|Date of birth:||Estimates vary|
|Date of death:||N/A|
Doctor Crowley, a man whose taken it upon himself to shroud his self in mystery. An enigma if there ever was one, he shows a large and versatile intelligence, while having a strange fascination with the cults and various clans of the waste. His political ideology and fashion sense are known to change at a drop of the hat, and he's all too willing to go rough-riding with the more deranged and dangerous members of the wasteland, often bringing his less wild compatriots along for the ride at their own expense.
Rumored to have been born up north (presumably, New Jersey), Crowley has been known to be fond of fabricating his earlier years. Tales range from him hailing from Mexico, to having crossed a great ocean to reach here from his native home, but his tales typically contained numerous half-truths. The story he's least fond of telling, and what can be presumed to be closest to the truth, is one of humble origins. Growing up, his father and mother had been pharmacists, and dealt in the construction (and occasional consumption) of dangerous post-war chems. The town's citizens had for the most part embraced his parent's drug operation, and only he and the town's only tribal where drug clean.
He grew tired of the town, and was disappointed by the constant drug use around him. Being the only sober one in a town filled with chem addicts depressed him, and he spent most of his life feeling like an outcast. He ignored his father's teachings on the drug-trade, intent on leaving town once he reached a reasonable age.
He found a friend in the tribal, some fifteen years his senior. They rarely spoke, but found an understanding in each other. When the tribal wasn't out in the wilderness or hunting, he was constantly in prayer. Crowley converted to his religion, abandoning his parents basic atheistic roots in favor of the structure coming from the tribal new-gods. As far as the future doctor could tell, the religion was a close 50-50 mix of Buddhism and what felt like a blend of native-American customs.
He abandoned his home soon after, leaving for what could only be described to him as the great unknown. He traveled all across the eastern coast, adventuring, picking up different tools of the trade, and in his own words "searching for a place that feels right." He wandered for years on end, picking up various tidbits of knowledge and expertise, and the nickname of doctor finally being stuck onto him. He completely abandoned his first name, favoring the doctor as a fresh start for a fresh land.
The small towns he typically inhabited where in constant danger, and as such, it was typical of him to be found defending the town with the rest of it's inhabitants. After a particularly scary such incident which he has trouble recalling to this day, he began to move west, after hearing rumors of civilization somewhere in the wasteland.
Since settling himself in Texas, he's found himself drawn to the surrounding area. He abandoned his intents to go any further west, and has been traveling nonstop since. He's used his vast, if contradictory, knowledge of tribal medicine when needed to support himself, and has been known to give a lecture on the strengths and health benefits when asked.
Tall, gaunt, thin, his constant wandering has lead him to rarely keep any weight gained, and his lack of a constant cash flow keeps him from having any meals that won't cause an influx of his daily calorie count. His hair is graying, and his face comes off as roughly angular. Crowley is around 6'1, and is surprisingly quick on his feet. He's fond of wearing pre-war suits, but he has trouble finding one's that fit him, so he's typically seen wearing standard wasteland garb. T-shirts, jackets with the sleeves partially sliced off, and blue jeans.
Crowley is a simple man, and he has made surprisingly few enemies. He carries a sawed off pump action shotgun slung over his shoulder, and Chinese pistol strapped to his side. He toys with various blades, big and small, but due to poor upkeep they're constantly breaking, so you rarely see him with the same knife for long.