When Walter arrived in the border town of Zap-City, he found the seedy gambling town much to his disliking and quickly moved on. It was while he was traveling the area of the Northwestern Corridor that he witnessed first hand the suffering caused to the local populace by the constant fighting between the various factions of the Corridor. From the militaristic brutes in the 33rd, to the communists in the People's Legion all claimed to be fighting for the greater good of the people but the only thing they seemed to cause was further suffering to the people they hoped to 'defend'. Walter pitied the poor farmers and ranchers, whose homes were blown to bits, crops burned and animals killed, thus he decided that the best way to help these people was to supply them with the essentials to their existence. Thus was born Walter's Traveling Caravan of Wasteland Necessities.

Yet in order to do this, he needed a few things first, a Brahmin for one, guards and actual supplies to sell to the people he hoped to help. Thus he made his way to Nuevo Laredo, the capital of the New Confederate States of America. There he managed to buy a Brahmin on credit, convince two old soldiers to act as his guards and work out a deal with a store owner that of all the sales he made, the store owner would get 30% and supply the caravan with raw goods to sell. Thus they set off, Walter his two guards and their Brahmin; Sally. They soon began to run into groups of refugees who quickly took to buying Walter's cheap products and soon the whole caravan was being swarmed by hordes of hungry, homeless people. Yet as more people came (throwing caps right and left), the caravan's inventory began to run dry and soon there was scant that could be sold to the people. When the last can of beans had been sold and the last stimpak bought Walter turned to the crowd and announced they were leaving for the day and would be back the next day. The packs of people moved off back to their hovels and shacks to share their food with their families as Walter and his caravan returned to the metropolis of Nuevo Laredo.

They deposited their profits with the store owner and made a small payment for the brahmin, giving a few caps to either guard and using the rest to buy food for themselves they settled in for a restful night of sleep. The next day they picked up their shipment from the store and set off for the refugee towns, and were devastated by what they found. Apparently, the refugees weren't the only ones who were starving in the wastes as they stared across the destroyed village they had left the day before. Raiders, bloodthirsty and ravenous raiders had hit the town, not in search of women or slaves but food. In their quest they had butchered the whole village, cutting down the helpless refugees in hails of bullets, the carnage was unimaginable as men, women, and children lay sprawled in contorted heaps, looks of pain spread across their faces. The scene was too much for Walter as he bent over and vomited, even the two veteran guards that flanked him seemed appalled by what they saw. Yet Walter refused to back down from his duties to the people and thus set off to the next refugee town to hawk his goods.

There they sold their goods took their profits and then hunkered down. Walter told his two companions that they would stay here for the night and protect the town from whatever philistines came to steal their food. The two mercs agreed and they hunkered down for the night, standing guard in the town. Around 1am a flare was shot into the air over the town, as it fluttered down on a parachute there came a terrific yelling and the chatter of assault rifle fire. Along the edges of the town, flashes from assault rifles flashed as the gang of raiders attacked the town. Mowing down two drunks hobbling in the street. Walter sat up and was

One of the many refugee camps in the Northwestern Corridor.

immediately pushed back down by the mercenary, a battle rifle in hand the merc squeezed off three rounds in the direction of an approaching raider. The merc was a hardened combat veteran of the confederate army and showed this as he accurately took down three separate raiders as they approached the town.

From across the street came the chatter of an M2 Carbine, as the other mercenary sprinted across to the hovel they were sheltered in, bullets smacking into the ground around his feet. Walter pulled out his own .32 and sent two rounds towards the charging raiders, hitting one in the knee. The other merc practically dove into the hovel. He immediately turned and sprayed the remainder of his clip at the charging raiders. Suddenly there came a loud roar of an engine and in the fading red light, the three men could see an old Corvega, racing through the wastes. The Corvega had its roof ripped off with an old machine gun mounted, the rest of the car was packed with raiders. The Corvega came to a screeching halt and the raiders jumped off adding their own wild firing to the loud crescendo of gunfire. In the back, firing a machine gun stood the raider's chieftain, a massive seven-foot brute, wearing a welder's mask and the remnants of a bear skin he sent rounds flying across the town, stitching patterns of bullet holes in the dirt hovels. Walter took aim with his .32 and squeezed off a few rounds, two smacking into the chieftain. However, this only seemed to anger the jet fueled maniac as he wheeled the machine gun around to face the hovel, only to have it stick on the swivel. Firing off his final bullet towards the chieftain he hit him in the chest. The small bullet seemed to hardly phase him as Walter frantically began to reload. As he turned to re-engage the chieftain he saw the man-mountain slumped over his gun.

He had killed the massive behemoth and without their stalwart commander, the remaining raiders fell back into the wastes. As they exited the hovel, they surveyed the town. A total of thirteen dead raiders littered the town along with three dead residents. Happy that they were able to help the townspeople, they went to check on the people. They were greeted cold stares and frightened glances, they may have saved these people from the rabid bunch of raiders but the townspeople forever suspicious of people with guns now feared them. Badly burned by their welcome, Walter and his two compatriots gathered up Sally and headed back to Nuevo Laredo. There they deposited their profits, the mercenaries got paid and promptly quit, they weren't in this business to risk their lives for ungrateful wasters. Taking sally to a nearby inn, Walter fell asleep angry and upset. Having very little money he couldn't afford to hire new guards and would have to make the next rounds on his own from here on in.

The next day he picked up his shipment of goods and started out for the refugee towns. He passed the burned out village, the village of recluses and came upon a town of fifteen people. All looked to be starving and many were broke, feeling pity for them Walter sold food to those who had money and handed out the rest for free to those who didn't. He spent the night in the town, his .32 tucked under his back and awoke to find the people of the town were grateful and happy to have been fed. They thanked Walter by offering up one of their women as a sex slave, Walter a man of morals turned down the offer and headed back to Nuevo Laredo. He was halfway home when, out of the scrub several figures rose, all ordering him to halt. Bandits, they approached Walter and Sally and promptly began to pick apart the bags on Sally's back. They found Walter's small amount of caps and promptly confiscated it. Angrily, he was about to shout something when he noticed a familiar face among the bandits. They were the people from the town of recluses, using the firearms from the raiders to take up the task of raiding themselves. He called them out and was promptly beaten on the back of the head by the stock of a rifle. As he fell unconscious he heard the crack of a pistol and Sally collapsed alongside him. He blacked out.

When he came to, he found nothing but himself and a pool of blood. Sally was gone (taken as a meal by the villagers), all his caps were gone and he still owed a ton of money to Sally's owner and to the store owner. He returned to Nuevo Laredo and attempted to explain his situation to the store owner and to Sally's owner, neither wanted to hear it. Walter had cost them dearly, and they wanted something back. They called the police and Walter had to make a quick get away while being chased by several baton wielding, red-faced officers. Thus was the end of Walter's Traveling Caravan of Wasteland Necessities.

The Seafaring Tales

Running from Confederate authorities Walter hardly stayed in one spot as bounty hunters and posses of one kind or another chased him down. It wasn't until he had reached The Saltlands that he truly felt safe. In the Saltlands he found the land inhabited by crazy tribals and savage raiders, but also a fringe of civilization existed within the inhospitable land. The various Ganadero Republics served as bastions of sanity within a land of crazed degenerates. Yet when he finally arrived in The Royal Dominion, he found civilization. The Royal Protectorate of Tampico a civilized republic held control over the entire Royal Dominion and with the help of the well trained Provisional Defense Force they kept it's citizens safe and actively looked to expand their control. Once inside of Tampico proper, Walter again began to look for work and he found it aboard a fishing trawler that was set to make a sortie out to sea within the week. He became acquainted with the crew, the Captain: Samuels, the boatswain: Gibbons and the harpoonmen: Sweeps. The first day they set out it was a relatively uneventful day as Captain Samuels and Gibbons moved their sluggish trawler up the coast towards the fishing grounds off the coast of the The Royaume. During this time Walter and Sweeps got to know one another, Sweeps it turned out was once a farmer, with almost two hundred acres of land and a small army of laborers to help him work it. However with the revolt led by Hector Cruces that toppled the previous regime he had lost his farm as it was confiscated by the government, broken up and sold to the men and women he once employed, forcing him to take work onboard the ship. As for Samuels, he was a fisherman by trade having been born in the town of Jacksonia, raised by evangelical parents he had left town when he was eighteen and never wished to return. Finally was Gibbons, Gibbons was once a commodore in the Provisional Maritime Patrol Force and had helped defend the Protectorate from the massive, irradiated horrors of the Caribbean. So naturally he was an able seaman and tough fighter, he could maneuver the boat like no other and new the waters they trawled like the back of his hand.

On the second day of their voyage, the captain caught sight of one of the many Les Blancs that inhabited the Caribbean, these massively irradiated sharks were menaces to any fishermen and Captain Samuels was immediately interested in catching one. Even a young one would provide sufficient meat and blubber to be sold in The Royaume or back in Tampico and allow the crew to end their voyage early. They began to tail the massive fish, watching as its huge dorsal fin periodically rose and fell from the waves and soon having neared the massive predator they spotted smaller dorsal fins moving behind the parent. Preparing the harpoon, Sweeps took aim at the rear most Blanc and fired his massive harpoon at the Blanc. The fish was struck, and quickly dove underwater, leaving a pool of blood behind it and dragging the thick rope they had attached to the harpoon behind it. Captain Samuels order Gibbons to turn about and head away from the parent blanc, so as to isolate the younger one. The young Blanc fought the trawler's roaring engine as it furiously attempted to free itself and catch back up with its parent, but to no avail, the thing was simply tiring itself out and only quickening its own death. After a half-hour of fighting the Blanc, Samuels ordered Walter to winch the fish to the surface, using the small motor attached to the straining rope he quickly began to yank the wounded blanc to the surface, once there the Samuels, Sweeps, and Walter speared it again and again with razor sharp spears that Samuels had cut prior to the voyage. After several minutes of this, the young Blanc finally died and using ropes they pulled the huge fish aboard. After chopping up the fish and setting the cuts in storage their only job was to get back to port and sell the meat and blubber before it spoiled. The crew was naturally elated at their success, as Walter and the rest promptly celebrated by cracking open the Captain's private liquor storage. After a night of drinking (Gibbons didn't take part), the crew awoke to a hot Caribbean sun and the familiar call of the gulls. As they repositioned themselves across the deck at their posts, Samuels spied a ship in the distance, a pillar of black smoke rising above it.

The ship belonged to the pirates of Carter's Corsairs, the infamous seagoing raiders and slavers. The ship had spotted them the night before and was moving to catch up with them. Ordering Gibbons to add on the speed they charged off to more protective waters of Tampico. However the pirate ship had been modified for speed, its powerful engine could be heard roaring over the surf as the slow trawler chugged along backs towards Tampico. Samuels ordered more power be put to the engine as they desperately attempted to escape the pirates, yet they were doomed to fail. The Pirate ship was upon them faster than they ever expected, the pirate crew opened fire with small arms and machine gun fire. Samuels who had handed out weapons to the crew went down almost immediately, followed by Gibbons. Quickly pirates jumped aboard and in the melee, Sweeps was killed. Alone and low on ammo, Walter decided to opt for survival and jumped overboard and into the irradiated waters below. After barely dodging the pirate ship's various launches, Walter slumped into an exhausted sleep. When he awoke he was all alone, surrounded my miles of empty ocean and laying in the bright sun. Hours passed, then days and when a full week had passed Walter was about ready to pitch himself over the edge of the small raft he lay upon and join his crewmates in the afterlife. Yet just as these thoughts crossed his mind he became aware of a wump wump wump noise that seemed to be approaching, in no longer than a half an hour a small helicopter appeared 50 yards away from his raft. Flagging it down they radioed his position to a nearby patrol boat which quickly came and picked him up. While aboard the HMS Scythe he was told how lucky he was that the helicopter had spotted him during its creature patrol (it had been tracking a monster that appeared to be a reincarnation of the Kraken). However despite this Walter felt anything but lucky, he had been beset by the infernal syndrome known as Survivor's guilt.

Once transported to land by the Provisionals, Walter was given a brief medical check, some food and promptly sent out on his own. Walter, had sunk into a depression as he tried to deal with his guilt and self-loathing. He left Tampico an emotional wreck, he began to wander the wastes, keeping himself busy with scavenging and various other jobs. However, after wandering further north along the 101 he came to the cesspit of the wasteland, the Distrito Capital.

The Capital Cesspit

Here in the Distrito Capital Walter found an all new kind of twisted incarnations of mankind as bloodthirsty mercenaries fought for control of streets, various factions slaughtered each other over the control of an old rail yard and mortar and artillery rounds slammed into the pavement day and night. Thus Walter decided that it was here he would eke out an existence, find a nice small home that wasn't completely destroyed, fix it up as best he could and live there. While wandering the war-torn streets he came upon a small two story building. The second level had been bombed out, however, the ground floor was in decent condition, enough that someone had clearly deemed it nice enough to live in as was evident from the old sleeping bag and a small pile of canned food. As for the occupant, Walter found him just up the street, lying face down in a pool of blood a stitching of bullet holes covering his torso. Walter settled into the old home, finding the occupants old 10mm pistol, a few spare magazines of ammunition and a small assortment of tools. He began to fix up his humble adobe, taking boards from the street and using them to prop up the collapsing wall, finding an old car battery he hooked it up to the lighting of the house and soon had created himself a humble little home. However as he settled into his new home he prepared to eat his first meal when he realized he had no can opener to open the various canned goods. Angered by this he headed out into the capital in search of a junk dealer, instead, he found a seemingly empty street covered in untouched homes and corpses. How odd it must have seemed and yet macabre, he had found the sight of an old battle or some kind of massacre perpetrated by one of the various mercenary groups. Yet as he traversed the open ground he found no sign of weapons on any of the corpses. As he walked a shot rang out, the bullet slamming into the ground off to his left, diving to the right he sprinted into a building, he had made a very bad choice; he had just wandered into Sniper's Row. As he sat in the building he heard another round crack off the brick wall, followed quickly by another round. The sniper, whoever he was was clearly using something high powered, taking a rock into his hand he tossed it out into the street hitting a body just enough to make it move. The sniper pumped three rounds into the fallen corpse and Walter made a run for it, diving through a broken window he ended up in yet another bombed out building.

Yet as he looked about the building he discovered shell casings, 5.56mm rounds scattered about the ground, a tally mark scratched into the window sill. He had just entered one of the sniper's old nests, frightened he ran out of the building, and back down the street, bullets bouncing off the ground around him until he finally left the area known as Sniper's Alley. Thoroughly tired he walked back home arriving just after seven, to find the lights on in the small house, inside were a group of refugees from the looks of it, all were armed. Determined not to take any more risks he pulled his 10mm out of his belt and peered into the house, they were armed alright, one with a 10mm like himself, another with a hunting rifle and the third a double-barreled shotgun. They were raiders, cocking the 10mm he popped around the corner firing off his entire clip at the three men killing all but one before he stopped shooting. As he entered his home he noticed a small bloody mass in the corner, it was a gecko, the wounded man looked up at him and in a voice almost choked by blood he spoke: "We were just taking shelter!". Suddenly it made sense, these men weren't raiders they were hunters and the Gecko in the corner had been their catch. Shocked by his actions he looked down at the smoking pistol, disgusted with himself he tossed it away. Then he knelt down next to the wounded hunter and watched as he died, by his hand. He left his home that night, trying to justify his actions but he couldn't manage it. He only stopped wandering when a voice from a derelict old factory called out to him. The man was Gabriel Rosales, he brought Walter into the old factory where he found it packed with armed men and women watching the street outside. He offered Walter 50 caps to go up to the Border Country and retrieve some supplies from an old ship that was washed up on shore, The Fitzgerald. Hungry and wanting nothing more than an excuse to leave the Capital he agreed and set off with a few provisions. His walk to the Border Country was a long and arduous one but he made it without running into too much trouble. He managed to locate the Fitzgerald and upon looking inside of it, he found little in the way of firearms and ammunition, however, he did find several boxes of uniforms and after getting some help from a local group of refugees he began to move them back down south to the Capital. One of those refugees was a young ghoulette named Rose, to a normal human she was just another ghoul but to Walter she the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He fell head over heels for Rose and promptly began to pamper, the two got along and soon they were in a sort of relationship.

Arriving back at the old factory he and his followers deposited their crates of supplies, Gabriel while disappointed that they hadn't found any sort of ammunition or guns in the Fitzgerald was glad to have the uniforms which he promptly issued to his 75 men. He paid Walter and declared that if he ever needed their help they could always come to them, Los Filibusteros. After handing out a bit of the pay he and Rose began to talk about where they were to head next. One of the other ghouls overheard them and asked if he could tag along, then another and another asked until finally, the whole group he had come with was tagging along with Walter and Rose. Not entirely sure of what to do, Walter thought that with all the people he had they could setup a small town of sorts in the ruins of the town. The idea appealed to the group as a whole and they began to scout the area for a suitable location to set up said town, they found one soon enough. Wedged between four apartment blocks, they found a small courtyard and decided that this was the place to set up the new town of St.Agatha, named after the patron saint of all mutants. Using junk and other materials from the area the ghouls began to fortify the small courtyard.

Straw on a Camel's Back

Construction on the small courtyard's fortifications were soon finished and the ghouls had all moved into the surrounding apartment buildings. Thinking that their small community would stay relatively the same, Walter was surprised when more ghouls and even a few humans showed up at their junk gate asking for refuge within their guarded walls. The small town was rapidly becoming a beacon of hope and safety for the various travelers of the Capital's streets. Walter having "founded" the town quickly took up the role as keeping the peace along with three other of his compatriots. He monitored the streets at night, broke up fights and helped guard and defend the walls when the need arose, but for the most part, the small town was proving to be a success for Walter. He and Rose got along well enough that Walter asked to marry her and three weeks later they were, by Father Antonio Vega of the Church of St. Monica. However, their small town quickly attracted the attention of a local band of raiders who quickly saw the small town as a place where they could ambush caravans, and base their attacks from. They quickly began to attack the walls and when the walls proved to be a greater obstacle than expected they began to attack caravans that were on the move through the city streets, cutting off the town's food supply. Soon the town began to run short on supplies, eating horses, brahmin and when it came down to devouring their own shoes Walter left St. Agatha for old Corvega factory to seek help from Los Filibusteros. When he arrived he quickly convinced Gabriel to spare some men and help him preserve the town's safety. Worried that his work would all go to waste, Walter and his force of 15 Filibusteros started off towards St. Agatha. As they neared the courtyard they could see a column of thick black smoke rising from the town, they found the junk door ripped off its hinges and on its side, marks of an explosion were clearly evident. Inside the town, Walter found several dead ghouls and the apartment block burning, panicked he frantically searched for Rose among the wreckage but couldn't find a trace of her.

Setting off into the wastes he combed the ruins with the Filibusteros for as long as they were willing to stay when they left he moved about on his own. However despite all his efforts he couldn't find Rose, the raiders had taken her and the others and ran off into the wastes. Realising he had lost his beloved wife and all the people he had tried to protect were now either dead or slaves proved too much for Walter, combined with all the built up anguish of the past he slumped into a depression. A week later, in the midst of sobbing, he pulled out his .32 placed it to his head and pulled the trigger.


Walter is an open and friendly person to most everyone he meets, he is helpful, kind and a hard worker. Yet despite his friendly demeanor, he isn't afraid to get his hands dirty in his quest to help the wasteland's less fortunate residents. Although he doesn't enjoy killing or see a need in killing he is not afraid to put down any pesky raiders that attempt to get in his way.


Equipment? Walter never carried much, he usually was seen with a .32 Pistol and whatever various junk he had collected. These items may include but aren't limited to; spare firearms, ammunition, food, junk, spare parts, various tradeable items, etc.


His appearance is generally the same as any other ghoul encountered in the wasteland, his skin is slowly falking off and his hair is now nothing more than a few strands. He wears a wasteland doctor's uniform and can often be seen with his .32 pistol strapped to his hip.



"I've seen enough shit on this world to know I don't want anything to do with the people that caused it"
―Walter on the Wastes.
"I think I've seen enough of this world..."
―Walter's last words.


Hunger commenting on the forlorn sight of Walter wandering the wastes alone on the horizon (Bloodborne can smell depression a mile away)
"He's a real fuckin' sadsack. But then again when you've been through what he has, I guess you'd have a warped look on the world too"
―Montana Henessey on Walter.
This has been written by CaptainCain. Please contact this user before editing this article.