“As long as the wasteland gets clean waters, I will stands here. Minimini in hand.”
Horace Wesson
Biographical information
Date of birth

May 18th, 2258 (23)

Physical description







Paladin Horace Wesson (born May 18th, 2258), known as "Ol'Pal" by wastelanders, is a Brotherhood of Steel Paladin stationed in the Capital Wasteland in 2281, and is tasked as one of the defenders of the Project Purity water purification project.

He lives life day to day and has a borderline depressing, existential outlook on wastelandic life. Luckily, a sense of duty keeps him in line, and patriotic.


Born in a dilapidated hideaway within the ruins of a pre-war Metro system, known then as "Foggy Bottom," Wesson was brought into a world of little kindness. The food was scarce, either stolen from the land or bargained from traders; the shelter was decaying, the ceiling constantly caving in and flooding was always apparent; and most importantly, the water had a slew of viruses, was profoundly radiated, and was nonpotable. Life was meek; his childhood was spent huddling in a large coffin, which could have at any moment buried him and his family. Sixteen years of suffering would ensue, and Wesson would lose his mother, Danielle, to legionnaires' disease.

Caravan Guard

At sixteen he ventured from the darkness of his home and into the light of the wasteland. With his mother gone and no father in his life, he no longer had a connection to Foggy Bottom station and decided to try his luck on the surface. In truth, he had no plan or motive for leaving the "safety" of the metro tunnels, he just did not want to spend the rest of his years in underwater squander and sickness. Lady luck must have been watching over him, as the second he stepped into the light and adjusted his eyes, he was face-to-face with a scavenging trader known as Saint Cervenak. A seller of junk and other miscellaneous goodies, Cervenak was going to dig through the station looking for untapped loot.

With the intelligence of a simpleton, Wesson tried to ask the man for food for nothing. The trader eventually worked out a neat deal to benefit them both: Wesson would guard the trader and in turn, would be allowed some food and dirty water for sustenance. Jumping at the deal, he took the role in earnest and would try his best to look menacing despite his age and inexperience. The majority of the time he walked around with an empty R91 assault rifle which was almost bigger than him, which was just for show of course. If any real trouble occurred, and his facade was broken, he would have had to rely on a dingy 10mm pistol, though luckily enough for him it never came to that.

Five months he spent on the road as an unpaid but nicely fed guard alongside two other caravan guards, Joel and Masters. The three grew fond of each other, especially since Wesson had a homely attitude, and they would share the same bedroll at night. Unfortunately, the caravan was raided and Masters had his head split cranium to the neck by a sword fashioned out of rebar. Joel would soon retire and take a new profession and he and Wesson would never meet again.

Brotherhood Initiate

After serving as a caravan guard, Brahmin hearder, and pack mule for a year and three months, all uncompensated, Cervenak would expand his trading route and eventually cross paths with a Brotherhood of Steel patrol. Absolutely amazed by the knights in shining armor. TBD



Wesson has an intense sense of allergies and illnesses, and it is not uncommon for a waterfall to form under his nose whenever he gets a sniff of the pure wastelandic air. His hypersensitivities are so bad that he continuously clogs his filtration systems in his T-45d power armor helmet, so he rarely wears it unless he is in a combative situation or a traditional setting. To cope with the sheer amount of mucus that comes from every orifice, he has a plethora of handkerchiefs, rags, towelettes, and more materials shoved away in his suit to stave the flow of slime. Always hanged around his neck is a shemagh which he uses to brush the fluids from his face. Due to an odd mutation within him, garnered from years of drinking sewer water, Wesson cannot drink purified water. If he does, he vomits uncontrollably as his body will not accept the substance. This defect, however, is perfect for his line of work, guarding and sorting the Aqua Pura bottles, as it is assured that he will never take the odd swig.

Work Ethic

“I works all day an just happy with a cigy. Haha! Stil more works to do.”

A rare breed of man, he loves to work and absolutely hates being in a state of laziness or boredom. Despite being of a high rank in the Brotherhood of Steel, Wesson never shies away from menial chores fit for a lesser rank. Always up at early hours doing something, be it unremunerative jobs like sweeping, cleaning, or his favorite, Mirelurker culling, Wesson always finds something to do with his time. Duties which an initiate would sulk at, Wesson would praise. The reason for his work ethic can be deduced to a case of mental illness, as he rarely ever feels tiredness or fatigue and is always in a keen spirit for working.


“Kiss my cook! What you want Miremire or roastroach?”
For sustenance, Wesson can eat almost anything put in front of him. WIth his durable and bland palette, forged from years of eating metro debris and radroaches, he can happily survive on a handful of rations and the occasional indulgence of his favorite dish: hatchling Mirelurk cakes. Furthermore, every so often and when the time is right or when a gathering or celebration occurs, Wesson, in a full set of T-45d, is usually the culinarian working the grill and oven.