Nobody has any clue how much luxury we lived in 60 years ago. At least, not if you're living in those walled cities the big corporations set up. Oh, and those big space stations up in the sky too. Cancer was curable, robots became a part of our lives, and we could also become animal people. We had no clue how lucky we were, up until that particle collider in Switzerland blew up in 2017.
After that, our lives that we took for granted fell apart as the world got fucked up. Order collapsed and anarchy ran free as the world changed. Some places ended up becoming like another planet, while people and animals got mutated from the strange shit going on. Some lucky people were able to live in the walled cities and space stations when it happened, But I don't envy them. They can live their pampered lives outside the new world for all that I care.
Yeah, maybe things are a tiny bit better than right after shit went down, but things aren't going to go back to the way they were before any time soon. Especially since the rich folk in the walled cities and in space don't really give that much of a rat's ass about us either.
1. Play nice and be nice. Common rules for the RP Guild and Casual RP forum still apply here too.
2. Besides a setting in post-apocalyptic Alberta in 2077, 60 years after a catastrophic scientific accident, and inspired by Command and Conquer's Tiberium universe, STALKER, Fallout, and The Last of Us, I'm still making the story up as we go along. Please let me know if you want to introduce anything major along the lines of factions, NPC characters, locations, backstory, creatures, etc.
3. Regarding the moreaus, the ones you can play are all mammalian based. This means that you wouldn't be able to play bird or reptile moreaus for example, but I do have some other rules. For one, I've allowed for hybrids to be created between moreaus of species in the same mammalian order, like Carnivora (canines, felines, etc.) for example. This means you could have a hybrid cat-dog moreau if you wanted, for example. Also remember that moreaus share a vast majority of their anatomy with regular humans, feet, hands, and everything, plus they identify more as sentient beings than animals. EDIT: Sadly, I will not be allowing any more special characters, so this means you'll just have to be a regular human/moreau, rather than letting everyone be special and making uniqueness lose its charm. Sorry.
4. Let me go over your character sheet with you before I accept it. I want things to fit in smoothly with what's been established.
5. If you've been inactive in the RP for a week, I'll be puppeting your character. I'll give you a days' warning before, however.
6. The rules might be updated as we go along, so be warned.
7. Have fun!
(3 spots open)
Harold (Game Master)
Name: Harold Lovell
Age: 81 (claims mid-20s when needed)
Species/Ethnicity: Moreau, lion-cougar mix
Height/Weight: 6'0"/175 lbs.
Occupation: Weapons dealer
-Action Mobil Desert Challenger motor home
-C1A1 rifle, 7.62x51mm NATO, w/ sling
-S&W Model 29 revolver, .44 Magnum, w/ holster
-27 different firearms for sale
-At least 200 rounds each of various types of ammunition
-A couple hundred dollars in cash
-A large backpack for extended hunting and scavenging incursions
-Enough food, water, and supplies in the motor home to last 1 week
Current Residence: In his above-mentioned motor home, travelling post-apocalyptic Alberta to sell guns
Clothes: black turtleneck sweater, dull dark green utility vest, olive cargo pants, brown leather hiking boots
Strengths: A capable survivor, hunter, and scavenger; knows how to fix things and take them apart; an adept marksman
Weaknesses: Not much of a people person; often ends up pissing off powerful figures and getting into bad situations
Family/Friends: Anna, pre-apocalypse girlfriend, arctic fox moreau, status unknown to Harold ; human family members, now deceased
Bio/History: Oh, where the hell do I start... Alright, so lemme tell you something I don't tell most others. I'm old. As in, 'I lived before the apocalypse' old. Okay, yeah, I look like I'm in my mid-20s, but I still remember what things were like 60 years ago. We took shit for granted, and it bit us in the ass hard once that particle collider in Switzerland exploded in 2017. I used to live in Calgary. Had myself a girlfriend, furfolk like me, we thought about getting married, and then *phwoop*, gone. The riots, the climate changes, all that shit. 4 years later, I find myself in a place that used to be a military base, just northwest of Medicine Hat, turned into what was basically an alien world. I was on the verge of death, but I ended up living long enough there to find something that gave me quasi-immortality. As in I couldn't age any longer, even though I was still killable, and I still very much am. Then it's a long story going become tough and mean as nails after that, but I'm now a weapons dealer. Been as far as Whitehorse, Vancouver, and Winnipeg. Other than that, I'm just a mean old bastard that doesn't look or sound like it. It's enough to make me forget sometimes that I'm so damn old, heh heh...
Species/Ethnicity: My character is a moreau, and her species is an arctic fox.
Height/Weight: 130Ibs 5'"8
Occupation: Catherine now has the job of a hooker, being bought by a pimp who employs her services to the Hylton. This building is a type of Inn and brothel-bar combination.
Possessions: Used to have a shotgun with scope, and a crossbow with multiple bolts. She was trained to use many other hunting implements, such as scent elimination powders, and decoys.
Current Residence: She lives in the Hylton.
Physical Appearance: Short hair that she wears loosely to her neck, white soft fur with a thick lining for the cold months, and a bushy tail that sheds fur when she's stressed.
Clothes: Her apparel is chosen by her pimp, who likes her to wear enticingly revealing clothes. Not much is left to the imagination for wandering eyes or hands, when she puts on her morning business outfit. Usually a tight, see-through shawl over her chest, and a button-less skort[shorts+skirt] for bottoms.
Strengths: not a mindless slut, intelligent, a good girl, and very outgoing.
Weaknesses: Emotionally unstable, filled with despair.
Family/Friends: My character has no friends, and no living relatives. Her only sister Anastasia, committed suicide, leaving her with only the most painful of memories to be torn over.
Bio/History: I was born in Fairbanks, Alaska in the early 2050s, and have descended from the line of furry refugees in Russia. We used to be a type of people that were shunned, or killed because of what we were. It has never been easy being a moreau, and this thought weighs heavily in my mind. I used to be an adventurer, explorer, and traveler. However, this changed because i went on an expedition into Alberta, where I was captured and sold into prostitution. This was less than a year before April 2077. I always wish for my old life back, and think often of how my life could have went, if i didn't go on my last expedition. My life is meaningless now, filled with nothing more than nights of molested agony, and days full of harsh drinks, or even more harsh customers. If my life was different, then i would be out in the undiscovered world, enjoying my time amongst the thrills of nature. But until the day i cease to be of use to my pimp, my being shall revolve around pleasing whoever enters my door in the Hylton.
Name: Elric Henderson
Species/Ethnicity: Jefferson Ground Sloth Moreau
Height/Weight: 8'3" and roughly 530 pounds.
Occupation: Lumberjack. Well, that's what people assume he does. Whenever he does come down out of the forest, he always has wood with him. Sells it too.
-Custom handled wood axe. It has a thicker handle to account for his size.
-Machete, same handle situation.
-Smith and Wessen 500, 200 rounds total, 20 on him at a time.
-Marlin 1895 GBL hunting rifle, 100 rounds (.700 caliber), 10 rounds on him at a time.
-Old battered Jeep. It's been modified to accommodate his huge bulk.
Current Residence: He's down in the Cypress Hills. On the outskirts of the forest. There are "No Trespassing" Signs, so his land is clear.
Physical Appearance: Elric is massive, not only in height, but in thickness. He's built like an old tree trunk and just as tough. All around, he's well muscled and in physically excellent shape despite his age. One of his eyes have long since been replaced by cybernetics, apparently ripped out, if the scar is any indication. His dark-brown fur is long and coarse, providing an irritation in the summer months, but decent warmth in the winter. Perhaps the most noticeable things about him are his claws. At each last joint on a finger is a long claw roughly five inches long. These are quite sharp and more than capable of dealing nasty wounds. There are claws on his feet as well, but those are much smaller.
Clothes: Cargo pants, heavy hooded jacket, gloves, and boots, all slash-resistant. He only wears the jacket when it's stormin' (wet fur is not fun) and the gloves when he needs to hide his claws.
-In terms of raw physical power and endurance, Elric is likely in a league of his own.
-Combine his strength with his claws, and he could probably cleave through steel.
-He can be pants-shittingly terrifying when he wants to be, and always when he's mad.
-He's dealt with scientists and politicians for several years so he knows when he's being fed bullshit. Nor does he like being fed bullshit.
-His strength, size, and claws means that he does poorly with high-precision tasks.
-He's not terribly fast. He can be outran (But not necessarily outlasted)
-Nor is he agile. He's built like a brick wall and about as good at dodging.
-Doors are not built for people his size. Nor are most things for that matter.
-Nor is most clothing made with claws like this in mind.
Family/Friends: No remaining family that he knows of. As he prefers solitude, friends aren't part of his life either.
Bio/History: Gruh, ya folks are all the same. Ya always wanna hear about me, about why I'm so big, about why I have claws, about why I just plain don't look like any other moreau. Fine, I'll tell ya. I'm not. I'm a Jefferson Ground Sloth moreau and the only one there is. I was an experiment, see? Must've been 40 or so years ago now when I finally got out. But yuh, I was a labrat. Started before the catacylsm, was volunteered for a special moreau procedure. Some lab had recently managed to extract the genetic material of the Ground Sloth from the remains and I was to be their test subject. Technically went off without a hitch, though the claws weren't expected. Seems that the DNA back then came with a few quirks that aren't there nowadays.
Spent a cuple ov' years in that lab, doin' tests, trying to bargain with scientists and politicial backers alike to get my arse back into the world. Never could get out. Was a dull, dull life, glad I ain't goin' back. When the big bang ovah in Europe happened, they cryo'd me as a means of preventin' the loss ov their work. Didn't care fur mah life, just their work. Well, it worked, though the thing ran outta juice eventually. That was when I woke up in this world. I uhdapted to this land and life, but I prefur mah peace. Even in moreau territory, they stare and mutter. So I travelled to Canuhda. Found a nice lil' forest and set up home there. It's nice and quiet, which I like.
I've told yuh mah story, so git!
Name: Aiyanna Keezheekoni (Ever blooming, burning fire)
Species/Ethnicity: Moreau, White Tiger/Wolf
Height/Weight: 7'5, 250lb
Occupation: Tribal Huntswoman
Possessions: Not many possessions. Maybe a week worth of water and food and regular old shotgun that is slung on her back. Has a strong spear that she always has in her hand along with her tribal necklace and tiara.
Current Residence: She lives in a remote abandoned small town with the rest of her tribe. Though she prepares to make her pilgrimage into being a warrior and wander the wastelands.
Physical Appearance: Most in the picture above, tribal rags, her fur protecting most of her, with blue eyes,. Has very fluffy fur, a muscular build.
Clothes: Brown dirty rags to cover the chest and waist.
Strengths: Powerful, fast, a amazing survivor and hunter, a upfront close and personal fighter. Best not to let her get to close. A master at using her spear, skilled with her fists and is skilled with a bow and arrow.
Weaknesses: Her white fur makes her stand out in a lot of places in the wasteland, making it hard to sneak up on a enemy. She more or less, has little knowledge on how to use a gun, despite having one, making her have a disadvantage in a range battle. Her brute honesty often gets her into trouble as well.
Family/Friends: Her tribe is her family. Her parents died of tainted water and food, but she keeps going for the tribe. She had a younger sister named Ominotago Ayasha (beautiful voice, little one) who went early on her pilgrimage into adulthood and had never returned.
Bio/History: I live my life with my tribe, for my tribe and for the damaged spirits that rest in the earth. Those who arm themselves with hate and death do not and will not understand my meaning. Since I was born, I had learned the ways of my tribe, the ways to fight, and the ways of the spirits.
Though I do not know what has happened before to cause the land's heart to break, I know the spirits of this earth is recovering. Such foolish people can not make them bend, cannot make them kneel like they so wish. Even now, the spirits have started to show their life in green, the warm glow above to keep the devil of cold a bay, and the moon's soft glow to shine away the walls of darkness.
We believe that it is our responsibility to respect these spirits, for we need their gifts of life. Those who carry the death of man have come from time to time. Some wish to fight, and we fight. Though we are not foolish, we know those tainted by the spirit of greed. We use our numbers and surprise attacks to finish those who dare come upon our land.
Yet those who offer peace, we make trade. Many wish for our resources that we have been gifted by the spirits, and they offer the death of man to us, as well as clothes. We take what might be of use, even I obtained a death of man. It is a powerful one, one to show that I am a warrior and it fits. I mostly did it because this outsider was so hungry, that I felt sorry for them. I earned other trophies, like my tiara. To earn such trades we wish, every individual must obtain a worthy item to exchange.
I went and hunted some rabbits for my trade. I even caught a boar for my death of man, they ate well that night.
But, my culture is too confusing for those who listen to this, if they care.
Now more importantly, a tribesman is allowed to go on a pilgrimage at any age to become a full grown adult. A warrior called Geronimo and are considered the most respected of the tribe. It is no requirement, but those who succeed earn respect and honor. Individuals must travel on their own, through the land to find something of great value, something unknown to the tribe but useful.
My little sister left at fifteen, she wanted to prove herself that she did not live amongst my shadow... And she has not returned. I had not went on my journey, for I wished to take care of my sister but now... I believe I will begin my journey.
Both for my tribe, and for my little sister.
Carlos Alejandro Méndez Ramírez
- Smith & Wesson Model 29-7 Revolver, with a total of 19 bullets, all except the six chambered places on a pouch on his belt.
- Sturdy survival belt, which he uses to hang useful stuff from, for easy and quick access.
- A backpack with a 20 lbs capacity, where he holds:
- A first aid kit.
- Basic grooming items.
- A week's worth of food given he rations it wisely.
- Two 1-liter capacity plastic bottles, at the moment both of them filled with water.
- One magazine featuring explicit adult material.
- A cheap and not very stylish change of clothes.
- A sketchbook and two pencils.
- A box cuter.
Redcliff, Latin-American part of the settlement.
(One on each hand.)
(Kind of bleached and with a patch on the left knee.)
Oh kid, oh son, oh boy, oh child! You really askin' me what my skills are? Boy, I'll blow your mind!
- First, you gotta know I'm a special dude, not just ANY kind of dude you'd encounter out there in the desolate wastes! Laura don't call me "Disparo Rapido" for no- Uh, scratch that. Hehe... Heh... My accuracy is exceptional, though I've never held a rifle in my hands, I'm proficient at using my revolver. Sure, the revolver has its limits, but there ain't nothin' like a trusty ol' six-shooter resting in your holster when you're in a scum-filled inn.
- Second, I like to eat, therefore I've learn about food, and it has given me knowledge needed to cook things. Given the right ingredients, I can make efficient meals.
- Boy, I fancy myself a dancer! Though some would call that... 'Weird', I call it smart! It gives you some agility useful when jumping from cover to cover. I heard my mother was a gymnast, so that might be why I enjoy dancing so much.
- I am an honest man, so honest I'm like a lie detector!
- Like any good deputy, my friend, I know how to break into houses! Now, getting out of them... That's a little detail I might not think of beforehand.
- I can hold my own in a fist fight rather well, direct result of being raised by a tough bastard.
- Oh boy, am I one determined bean.
I've no weakness, what are your talkin' abou- *Suddenly steps on a banana peel and falls, knocking over a huge pile of dishes and silverware onto the floor, which made obnoxious noises*
- Heheh... I'm not very silent. *Stands up, grunting*
- Did someone say acting? No? GOOD! Because I can't act for my life!
- Mules have nothin' on me, I can beat them in a stubbornness championship.
- Lies? White Lies? Who even invented those things? Better to just out with the truth, huh? Unless the situation demands a lie, otherwise you might end up as Swiss Cheese...
Leandro Méndez, Father, 81 years old, Alive and Retired: A strong man, who, after traveling thousands of miles in the decades following the apocalypse, decided to establish himself in his current home, where he met a woman, got married, and had two children. Decided, strong-headed and smart, Leandro used to be a great adventurer back in the 'Real Wild West' days of the apocalypse, as he refers to them. He keeps his mind even in his old age, and refuses to let 'The Old Lady' put her hands on him.
Lisa Ramírez de Méndez, Mother, 77 years old, Missing: A kind, yet somewhat energetic woman, Lisa had been a gymnast in her youth, which gave her the agility and willpower to survive through the end of days as she knew it, even after the death of her parents and the loss of her brother. She has been missing for fifteen years, having disappeared one night in the middle of a raider attack.
Tito Méndez, Little Brother, 21 years old, Alive and Active: A reckless young man, who even with his many faults, manages to have some charisma to others. He's always had a silver tongue and has been able to talk his way out of sticky situations more than once. His eloquence landed him work as his town's diplomatic envoy, even though he's largely inexperienced in the field.
Laura Rincón, The Sheriff's Chief Deputy, 27 years old, Alive and Active: A female who has always supported Carlos in everything he chooses to do, she lends him a hand whenever she's able to. Their relationship has always been akin to a sibling's relationship, though it has had their... Wild moments.
So, you wanna know my story, huh?
Well, it all began twenty-eight years and two months ago... A man, old yet extremely stubborn, finally married to a woman after years of fooling around. That same night, I escaped my father's body.
Yeah, yeah, I know that might be more graphic than necessary, but hey! You're the one who's imagining that. Anyway, I was born in this same town, and guess what? I was also raised here! I made a friend nearly as soon as I could walk, and her name is Laura, she and I are very close. Very, very close. So don't mess with her unless you want to wake up with a bullet between your eyes, alright?
You can figure out things by yourself from there, ain't much to tell, honest. I grew up, my brother was born -damn, that old man had some endurance, I tell ya- and after some really basic education, I started working for the Sheriff, same as Laura.
There came a day when the Sheriff gave us two choices. We would become official assistants of his in either one, but we'd be different. Laura chose to be tied down to our town, I chose to be free. You ask what I mean by 'free'? Well, I mean 'free' as in being able to wander off, out and about, doing the right thing and all that stuff while telling good fellas about our li'l town. See, we need more settlers, because truth it, we ain't gonna make it without new blood. My father might have been one horny bastard, but with my mother's disappearance, he lost his supernatural powers. Who knows? I might have dozens of brothers and sisters if mom hadn't been suddenly kidnapped!
Oh, right... I didn't tell you about what happened with mother, did I? Well, none of your business, jerk. Wait, you tellin' me you'll give me a bullet for tellin' ya? Oh hell yeah! Well, one night raiders attacked us, she disappeared in the middle of the fight. No one knows what happened, she just vanished. There, happy? Now gimme my bullet, gonna use it to blow out some scum's brains out.
Name: Elliot Grayson
Species/Ethnicity: Vulpine Moreau
Occupation: Private detective in the day, a bloody drunk in the night.
-An old Crown Victorian car with a shattered passenger side window and a missing right tire. (Usually walks now a days)
-Gas mask and Goggles (In appearance picture)
-Three glass bottles of aged alcohol (the labels torn off)
- A box of shotgun shells holding 20 Buckshot rounds
- A empty cardboard box labeled "12 GAUGE BUCKSHOT"
- A plastic baggie holding 4 12 gauge Slug Rounds
-Benellli M3 Super 90 Shotgun with bandoleer (Wears the bandoleer across the right shoulder to left waist)
[Bandoleer holds 8 Buckshot round, the rest of it's pockets are empty.]
-Canteen of Water
-And an old black book that fits in his pockets
Current Residence: The Hat
Clothes: Black Cargo BDUs, Tattered Gray Hooded Jacket, A pair of tattered white sneakers, finger-less gloves
Strengths: Keen senses including "6th sense awareness" (The sense of knowing when trouble might spring out), Quick and agile along with a very observing eye.
Weaknesses: His speed is his strength but he isn't entirely strong. If he gets caught he could easily be overpowered due to many factors but mainly due to his 'average' strength. Another weakness is his tendency to say things when drunk that can vary from inappropriate language to the leaking of secrets. He also tends to get in trouble while drunk.(Usually getting smacked around by a woman)
Family/Friends: He has siblings but forgot about them... His only 'family' seems to be his liquor right now.
Bio/History: Eh? Me? Aii! Where do I start? Well.. It was alright I guess. I was a kid! Did some dumb things, had some fun, ya know? The usual kid stuff. Every week I'd go to my pa when he isn't teaching me anything and he would tell me about the old days. For some reason he'd get all teary about it... Guess some stuff he really missed. Ever since I was probably seven I wondered what he locked up in his locker in the back. One day when I hit... I believe 15 he showed me, boy did he show me. The man took out a series of books talking about 'law and order' and all that ancient "Utopian balance of justice." Then that is where my life went into a wild roller coaster ride. Almost everyone in the fam' was soo eager to learn about finding bad guys for good guys. Funny thing was, walk out the door there were bad guys everywhere.
On a cold night we woke up to gunfire, me and my siblings and ran to the living room to see pa right there with a shotgun, bleedin' allover the place. We were scared, we didn't know what to do except follow his words when he told us to come closer to him. I tried to put pressure on where he was bleedin' but he made me stop, every time I'd try to help him he would strike me away as if wanting to die. Every word the man said was a word we clung on to in his ending. He said "Hey kids.. Don't be crying over that pap got shot, ya hear? Listen closely to what I say... The road y'all are going down is a long one but, don't go too fast so you can see all the things you walk past. You'll walk pass all kinds of trouble... But like everything you pass you can keep on walkin'. I don't want heroes my kids, all I want from y'all is to be satisfied with what you do. But if you wanna be a hero you go and do that... Just be what you want for your.. Pap." I remember him coughing and resting his hands on his lap, looking at each o' our faces before saying one last thing. "Do all that for me, I know you can." And then like a light bulb that you forgot to replace at the trader's market... He slowly went out.
Now I know what y'all thinking and-... Maybe I ain't made the best choices ever since then. Sometimes I hope Pa is looking at the other kids not at me. I got his gun and one o' his books, went out a year later, used the skills he gave me for work... Maybe shot a few folks here and there and never asked questions. Its what I have to do in order to stay alive though despite the fact I know it wouldn't be what my pap had raised me to be.
Name: Elizabeth Scott
race: Human, White
Height/Weight: 6' 3"
Possessions: Her clothes.
Residence: I was hoping she could have been recently taken captive by slavers and awaiting being sold to the highest bidder.
Physical appearance: She has long black hair that she usually keeps tied up in a bun for practical purposes, she has is slim but muscular. Extremely fit, and has dark purple eyes that unnerve most people she comes across. medium bust.
Clothes: she wears a white tank top and military breifs. she is often seen wearing a back pack to carry supplies she comes accross in her travels. in over top of her tank top she wears a black hoodie with a skull and cross bone insignia on its breast. She tries to conceal her face by keeping the hood up at all times. She wears military boots and fingerless combat gloves.
Strengths: agile, strong and good at close combat. She has extensive demolitions knowledge, and is capable of understanding low level to medium level coding and hacking.
Weaknesses: She has absolutely no aim and cannot rely at all on longer ranged weaponry. She is deathly afraid of spiders. and does not understand much about gun maintenance. She finds it extremely hard to trust others.
Family/Friends: Her entire Family was killed during a raid 23 years ago. They were living a simple life by the lake when raiders attacked them and killed her brother father and mother. She and her twin sister were seperated. She try's to avoid people, and has come to rely on herself more than others. She has a younger twin sister named Sally, they were separated during the raid, and have been trying to find each other ever since.
Bio: "My name is Elizabeth Scott. To any one who is listening. This may be my last recording, if know one has tampered with it the rest of the recordings can be found in the safe under my desk. The key combination is my birthday. 0921. September , day 21..." ~pause~ " I am sorry, I got.. lost in thought.. This message is to anyone who might know the location of my sister. Her name is Sally Scott. She is 5'9" with beautiful Golden hair and soft blue eyes. She got them from her father." ~Long pause, muffed cries can be heard~ "Again, to my sister, if you are hearing this. Please remember I love you. They have come for me. They are at the door now and I will only have a few more moments with you. Remember when we were kids, back before all of this shit? Remember the tire swing? The cottage by the lake? Mother's baking? Father's fishing trips? You must remember it my sister. That memory is with you now.. I might be dieing here Sis. If you find this promise me one thing. you won't come after me." ~pause~ "This is Elizabeth Scott... signing off.."
Name: Hemlock of Witchhazel
Species/Ethnicity: Human, North European descent
Height/Weight: 5.9 feet, 167 pounds
Occupation: Jack of dem trades, doubling as a fortuneteller and engineer.
*Bolt hunting rifle, a box of accompanying ammo
*x2 Hunting knives kept at her belt
*An elder futhark rune-set inscribed on bear bones
A small deerskin backpack containing;
* A small wooden flute
* Water sack and five days worth of dry meat
* 1 change of basic clothes
* A few rabbit skins
Current Residence: None of permanence.
Physical Appearance: Hemlock is a young female but look enough like a guy to be mistaken for one. She's tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in lean muscle. Her skin is sun-skinned despite caucasian descent, and her brightly blond hair kept short enough to scarcely go past her ears. She'd look feminine enough if she kept her hair long, but alas, her jawline is somewhat broad and her hands rugged enough.
She have a few 'scarification tattoos' of pale and elevated skin on her back and shoulders. They mostly portray leaping mice and hares, with some swirly patterns and a large oak tree on her spine to symbolize the Mother, and kinship to her religion.
Clothes: While traveling around unknown people, Hemlock typically disguise as a male for the sake of her own safety. That means clothes that are baggy without compromising warmth or practicality. She own a hooded jacket made of mocha-colored sheep-skin, fur-side in, a red knitted scarf with a matching hat, and a black fleece hoodie under that. Finally a black tank top. She also wears a pair of heavy-duty leather pants, and hiker boots, though she's got a pair of skin moccs in her backpack.
Strengths: Hemlock was raised as a multi-tasker and is pretty good at most stuff that can be considered 'primitive survival skills'. She can fix clothes and shoes, handle and make basic weaponry, cook, track, and hunt. She knows what plants are edible, which ones will help you heal, and which ones that will royally mess you up. A good story-teller, too.
Weaknesses: She can be incredibly insensitive. Nothing is more natural to her than the fact that people suffer and die, including herself and those she happen to love, and not being afraid of the future she often -mistakenly - assume that other people aren't either. Then she gets grumpy when people get mad.
Family/Friends: Hemlock does have friends and a large family migrating around the area around Butte and Anaconda. Currently, around the Hat, her only 'friends' are temporary traveling companions.
Bio/History: Well, come on. My name's Hemlock. Of Witchhazel. Witchhazel isn't even a proper last name. It's a clan name, and if that doesn't make it clear that my folks are crazy nature-loving hippies, I dunno what could possibly tip you off.
Anyway, Witchhazel's where to start. There is about two or three hundred of us now - we move in one or two groups around the area of Butte and Anaconda and then south of there, based on food availability and the current monster population. We're hunter gatherers, and monster killers by trade and fame, which is the reason the land owners allows us to stay. We live off what we can hunt, collect, trade or kill for, and in the exchange for living off land that ain't necessarily ours we take care of the reptile moreaus and the troublesome pests like 'em. We live in tent encampments, and teach our kids more about the art of surviving without modern technology than we do about anything else. Like I said - most see us as crazy gunslinger hippies.. Proud of it, though. We've survived, and we'll keep surviving. We grow up strong, because the weak don't get to grow up. The Mother have seen to our survival so far, and we'll stick to our traditions 'till she calls us on to the next world.
Me, I grew up with three surviving brothers, my dad, and my grandpa. The Mother called my mom early. I spent my childhood and teenage years like most people do among the Witches'. Nomad life was a harsh teacher, but a good one. And since I'm obviously still here, I learned- about tracking and hunting, of surviving the winter cold out in the wilds, how to preserve my skins and my food and find the water most uncontaminated by the radiation. T'wasn't a bad way of living. But there's only so much you can become if you stay with the clan, and that's a hunter gatherer. So, a lot of people my age leave home and go somewhere else to learn. They go to Butte and to Anaconda to learn about engines and machinery, modern medicine 'n stuff. Some come back with stories and knowledge they can keep teachin' on to their own kids.
Me, I just traveled. It's gone ok so far. I left half a year ago. I've traveled with traders, mostly, just to see some stuff.
Name: Father Gabriel
Age: 30 ish
Species/Ethnicity: White Human
Height/Weight: 5'11 , 170lbs, Muscular build but lean.
Gabriel has many tools at his service, be it the power of a mans bare fists. or the dual
or down to the simple tool that he not only uses to cut his own hair and shave but also.. 'trim' the bodies of others
But when pistols and faith are not enough and even the powerful spoken word from the bible itself cannot shake a foe, gods fury itself can be brought to bear in the form of Gabriel's divine intervention
Intervention in the form of a fully automatic 12guage shotgun...
Current Residence: Just arriving.
Physical Appearance: He has a muscular build but is lean from travelling. Has a masculine voice. He attempts to shave as close as possible but usually has a 5oclock shadow. He also cuts his own hair with the razor so its not always even but its kept short enough where usually its not noticed.
Clothes: Usually wears the priest attire with a buckled long coat. He usually wears his hat when outside but is always respectful of homes and takes it off then.
Strengths: Gabriel is a very smart man and has decent aim with his revolvers. The divine intervention doesn't really require excellent aim seeing as along with the target, most things around it are hit as well. He is a religious man who strives to always keep his word and never say anything that he doesn't mean.
Weaknesses: He is not your super ninja... your awesome sniper marksman or the hacking explosives expert. He is a man of faith on a mission.
Family/Friends: Long ago he had a family before he left on his pilgrimage. Now all people are his family, The people who do wrong are just brothers and sisters who have lost their way.
Bio/History: "So... my friend where shall I start? Well, long ago I was born a different man, in a different land far south of here. I wasn't privileged but I was suffered either but I was just sad. Lack of purpose one would say. There was this place I would travel in my head, a place of peace and freedom where all people are safe but this never translated into this life, something that always disparaged me. One day though, I stumbled across the book, the good book with the simple instructions to live a good life! who could pass this up you ask? sinners pass it up I tell you.. I hear the voice to find them and convert them. Bring people into the light or send them to meet the lord in person. I guess this is where you ask, why are you heading north? I have a promise to keep."
Name: Hanna Kevoltz
Species/Ethnicity: Human of a Ukrainian background, but lacks any accent
Height/Weight: Around 5 feet, 7 inches and weighing 125 pounds
Occupation: Wandering Mercenary
-1 VSS Vintorez and 15 ten round magazines
-5 cans of beans
-1 mouth covering gas mask and separate goggles
-1 9 inch fixed blade knife
-1 Glock 19 with 3 fifteen round magazines
-3 bottles of water
-1 small medkit (Few bandages, one shot of morphine, small container of rubbing alcohol)
Current Residence: Just arrived in the region
Physical Appearance: Other than the picture, she has a large, nasty scar going across her back.
Clothes: Refer to the picture.
Fast on her feat
Tactical, can find good positions and what not
Can produce her own ammunition (Given the right resources of course)
Due to a small frame in general, she isn't strong
Can be very sarcastic, rude, only respects authority if it deserves it in her mind
Weary of almost any Moreau she comes in contact with, not like openly racist, just constantly suspicious and untrusting
Main skill is with long range warfare, she may be able to hold her own against your typical raider in CQC, but being small and relatively weak provide some serious draw backs when fighting someone who is both bigger and more skilled in CQC
Relatives: One Uncle who raised her on his own. Not known if dead or alive.
Friends: None at the moment as she has just arrived.
My uncle.... a long time ago gave me this journal on my tenth birthday. He said that memories is what truly make us who we are, so I should keep track of them. Since then I've kept writing things down, even drawing sometimes... It calms me I guess, not really sure why I like to do it. Maybe I'm afraid to loose myself to this new world? I don't know... Oh right, my uncle! He's pretty much the reason why I have survived for so long. He taught me everything I know, shooting, hunting, trade, everything I learned all from him. He kept reminding me though that I also teach myself whenever I experience life. Anyway, My uncle rescued me when I was an infant when some Moreau came and killed off my family. He took me as far as he could from it all, probably to keep me safe and him away from bad memories. We carved out our own life out in the wilderness. There I learned to shoot this special rifle and even make ammunition for it! After he that, he taught me how to hunt, how to gather, ect. Life was pretty good all things considered. But it seemed fate intended to have me end up even worse than my parents.... One day when I was walking alone to meet up with a trader, I was ambushed by one lone Moreau, I think he was some sort of wolf type.... Whatever, he got the jump on me and had me pinned and tried to..... have his way with me. This lust that suddenly overcame him gave me my opening. I kicked him right off of me and got up to run. He tried to tackle me, but fell short. Though it was just far enough for him to drag his claw across my back. I quickly acquired my knife just as he made another lunge for me, probably thinking that I was done for and he would get his fun. What he got was 9 inches of cold steel embedded into his skull. I quickly made my way back to my uncle's house. I decided just to tell him about the attack and not about the other thing.... Though he changed after that. Suddenly he started to train me harder, kept pushing me to be stronger. I wasn't sure why, and I never was able to get the answer. One day when I came back from hunting, I found the cabin burned down and no trace of my Uncle. I was able to scrounge up some supplies from the rubble and find the strong box of emergency supplies under some burnt wood. That was the day I left. The day my little paradise disappeared. I like to believe that my uncle is still alive out there, and I still to this day, keep an ear out for any leads. I'm not sure though whether I will ever find him, or what I will even say. My journey has taken my to this region to the south where there are more concentrated settlements. Maybe here I can find him...
Name: Serzhant (Sergeant) Shinya Kuznetsov
Species/Ethnicity: Moreau - Cross Fox
Occupation: Sergeant of 51st Parachute Landing Regiment, Russian 106th Guards Airborne Division,
- Dragunov SVU Bullpup sniper, 5 clips (20 rounds, 7.62 Cartridge)
- MP-443 Sidearm, 4 clips (17 rounds, 9mm Cartridge)
- FLORA Battle dress and 6B33 MOLLE body armor
- 3 days worth of dry rations
- 8.5" OTF D/E Knife
- 650 Rubles (about $20)
Current Residence: No current area or residence, woke up in a crater some ways off of Galt Island, north of the river.
Clothes: Shinya is still in her battle dress, it fits in her current environment and helps keep bandits away.
Strengths: Trained in survival tactics, stealth and recon, extremely high resistance to pain, high endurance, skilled marksman, and a natural hunter.
Weaknesses: only knows broken English, not familiar with her surroundings, cannot remember how she got here or why she is here.
Family/Friends: Winter's are harsh in Russia since the events that shaped the new world, her and her brother are the only remaining members of her family.
Bio/History: I woke up at the edge of a smoking crater 1 week ago, I could not remember how I had gotten there or even why I was out in the wilderness as the land was strange to me. A pair of scavengers where not far away and I found I was in a Canadian province Alberta after interrogating them at gunpoint, I left them gutted for some monster to feast upon while I traveled to a settlement not far from where I was.
In the town I found gangers and outcast, the center of the town more civilized though still just as dark and seedy with brothels on every corner and armed guards walking the street, not much different from Russia just less soldiers nyet? I found myself fitting in easily with my attire and after a few days I managed to find a job as a guard for one of those seedy establishment, after having to do some rather unsavory things to the boss, I have it listed to remove his Khuy someday. The Canadians are dumb and think my accent is French, Bah! idiots, once I am able to make contact with my homeland I am going to slit their throats.
*put image of your character here if you're not using a written description of your character's appearance*
Name: Your character's name.
Gender: Your character's gender.
Age: Your character's age.
Species/Ethnicity: Is your character a regular human or a moreau? What ethnic background does your character have, or what species of moreau is your character?
Height/Weight: Your characters height in feet./Your character's weight in pounds.
Occupation: What career/job your character has.
Possessions: What your character owns. (Typically a weapon, ammo, supplies and other equipment, and sometimes a vehicle.)
Current Residence: Where your character lives. (This is something you might want to discuss with me, the GM.)
Physical Appearance: What does your character look like? Hair, eyes, face, build, etc. all apply here.
Clothes: What clothes does your character wear?
Strengths: What are your character's strengths and skills?
Weaknesses: What are your character's weaknesses?
Family/Friends: Who is your character related to? Who is friends with your character?
Bio/History: Give at least a paragraph detailing your character's personality and history. Write from the first person perspective of your character.