End Of Days - Part One
Welcome to End Of Days, a post-apocalyptic survival game. A full description of the gameplay is available in the OOC, linked here and is where you need to fill out a Character Sheet first in order to be accepted into the group and given your player stats... Then jump back in here and post your first paragraph to start the story and begin your journey on a search for whatever you want, whenever you want it.
This is a realistic game, featuring maps taken directly from Google Earth and the thought that has gone into the way the story will progress is to a fine detail... The roll based system allows seamless battle systems and adds an element of unknowing to the game! I will be updating the plot as we go, as you can literally follow any route you want, go any direction, loot any building, town, city or even dead bodies. Fight and sneak your way through the smouldering remains of the world as we know it and discover the back story to what the Characters know only as the "Event". This story will be learnt through the conversations had between survivors as they talk about the lives "pre-event".
The starting location is Elveden Farm in Thetford, North of London in the UK. The farm is abandoned and as the light dwindles, our survivors meet for the first time in the secluded safety of the old farm house.
It was broad daylight when Robert J. Munz saw the farm, he had been walking for days looking for someone. Anyone. He shifted the backpack that was hung over his shoulder as if struggling under the weight, even though there was nothing inside but the little food that he had managed to find since leaving home 4 weeks ago. Everyone that he knew was one of 'them' now, even his wife. They had been married for 2 years before he was forced to put a hollow-point between her eyes. That gun lasted all of ten minutes after he fled the house in disbelief, only to discover that his wife wasn't the only one lose her mind.
Rob shook his head and cleared his thoughts, "get to the farm", he said to himself as he shot a glance over his shoulder to see if he was alone. It had become almost habit now, he knew they were out there, he just had to make sure they didn't know that he was too. The farm gate was was fastened shut, which was a good sign, and after sliding the lock across and pushing the heavy wooden gate open he made his way to the front door. He knew better than to just assume that it was safe so on his way he stopped to pick up an axe that had been wedged into a tree stump just off the path. He was comforted by it's weight.
Dusk was falling as Graham Stone shuffled wearily toward the flickering light, it looked like an old farmhouse he thought and it was far enough from the main road to not draw attention from those... things, he couldn't bring himself to say the word. He knew though, knew that was what they were, the stuff of fiction, of movies... Ever since that damned news broadcast his world had been falling apart... Now, alone, hungry, tired. He'd been walking for hours now after being chased by a pack of them, he had been so close to that kitchen, so close to food, he could practically smell it through its wrappers... He feared the houses now though, the buildings that surrounded him... dark, dangerous husks, housing the soul-less creatures, all traces of humanity lost. They felt no cold, no thirst, just a long, insaitable hunger.
They also needed no light, content to shuffle and scrabble in the darkness, which is what drew him to the farm, they had been quickly extinguished but he had seen them, briefly, a yellow beacon against the glossy darkening sky as the sun set and cast its long shadows across the fields. Another human, another survivor, perhaps with food... water. He had to check, had to know for sure, would this stranger help him? He didn't know if he could survive another day in this nightmare....
Nothing. Not a sound. The silence was almost deafening and, despite the initial relief that the quiet brought, this made Robert feel uneasy. He tightened his grip on the axe he found on his way to the abandoned farmhouse and pushed against the front door. A piercing creak echoed through the house followed by the same harrowing silence from before, broken only by the sound of footsteps as Rob made his way into the first room of the house.
The afternoon sun flooded the room through the dirty window and after looking around, it was apparent that this building had been abandoned long before the 'event'. Dust thickly coated the few objects that were too ugly to take with the previous owners; a large sofa, a few cardboard boxes and a rocking chair were all that filled the empty floor. There was no time to look through the boxes now, the rest of the house had to be cleared first. The last thing that he wanted was to come across anything unwelcome in the house, he had been sleeping outdoors for the last four weeks for a reason.
Robert made his way through the rest of the house as quietly and as cautiously as any man could be. Each of the rooms was empty except for a few cardboard boxes here and there and a double bed upstairs. The house was safe, but for how long? Rob lay his backpack next to the sofa in the front room, he had decided that he would sleep there instead of the bed upstairs, if anything happened during the night he could get out faster this way.
It was starting to get dark outside now and a quick inspection of the boxes next to the rocking chair led Rob to find an old gas lamp and a box of matches. He quickly lit the lamp and placed it on the window sill, the flickering light cascading out into the fields behind the farmhouse.
The door creaked as he pushed against it, Graham had watched the house from the tree line for the past hour, maybe two, he wasn't sure. He hated the creak, it cut through his bones and he felt the nausea rising up as he slid through the smallest crack he could fit and slowly slid it shut behind him. The door had an old iron deadbolt, thank god it hadn't been locked, he slid it across, it grated and groaned, rust crumbling off against his cold white fingers. Turning into the house he saw a staircase leading up into the darkened landing, no... he didn't want to go there. Past the stairs the hallway led down toward the back of the house, dark wooden floors lay thick with dust and cobwebs hung across the hall, some had been swept aside he noticed, perhaps whoever turned the light on was still here. The wallpaper on the walls was duck egg blue with a ghastly floral pattern, this was a far cry from his minimalist, stylish apartment, it curled away from the wall, heavy with it's own damp... The house smelled musty and dank, like it had been empty for years. He crept down the hall, a slither of light from under the door at the end was all that lit the room, but after being in the darkness under the cloud hidden stars it was almost blinding. Every step he took, he felt the old floorboards shifting.
As his foot touched down once more, the creak echoed out through the house, Graham froze, his blood pumped and his heart was pounding, he could feel it in his cold body, could hear the pounding in his ears, the rushing sound like waves crashing. There was a shimmer of shadows moving under the door and then it was flung open, a silhouette of a man, tall and broad shouldered stood framed in the doorway, light spilled past him and Graham's eyes squinted against it. But he wasn't interested in the man, no, he was by far more interested by the small wood axe the man held aloft.
His mouth formed the words before his mind could react, he fell to his knees, exhaustion catching up with him and his hands scrabbled at the boards of the floor, the old dust sticking to his finger tips.
"please..." He whispered and then slid forward onto his face and passed out, the rushing sound roaring up to meet his brain as it fell down into the darkness, the last thing he saw was the feet edging cautiously toward him.....
A volute of dust disturbed the air in the wake of the gas lantern as Robert dragged it from the window sill. He had been looking out the window for the last hour, staring into the darkness, anxious that someone or something had followed him. He had to keep himself occupied, do something other than worry whether he was going to make it through the night.
"There has gotta be some food here", Rob said to himself as he stepped out into the hallway.
He was less concerned with the noise that he was creating now and the heavy wooden door of the front room slammed shut behind him. The floorboards creaked under his weight and he stopped for a second before heading back. He had left the axe on the window sill, a result of becoming too comfortable in the warm, flickering glow of the lantern in a building that seemed like a fortress compared to the last four weeks of sleeping in ditches and abandoned cars. Although he felt safe here, he wasn't prepared to walk around without some kind of protection...just in case.
The door to the kitchen didn't make a sound when it opened which Robert didn't like. The back door was in the kitchen and if anything decided to come into the house and through the kitchen he would prefer to know that the groan of a old door would give him plenty of time to react. He considered moving something in front of it before he went to sleep and continued into the room. Rob placed the lamp on the small, round kitchen table next to a cardboard box, full of what he assumed would be kitchen utensils so left it as it was, and turned his attention to the kitchen counters. Not one piece of food. The fridge door wasn't even attached any more and the few items that could be seen inside weren't fit for eating. A few empty cans and plastic wrappers lay scattered on the work surface but still no food.
'It's alright', he thought to himself, 'I've still got some food in my pack'.
Rob winced as he remembered the tasteless morsels of food that he had managed to scavenge before arriving at the farm. He lay the axe on the counter and made his way to the table to look through the box when he froze. Was that the front door? He snatched the axe off the counter and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the kitchen door. He didn't open it, he just listened.....
The force of his heart beating almost hurt his chest and his hands were shaking so much that he thought he was going to drop the axe.
....There it was again! this time it was from the hallway. There was definitely something out there. Rob took a deep breath and swung open the door with the axe held over his head ready to bring it down on whatever was trying sneak up on him.
Robert was stopped in his tracks, this couldn't be one of them, 'they can't talk can they?' The dim, flickering light from the lamp on the kitchen table spilled out into the hallway and illuminated the figure as it dropped to it's knees and then collapsed on the floor. Silence.
"Fuck!" Rob lowered the axe to his side and stepped back in to the kitchen to get the lamp. When he returned he lay it next to the unknown figure and rolled it over on to it's back. He was confronted by the dirty, unshaven face of another survivor, obviously passed out from exhaustion and fear. The man was probably just looking for a place to sleep and some scraps of food, like Rob was, and instead was greeted by a man wielding an axe.
Robert dragged the man in to the front room and left him in front of the fire as he went of to search for firewood.
The hot ash landing on his cheek woke him up. Graham's eyes flickered beneath his lids as he regained consciousness, he opened his mouth to groan at the pounding headache that rippled through his skull, but caught himself just in time as he remembered why he had passed out. Slowly he opened his eyes, his face was warm, with blood? No, he was on the floor on a cold, hard, hearth but there was a fire warming him slowly. The crackle of the fire relaxed him ever so slightly until he heard the faint signs of movement behind him. Staying as still as possible, he craned his eyes until the headache was unbearable but he couldn't see anything without moving his head... Then he noticed the mirror, it had fallen from the wall next to the mantle and had smashed but the remaining shards gave him a surreal, split look at the room behind him.
The room was very bare, a grotty old sofa, thread bare and stained, grey with dust sat in one corner and he thought he could see the edges of some old cardboard boxes, damp and crumpled... Then he saw the man, or three men as the mirror made it appear, that small trick of light almost made him cry, the man looked younger than he did, heavy set and tall, the man from the doorway. As the man turned away briefly, Graham turned his head toward the mirror for a better look and spotted the axe, laying next to a pile of wood at the corner of the hearth... Maybe 2 feet from his right hand, either this man was friendly or was incredibly stupid... Or neither, and Graham was on some kind of horrific menu, after 4 weeks of staggering through the countryside, houses and shops too dangerous to brave, food scarce, the few dead bodies had started to look a lot like prime sirloin. He had pushed those thoughts away quickly, vomited, and, after staring almost forlornly at the vomit which now contained his last few nutrients on the side of the road he had moved on... He used to make millions of pounds a year, this shit shouldn't be happening to him, where was the fucking army, the police, the god damn boy scouts would do!
Anger rose up inside him and his muscles started to move before his brain could formulate a plan, before he knew what had happened he was crouched on one knee, a hand on his head. As he lifted his head he froze as he realised he was staring into the end of a very real looking gun and past to the piercing eyes, staring out at him, hard but confused. His guts turned to ice and he felt his insides attempting to expel anything that was left, but there was nothing... He coughed, dryly, all anger now replaced with fear.
That's when they heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside, the sun was just rising outside and spilled it's fresh glow in under the heavy velvet curtains and his head snapped to the right toward the window, a shadow passed by, barely visible as it passed through the beam of light projected across the floorboard... The shadow, heading toward the front door!!
Patrick Had been walking for days on end when he hit the Farm it was just about sunrise and he was thirsty and hungry. "eating 7 year old MREs an't the most delectable thing to do but in this hell hole of a world it what we gotta do now." Patrick said to himself as he approached the farm house remembering what he had gone through and what he has seen in the past few weeks. At first it was just rumors about the attacks no one ever took it seriously well expect him and his people the ones who are always ready when society crumbles and the first to attempt to rebuild a world out of the ashes but no one could have prepared for this the biters came fast one day he just woke up to see a large line of people at his door men trying to purchase MRE survival equipment camping items and guns after he went out of stock people just camped outside hopping that Patrick would have more supplies but their hopes where false one night Patrick just up and left them as far as he knows they are all either still camping their or have been a meal for the biters. But that don't matter now what does matter is self preservation and keeping up the will to survive in this hell hole we call home.
He Approached the farm house in his hand was survival hatchet tediously sharpened to a razor's edge kneel down by the field he watched the windows a fire blazed inside and he could see a shadowy figure move about in the parlor getting up from his concealed position Patrick walked onto the porn as stealthily as possible and knocked on the door yelling out to it's occupants "You Alive in there? I don't want no trouble you just looking for a place to stay for the night been on the road for weeks now!"
The intruder was in front of the fireplace now, appearing lifeless other than the gentle rise and fall of his sternum that let Robert know the man was still alive. Rob had received quite a scare and was still trying to recover from the shock after he lay the survivor on the hearth. He fell on to the dusty old sofa and let out a heavy sigh, reached over to his backpack and opened it. He removed the stale loaf of bread and energy bars he had been keeping for when he really needed them and placed them on the floor by his feet. A bottle of Evian water followed, there wasn't much left in it but he continued to open it and took a mouthful. The water helped, his mouth was dry from the drama and frantic
breathing from the prior event.
Rob let the bag fall to the floor as he reached for the loaf of bread and there was an unusual thud as it hit. He couldn't remember carrying anything else, his exploits before today hadn't proved worth-while. He picked the backpack up again and reached inside. His fingers met a cold metal object and upon pulling it out of the bag his memory kicked in...
...Her name was Fiona, and she was beautiful. They had been married for two years before the 'event' changed everything. Rob arrived home late from a night shift one night, the clock read exactly 05:36 when he got in, and he threw the handgun that he had wrestled from a youths hands on to his marital bed. Fiona wasn't in it which was unusual,maybe she was staying at her sisters. It was a Browning Hi-Power 9mm, semi-automatic, handgun, God knows where the kid got it from. Rob was meant to hand it in to the evidence team when he got back to the station but was in such a rush to get back home that i remained in his backpack until he got home. He had planned to take it first thing in the morning.
Then, the en-suite bathroom door flew open and his wife came reaching out, clawing and grasping at Rob's face.
"What the fuck!? Fiona! What are you doing!?" Rob struggled against her and pushed her to the ground. She was breathing heavily and making strange sounds. She turned to face him and and he noticed that her bottom lip was missing, it looked like she had eaten it off herself with the amount of blood that covered her.
"What...What's going on!?" she charged at him again, throwing him backwards onto the bed. She was trying to kill him. He reached across the bed and secured the gun he had thrown there earlier, raised it to his beloved wife's head and squeezed the trigger...
...Rob stood up with the gun in his hand, it was empty now, maybe he kept it in case he came across any bullets for it. He had forgotten that he had it, maybe he had pushed it's existence to the back of his mind along with the memories that it brought with it.
In the corner of his eye he saw the survivor get to his knees and without any hesitation Robert raised the gun to the man's head. How would he know it wasn't loaded.
Then he heard someone, or something, moving around outside. A shiver gripped his spine.
"You Alive in there? I don't want no trouble, just looking for a place to stay for the night. I've been on the road for weeks now!"
"You Alive in there? I don't want no trouble, just looking for a place to stay for the night. I've been on the road for weeks now!"
The voice rang out, sharp contrast against the tense silence in the room, Graham's eyes shot back to the man, who had lowered the gun a few inches... In a silent nod all that need to be said was said, we are together, we are survivors. Graham shifted toward the axe and picked it up, as he turned back the other man was tucking the gun into a grubby pack, he opened his mouth to question him but the man merely took the axe from his shaking grip. His eyes were cold and withdrawn, Graham's outstretched hand slowly fell to his side and he backed away to the hearth. His new companion turned back toward the door and hallway beyond, there was another thump on the door... Then another.
"Alright!" The man shouted, he turned quickly to Graham, his voice low and fast.
"I'm Robert, we are old friends, got it?"
Graham nodded... "Graham."
Robert nodded slowly and turned back to the hallway, stepping out into the corridor he reached out to the dead bolt, his hand paused for a moment then slowly drew the long iron bolt back through its slot. Stepping backward into the room Graham stared past his shoulder at the front door as it started to open, dirty nails on the ends of pale gripping fingers appeared around the edge of the wood and pushed against the heavy boards. The door edged further open and a face started to appear around it's edge, the face was dirty and a pair of bright green, wary eyes stared out through thick eyebrows, scruffy dark auburn hair ended in disheveled bangs across the man's sweat glistened forehead, several weeks of beard sat around a pair of thin lips... The man looked as nervous as the other two men did, his eyes darting between Robert and Graham...
"Name's Patrick" he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly in a clearly parched throat, a hint of an Irish accent on his tongue. "Just lookin' for food."
Robert stared for a moment, flinching at the mention of food. Graham's stomach rumbled, it seemed like the loudest thing in the world. Eventually Robert spoke up.
"There's nothing here... Not a scrap, I'm sorry"
The axe now hung limply at his side, the stranger bowed his head in a defeated nod, stepped forward and pushed the door shut behind him...
"A regular party here ain't we?" He chuckled... It made Graham uncomfortable.