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[CHAR] The Survivor's Club (High Casual)
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Name: Charlie Cote
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance:
)
History:
Charlie was born in a rural area of Ontario, Canada, the second of five children. His family was never rich, but they didn’t struggle financially - even so, there was never much question of what Charlie and his two brothers would do with their lives. They were born in a lumber town, and theirs was a lumber family, and while modern lumberjacking involved a lot less being burly and swinging a heavy axe around, it was still the family calling. Charlie and his brothers worked with their father from the moment they graduated senior high, never traveling far from home, never too concerned with the affairs of the world. It was a stark life, but a decent one, but deep down he wondered if this was all his life would ever be.
Unfortunately for the human race, it wasn’t. Charlie’s first encounter with the End War was seeing an arrow dart out of the darkness and impale his father by the throat moments before Fey began leaping out of the woods and cutting the entire lumber camp to bloody ribbons. Charlie and his brothers fought their way home, bundled their mother and younger sister into the truck, and drove to the nearest place they thought they could be safe from whatever was going on: Toronto.
Of course, when they arrived, all that awaited them was more madness and death, but not at the hands of the fey, elven monsters they had encountered – the population of the city was being systematically butchered by a horde of massive blue-skinned barbarians, like something out of a Norse myth. The Cote family ended up holed up in Fort York with a hundred other refugees, and the Siege of Toronto began. It was one of the greatest battles the world would never know about – for five days, a hundred refugees held out against a force of over four hundred Frost Giants, and felled at least half their number before they were wiped out. Charlie was the last survivor.
Since then, Charlie has traveled alone, staying away from population centers, helping others where he could but mostly keeping to himself. He’s journeying ever further south, trying to make it to Washington D.C, where the stories say the first of the artifacts can be found.
Personality:
Charlie is almost a Canadian stereotype. He’s jovial, good-natured, polite, and always ready to laugh or smile, even in the grimmest times. He loves people, but he’s quite accustomed to long periods of isolation. He’ll never hesitate to lend a helping hand to someone in need, which tends to result in his being very bad at making decisions ‘for the greater good’. Those who pay attention to the things he says may note that he seems to be undergoing a kind of denial, speaking of dead people in the present tense and referring to the things he’ll do ‘when we win’. As a corollary, he’s completely convinced by the story of the Prophets; he believes wholeheartedly that the world can and will be put right. He has no sympathy for monsters, however; though he approaches fighting them with the same lackadaisical attitude he applies to everything else, he will never hesitate to kill, either in self defense, to complete an objective, or just because he could.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Strength – Charlie is in excellent shape, and has a great deal of muscle and brute strength. He can be relied upon to do most of the heavy lifting.
Melee combat – Since the End War started, he’s had a lot of practice chopping up monsters with that axe. He can’t go blow for blow with an elf lord or parry a frost giant’s club, but he’s fast on his feet, hits hard, and knows how to strike where it hurts.
Woodsmanship – Family camping and hunting trips have made Charlie an excellent woodsman. He can build a fire, pitch a tent, track an animal, or camouflage himself decently in the woods. Too bad going in the woods is a terrible, terrible idea.
Improvisation – Charlie has a knack for figuring out ways to use objects to hand in unexpected ways, mostly to kill things; some might say it’s because he’s too dumb to know why it shouldn’t work, but he’s not complaining.
Slow – Charlie has a high school level education, and even still he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He doesn’t always think things through, and his scientific, historic and mythological knowledge is basically nonexistent, save what he’s gotten from movies and such.
Marksmanship – Despite his father’s best efforts to teach him to use a hunting rifle, Charlie is a terrible, terrible shot, being very literally unable to hit a charging shoggoth at thirty meters.
Belongings: Tent, sleeping bag, five days worth of dried food, canteen full of water, flint and steel, rope, a few climbing spikes, binoculars, and his massive lumberjacking axe.
Color Code: 00aeef
Other stuff: Nothing. Yet!
Sample Post: Charlie rubbed his hands together in front of his face, his breath steaming the frigid morning air. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold in the summer, but the temperature had continued to drop since the giants came.
There was another thud at the brick wall in front of them, followed by the sound of snow sliding from the roof. Someone in the room let out a squeak. Gathered around him in this tiny warehouse were the last of Toronto’s defenders – five days ago, they had been over a hundred. Now they were twenty. Twenty warriors. Four days ago, they had lost the outer wall of the fort. Yesterday, they’d lost the inner one. This was the last safe place left, and the giants were at the door.
A hand clapped onto his back, and Charlie flinched. He turned to meet the cool gaze of his brother Jack, bundled up to keep the cold out, still clutching his climber’s pickaxe. “Eyes up, brother.” Jack said, and gave him a smile. They were all each other had left – their father had died as soon as all this madness had started, their mother and brother killed by frost giants, as had their younger sister Kari – but not before she’d begun telling some kind of story about the ‘End War’, and of a way all this could be fixed.
“Stay close together, everyone,” Anders, the de facto leader of the defenders, said, uncoiling a length of rope from his belt. “We’re gonna make these bastards pay for every drop of blood they spill.” Charlie opened his mouth. He wanted to make one last joke, say one last thing to his brother and to the men and women who’d become his comrades, make them laugh one more time before the end. But he was interrupted by the sound of crumbling masonry as a massive steel boot stove in the wall. Outside, the giants roared the great war chant that Charlie had long since become familiar with.
With a collective shout of their own, the defenders charged, advancing out through the wrecked wall to meet their attackers head-on. “Cote, catch!” Charlie heard Anders shout as a length of rope came flying at him. He caught it without breaking stride, and together, he and Anders pulled it taught as they ran on separate sides of the giant that had broken the wall, tripping him up and sending him tumbling to the ground with a surprised roar, where Nina scurried over and stabbed him in the eye with her carving knife.
Though the smallest frost giant was twice the size of a human being and three times as strong, they paid for that strength with speed. Charlie dropped the rope and ducked out of the way as another giant advanced with an overhead swing, bringing his axe up to chop into the back of the giant’s fur-armored knee, hot blood spraying out into the frigid air. With a cry, the monster fell into a lunge, lowering its head just enough for Jack to grab onto it’s armor and begin to climb up it. Charlie chopped again, sawing at it’s thigh like it was a tree trunk, while his brother reached the top of the monster’s head and drove his pickaxe into its spine. A few feet away, Karl and Sam were taking on three of the giants between the two of them, ducking and dodging and scoring hits where they could with their makeshift spears. Anna was blasting away at the oncoming horde with her last machine gun, at least until an icicle took her in the chest. Behind him, Charlie heard the roar and felt the rush of heat that signaled that someone had lit their last Molotov.
They fought bravely, they fought well, they fought for what seemed like a hundred years, but they all knew they were delaying the inevitable. Charlie was panting, his face covered in blood, his axe gripped in white knuckles, searching for his next target, when the familiar hand grabbed him by the shoulder. “Charlie,” Jack shouted in his ear, “You need to go.”
“What? No,” Charlie turned, furrowing his brow as he took in the sight of his brother, bleeding from a massive gash in his side, frostbite spreading through his arm. Dimly, he was aware of the giants cutting through the last of his comrades, advancing on them like an avalanche. “No, I’m gonna stay with you.”
“We’re finished, Charlie,” Jack gasped, “But you don’t have to be. You can head south… find that thing Kari was talking about. Fix all this…”
“No. No, not without you…” But Jack did not wait to hear his argument. Instead, he roared like one of the massive berserkers he was facing, charging ahead to engage the closest giant in hand to hand, his pickaxe long since lost. He had no chance, but Charlie recognized the deed, had seen it many times in the last few days – his brother was buying him time.
His feet guided by some unfamiliar force, Charlie turned and ran, slipping away from the battlefield, out of the fort, and into the cold, lonely winter beyond.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance:
History:
Charlie was born in a rural area of Ontario, Canada, the second of five children. His family was never rich, but they didn’t struggle financially - even so, there was never much question of what Charlie and his two brothers would do with their lives. They were born in a lumber town, and theirs was a lumber family, and while modern lumberjacking involved a lot less being burly and swinging a heavy axe around, it was still the family calling. Charlie and his brothers worked with their father from the moment they graduated senior high, never traveling far from home, never too concerned with the affairs of the world. It was a stark life, but a decent one, but deep down he wondered if this was all his life would ever be.
Unfortunately for the human race, it wasn’t. Charlie’s first encounter with the End War was seeing an arrow dart out of the darkness and impale his father by the throat moments before Fey began leaping out of the woods and cutting the entire lumber camp to bloody ribbons. Charlie and his brothers fought their way home, bundled their mother and younger sister into the truck, and drove to the nearest place they thought they could be safe from whatever was going on: Toronto.
Of course, when they arrived, all that awaited them was more madness and death, but not at the hands of the fey, elven monsters they had encountered – the population of the city was being systematically butchered by a horde of massive blue-skinned barbarians, like something out of a Norse myth. The Cote family ended up holed up in Fort York with a hundred other refugees, and the Siege of Toronto began. It was one of the greatest battles the world would never know about – for five days, a hundred refugees held out against a force of over four hundred Frost Giants, and felled at least half their number before they were wiped out. Charlie was the last survivor.
Since then, Charlie has traveled alone, staying away from population centers, helping others where he could but mostly keeping to himself. He’s journeying ever further south, trying to make it to Washington D.C, where the stories say the first of the artifacts can be found.
Personality:
Charlie is almost a Canadian stereotype. He’s jovial, good-natured, polite, and always ready to laugh or smile, even in the grimmest times. He loves people, but he’s quite accustomed to long periods of isolation. He’ll never hesitate to lend a helping hand to someone in need, which tends to result in his being very bad at making decisions ‘for the greater good’. Those who pay attention to the things he says may note that he seems to be undergoing a kind of denial, speaking of dead people in the present tense and referring to the things he’ll do ‘when we win’. As a corollary, he’s completely convinced by the story of the Prophets; he believes wholeheartedly that the world can and will be put right. He has no sympathy for monsters, however; though he approaches fighting them with the same lackadaisical attitude he applies to everything else, he will never hesitate to kill, either in self defense, to complete an objective, or just because he could.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Strength – Charlie is in excellent shape, and has a great deal of muscle and brute strength. He can be relied upon to do most of the heavy lifting.
Melee combat – Since the End War started, he’s had a lot of practice chopping up monsters with that axe. He can’t go blow for blow with an elf lord or parry a frost giant’s club, but he’s fast on his feet, hits hard, and knows how to strike where it hurts.
Woodsmanship – Family camping and hunting trips have made Charlie an excellent woodsman. He can build a fire, pitch a tent, track an animal, or camouflage himself decently in the woods. Too bad going in the woods is a terrible, terrible idea.
Improvisation – Charlie has a knack for figuring out ways to use objects to hand in unexpected ways, mostly to kill things; some might say it’s because he’s too dumb to know why it shouldn’t work, but he’s not complaining.
Slow – Charlie has a high school level education, and even still he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He doesn’t always think things through, and his scientific, historic and mythological knowledge is basically nonexistent, save what he’s gotten from movies and such.
Marksmanship – Despite his father’s best efforts to teach him to use a hunting rifle, Charlie is a terrible, terrible shot, being very literally unable to hit a charging shoggoth at thirty meters.
Belongings: Tent, sleeping bag, five days worth of dried food, canteen full of water, flint and steel, rope, a few climbing spikes, binoculars, and his massive lumberjacking axe.
Color Code: 00aeef
Other stuff: Nothing. Yet!
Sample Post: Charlie rubbed his hands together in front of his face, his breath steaming the frigid morning air. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold in the summer, but the temperature had continued to drop since the giants came.
There was another thud at the brick wall in front of them, followed by the sound of snow sliding from the roof. Someone in the room let out a squeak. Gathered around him in this tiny warehouse were the last of Toronto’s defenders – five days ago, they had been over a hundred. Now they were twenty. Twenty warriors. Four days ago, they had lost the outer wall of the fort. Yesterday, they’d lost the inner one. This was the last safe place left, and the giants were at the door.
A hand clapped onto his back, and Charlie flinched. He turned to meet the cool gaze of his brother Jack, bundled up to keep the cold out, still clutching his climber’s pickaxe. “Eyes up, brother.” Jack said, and gave him a smile. They were all each other had left – their father had died as soon as all this madness had started, their mother and brother killed by frost giants, as had their younger sister Kari – but not before she’d begun telling some kind of story about the ‘End War’, and of a way all this could be fixed.
“Stay close together, everyone,” Anders, the de facto leader of the defenders, said, uncoiling a length of rope from his belt. “We’re gonna make these bastards pay for every drop of blood they spill.” Charlie opened his mouth. He wanted to make one last joke, say one last thing to his brother and to the men and women who’d become his comrades, make them laugh one more time before the end. But he was interrupted by the sound of crumbling masonry as a massive steel boot stove in the wall. Outside, the giants roared the great war chant that Charlie had long since become familiar with.
With a collective shout of their own, the defenders charged, advancing out through the wrecked wall to meet their attackers head-on. “Cote, catch!” Charlie heard Anders shout as a length of rope came flying at him. He caught it without breaking stride, and together, he and Anders pulled it taught as they ran on separate sides of the giant that had broken the wall, tripping him up and sending him tumbling to the ground with a surprised roar, where Nina scurried over and stabbed him in the eye with her carving knife.
Though the smallest frost giant was twice the size of a human being and three times as strong, they paid for that strength with speed. Charlie dropped the rope and ducked out of the way as another giant advanced with an overhead swing, bringing his axe up to chop into the back of the giant’s fur-armored knee, hot blood spraying out into the frigid air. With a cry, the monster fell into a lunge, lowering its head just enough for Jack to grab onto it’s armor and begin to climb up it. Charlie chopped again, sawing at it’s thigh like it was a tree trunk, while his brother reached the top of the monster’s head and drove his pickaxe into its spine. A few feet away, Karl and Sam were taking on three of the giants between the two of them, ducking and dodging and scoring hits where they could with their makeshift spears. Anna was blasting away at the oncoming horde with her last machine gun, at least until an icicle took her in the chest. Behind him, Charlie heard the roar and felt the rush of heat that signaled that someone had lit their last Molotov.
They fought bravely, they fought well, they fought for what seemed like a hundred years, but they all knew they were delaying the inevitable. Charlie was panting, his face covered in blood, his axe gripped in white knuckles, searching for his next target, when the familiar hand grabbed him by the shoulder. “Charlie,” Jack shouted in his ear, “You need to go.”
“What? No,” Charlie turned, furrowing his brow as he took in the sight of his brother, bleeding from a massive gash in his side, frostbite spreading through his arm. Dimly, he was aware of the giants cutting through the last of his comrades, advancing on them like an avalanche. “No, I’m gonna stay with you.”
“We’re finished, Charlie,” Jack gasped, “But you don’t have to be. You can head south… find that thing Kari was talking about. Fix all this…”
“No. No, not without you…” But Jack did not wait to hear his argument. Instead, he roared like one of the massive berserkers he was facing, charging ahead to engage the closest giant in hand to hand, his pickaxe long since lost. He had no chance, but Charlie recognized the deed, had seen it many times in the last few days – his brother was buying him time.
His feet guided by some unfamiliar force, Charlie turned and ran, slipping away from the battlefield, out of the fort, and into the cold, lonely winter beyond.
Name: Natasha 'Bookworm' Cline
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Appearance: She stood at 5'6" and couldn't have weighed more than 130 pounds. The woman had a lithe frame with a slightly athletic build. Her eyes were a sharp blue, giving a piercing glare of scrutinization to both the surrounding area and those around her. He dress was fairly simple as she wore thick work boots, plain jeans, and a black hoodie. Her backpack always behind her, straps slung over the shoulders.
History: Natasha once had a simple life; albeit a cozy one. She lived outside of San Diego with her fiance and baby daughter. The young woman worked as a writer, mostly doing freelance magazine work, with the exception of the novel that she wrote a few years back. It had even received some traction when it was first published to the public, though like many authors, she faded into obscurity once the interest died down.
The whole world changed out of seemingly nowhere. San Diego was hit pretty hard by infernal entities, turning the city into a slaughterhouse. Natasha only escaped out of pure luck and never got to see her family again. She watched the world descend into chaos and began to roam aimlessly, only living because she didn't know what else to do.
She came across a group of survivors whom had made it from the east coast. They invited her into their group and gave some explanation of what they had seen out there, helping her get a better picture. She got her nickname 'Bookworm' from someone in this group who had recognized who she was. Seeing as how she had nothing left and survival was her only instinct, Natasha was a new person, and took on the title fairly quickly.
Some forty days since the cataclysm and the group had become surrounded by a bastion of undead. To escape, she left the small band to fend for themselves and to act as a distraction. She even took their only gun, a simple revolver, and dashed off into the distance. She could hear their screams from what seemed to be a mile away.
Now, wandering aimlessly again, Natasha will live for as long as she can, until one of these otherwordly forces kills her.
Personality: The young woman has already started to become hardened by the month of survival. On the whole, she isn't an actively terrible person and is eager to lend a hand to those who have her back. However, if it ever came down to it and her life was on the line, she becomes far less dependable, working in her own self interest.
Despite the circumstances, she is very skeptical toward the idea of saving the world. Simply put, she just figures that being in a group serves her best interest and gives her a higher chance of surviving longer.
Skills and Weaknesses: The young woman is generally able to adapt to a situation and is a very quick learner. Having said this, she is neither well trained nor completely useless. With time, she will probably pick up many survival skills as well as improving martial prowess.
Belongings: Her pack carries a sleeping bag, a couple of containers for water, rope, a bolt cutting tool, and a single flare, along with her notebook. She keeps a lighter, a pair of dice, and a pen in her pockets. A revolver with three bullets is holstered at her side.
Color Code: Color=00aeef
Other stuff: Some people may recognize Natasha for her novel. If she is in a leading position, Natasha might make good strategic decisions, though they may be at the cost of others.
Sample Post: Bookworm scribbled an array of letters on a page in her notebook, occasionally glancing up here and there for any sign of change along the perimeter of their camp. Although it seemed like a safe enough spot for everyone to sleep, she knew that she wasn't the only person doing this. Hell, she'd be surprised if anyone actually managed to get any sleep.
Still, as they all sat around the campfire, most everyone was trying to keep their spirits up. It had been a month now and everyone was really starting to get to know one another. They had started acting as a family unit of sorts. Even though she was a little more brooding compared to the rest of the group, they accepted Bookworm with warmth.
An older gentleman, Tom, went on about how he had barely escaped something that he only referred to as a 'minotaur'. He had been both scared to death and vastly interested, recalling the legends of such a being from the ancient greeks. He even dared to say that someone opened up a pandora's box and brought all these entities into our world. Bookworm thought it was stupid to even consider any theories.
Her trick was to ignore the mysteries. If she thought too hard about all of this, how and why it happened, or anything else not related to simply being alive, she'd go crazy. It was a waste of time anyway, despite whatever rumors may be out there.
Suddenly, the others' attention turned to Bookworm. It was Clarise that brought up the question. Fucking Clarise, only made it this far because she was banging both of the heavy lifters in the group. Bookworm despised her, especially now.
"You wanna hear about where I was in the first week, huh?", Bookworm said in a condescending tone. Clarise nodded, unable to wipe that shit eating grin off her face. Bookworm scowled, though she closed her notebook and returned the pen to her pocket. She folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat.
"I was at a coffee shop, working on an article, livid that the stupid cunt of a barista was taking so long to refill me cup. Funny... how big of a deal that was to me. Well, she's busy looking out the window and next thing I know, she's screaming bloody mary. I looked out and it took all of my composure not to scream too. It was a fucking massacre", Bookworm explained.
"Demons of all shapes and sizes killing, raping, and eating people in the street. Fire... everywhere. I fucking lost it. Something in my head snapped and I just got up and left into the middle of it. Like, it had to be a dream, y'know? So I just walked and... some how I made it. I kept walking for the whole day, my cellphone going off as my fiance kept trying to call me". She paused for a moment after that.
"I was at the train station by the time I came to. I saw all the messages with him trying to find me, the baby crying in the background... and...", the emotion was starting to show as Bookworm started stretching her words.
"Well, you wanna know the fucked up part? I couldn't bring myself to care enough to call back". The others looked at her from a whole new perspective. The group became quiet and there was only the sound of gunfire in the distance and the crackle of the fire they sat around. Tough crowd, Bookworm thought to herself.
akirashadow Cowboy kitty monk
Member
Seen
4 mos ago
Name: Jake Lucshen
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Jake stands at 6'6" tall with an "average" build for his height, he isn't scrawny but he's also not got the body who's got a strict gym regime. Someone who often feels the cold easily it's common to see him in a jacket regardless of if it's a good day or not. Aside from this his attire is rather basic wearings jeans & t-shirt, his usual footwear is boots.
History: Jake had a natural aptitude for maths and following college for electrical engineering. Understanding circuit schematics and building electronic boards, even programming of logic circuits all fell into place rather naturally. As such Jake had been working as an electrical engineer since graduation. Despite this he wasn't one to have an ambitious view on his job, taking things as they came and preferring to maintain a hands on role over a design or managerial one. Outside of work he spent most of his free time playing video games, almost text book nerd a fan of anything from JRPG to survival horror, the world ending could be summarised as close to the latter if things hadn't gone completely to shit.
Since the end, Jake had been mimicking what anyone that had survived was doing, he'd kept moving. However his knowledge had offered him a more relaxed pace. Electricity could be easily obtained with a little know how, with parts being obtained for the scraps others had left behind themselves. Whilst on the move Jake had heard people talking about a marking system to indicate where an area was safe or not.
Intrigued by the idea he made himself one of these self proclaimed scouts, marking areas that he visited as necessary. Anywhere he'd marked as safe he left supplies that he could spare and if there was generators, the necessary steps to get things up and running and how best to utilise the power. His electrical knowledge had allowed him to branch out and better understand things on an installation level and not just a circuitry level. Though some might not see the value he felt it was important to ensure that they could keep power going for as long as possible where ever he visited.
Aside from his work Jake tends to avoid questions about life during the time before. When asked where he's from his typical response is to point out it isn't important. But when pressed for an answer will say he's from Virginia, but doesn't offer any specifics.
Personality: Jake is confident with what he knows, but outside of this he can be pretty anxious. Both his career and favourite pass-time were not exactly the most social of activities which only fed his anxiety more. Jake feels good when he's able to help out, but some people prefer not to work with him due to his lack of social skill which could hinder or slow things down.
As Jake has yet to spend extended time with any group within the Survivors Club he's found it hard to open up. But given the necessity of the situation is slowly beginning to improve in his integration with others. To those who he would count amongst his friends he can be rather defensive, and not afraid to defend them when others do wrong by them.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Electrical engineering - As above this used to be Jake's career. His electrical understanding is slowly growing to better understand whole installations. Capable of bypassing electrical wiring to more efficiently apply power to different applications.
Strong swimmer - Aside from his work and gaming this was Jake's next favourite pass-time. Having been taught to swim at an early age he'd received life-saver training and competed for his school in the past. (You never know when it might come in handy, probably won't)
Handy with a crowbar - Need something beat-down? Need something broken or broken into? Look no further. Times call for a different talent, why not be multi-skilled?
Anxiety - Can be difficult to work with, or socialise with if he's not in the right frame of mind.
T-that's heavy - Not the strongest guy out there he can get things done in a group but isn't good at heavy lifting on his own. Partially attributed to his height where his knee's make it difficult.
Not Stealthy - Tall person with a crowbar, not exactly the most quiet of individuals. Though he does try to make as little noise as possible.
Belongings: Camping backpack of supplies, topped with a bedroll.
Crowbar typically carried lodged under one of the backpack straps.
Backpack contents:
2x Spray paint (Red) - for marking
Long scarf with red paint stains (makeshift mask)
'clean' clothes
Multi-meter (electrical measurements tool)
Screwdriver (assortment)
Soldering Ion
Tinned food (x10) (unknown contents)
Color Code: This one (39b54a).
Other stuff: Can drive (thought it's not really a skill but still important?)
Relationships: (TBC)
Sample Post: Day 1 - The End
Another day, another dollar. Or so the saying goes, having finished up his shift in the workshop Jake was on his usual drive home. That drive that was almost like second nature, you feel you could do it blind folded but that would be a stupid idea. Such random thoughts would always be running through Jake's mind it was like there was no off-switch for pointless ideas. Stopped at the lights Jake softly bopped his head to the music from his CD, completely oblivious, like everyone that today was not just another day.
Lights changed and off he continued. The drive was un-eventful as alw- "Oh shit!" Jake shouted to himself as the car screeched as he slammed on the brakes, but it wasn't enough though the blow from the car were at a near stop. What the fuck, why did someone just step out like that. Jake peers out to the road below, now he wasn't too in touch with human anatomy, but Jake was pretty sure that getting hit at 10mph wouldn't separate ones leg, from the rest of their body. Both disgusted and confused he fumbles his phone from his pocket only to drop it down into the footwell beneath him. With a look of despair to where it had ended up, he shifted his body in an attempt to reach his phone below him, glancing occasionally to the victim laying on the road.
Thoughts plagued Jake's mind, he could be arrested for this, lose his license. Shit even if they gave it back to him eventually insurance would be through the roof. But it would prove this should be the least of his worries. Was that person, dragging themselves away from the incident. Jake stared as if fascinated by the disgusting scene unfolding in front of him, though it'd be more true to say fixated in horror. Peoples fingers weren't supposed to bend that way, was his flesh peeling off on the... Jake coughed as he observed before reaching for the car door, taking several attempts to grab the handle to open it before cracking it open as he barfed out onto the road.
Whatever the fuck was going on he didn't want to stick around to observe it. Closing the door with a series of breaths he closed the door once more before speeding off toward home, paying no heed to traffic laws. Suddenly things were starting to make a scary sort of sense. Was this why the roads were practically deserted? Had he been caught in his own little world, whilst the real world had collapsed around him in a matter of moments? Heading home was starting to seem like a dumb idea, but where else could he go he needed his things.
Arriving back at his house Jake scrambled inside as he rushed around gathering things up, like some nutcase with a zombie attack survival plan. Though the events from earlier made him slightly disoriented as collecting the most basic of items in any form of logical order had been thrown into chaos. Everything that was essential was now not essential, and things that were taken for granted, now essential. It felt like his head was spinning and on the verge of turning into full-blown panic mode. But then maybe it wasn't as bad as he would initially think, Jake turned on the TV as he continued to throw odds and ends into a pile. Not as bad after all, worse. Creatures of legend, creatures of sci-fi and horror all merged into one giant cluster-fuck of invaders.
Jake just stared at the screen, devoid of the world around him. Where had humanity gone so wrong to bring this upon itself. It took a while but Jake finally managed to snap himself back into some form of reality, but now reality felt like it had a much broader meaning. He began to sift through the pile of stuff that he'd gathered trying to make sense on what was required before throwing it all in his backpack. After all the time for panic was over, he needed to get his shit together unless he wanted to become chow.
Upon finishing it was though someone had flipped the panic switch again as he scurried to his car to leave throwing the bag onto the back seat before speeding off once more. where he was going, what he was planning even he didn't know, he was just getting away from where he was. He'd be sparred the the anguish of reaching a blockade of traffic, but not the anguish of losing his car. He was too panicked to remember how it happened, he didn't even know if he was the one to blame. The events unfolding indicated survival of the fittest and in his less then stable state he grabbed his bag from the back seat of his car before clambering out of the vehicle which as luck would have it had been struck on the passenger side. He glanced around, there wasn't anyone about and he had to find more people quick. Even if it meant discomfort, discomfort was a more desired fate than dead.
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Jake stands at 6'6" tall with an "average" build for his height, he isn't scrawny but he's also not got the body who's got a strict gym regime. Someone who often feels the cold easily it's common to see him in a jacket regardless of if it's a good day or not. Aside from this his attire is rather basic wearings jeans & t-shirt, his usual footwear is boots.
History: Jake had a natural aptitude for maths and following college for electrical engineering. Understanding circuit schematics and building electronic boards, even programming of logic circuits all fell into place rather naturally. As such Jake had been working as an electrical engineer since graduation. Despite this he wasn't one to have an ambitious view on his job, taking things as they came and preferring to maintain a hands on role over a design or managerial one. Outside of work he spent most of his free time playing video games, almost text book nerd a fan of anything from JRPG to survival horror, the world ending could be summarised as close to the latter if things hadn't gone completely to shit.
Since the end, Jake had been mimicking what anyone that had survived was doing, he'd kept moving. However his knowledge had offered him a more relaxed pace. Electricity could be easily obtained with a little know how, with parts being obtained for the scraps others had left behind themselves. Whilst on the move Jake had heard people talking about a marking system to indicate where an area was safe or not.
Intrigued by the idea he made himself one of these self proclaimed scouts, marking areas that he visited as necessary. Anywhere he'd marked as safe he left supplies that he could spare and if there was generators, the necessary steps to get things up and running and how best to utilise the power. His electrical knowledge had allowed him to branch out and better understand things on an installation level and not just a circuitry level. Though some might not see the value he felt it was important to ensure that they could keep power going for as long as possible where ever he visited.
Aside from his work Jake tends to avoid questions about life during the time before. When asked where he's from his typical response is to point out it isn't important. But when pressed for an answer will say he's from Virginia, but doesn't offer any specifics.
Personality: Jake is confident with what he knows, but outside of this he can be pretty anxious. Both his career and favourite pass-time were not exactly the most social of activities which only fed his anxiety more. Jake feels good when he's able to help out, but some people prefer not to work with him due to his lack of social skill which could hinder or slow things down.
As Jake has yet to spend extended time with any group within the Survivors Club he's found it hard to open up. But given the necessity of the situation is slowly beginning to improve in his integration with others. To those who he would count amongst his friends he can be rather defensive, and not afraid to defend them when others do wrong by them.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Electrical engineering - As above this used to be Jake's career. His electrical understanding is slowly growing to better understand whole installations. Capable of bypassing electrical wiring to more efficiently apply power to different applications.
Strong swimmer - Aside from his work and gaming this was Jake's next favourite pass-time. Having been taught to swim at an early age he'd received life-saver training and competed for his school in the past. (You never know when it might come in handy, probably won't)
Handy with a crowbar - Need something beat-down? Need something broken or broken into? Look no further. Times call for a different talent, why not be multi-skilled?
Anxiety - Can be difficult to work with, or socialise with if he's not in the right frame of mind.
T-that's heavy - Not the strongest guy out there he can get things done in a group but isn't good at heavy lifting on his own. Partially attributed to his height where his knee's make it difficult.
Not Stealthy - Tall person with a crowbar, not exactly the most quiet of individuals. Though he does try to make as little noise as possible.
Belongings: Camping backpack of supplies, topped with a bedroll.
Crowbar typically carried lodged under one of the backpack straps.
Backpack contents:
2x Spray paint (Red) - for marking
Long scarf with red paint stains (makeshift mask)
'clean' clothes
Multi-meter (electrical measurements tool)
Screwdriver (assortment)
Soldering Ion
Tinned food (x10) (unknown contents)
Color Code: This one (39b54a).
Other stuff: Can drive (thought it's not really a skill but still important?)
Relationships: (TBC)
Sample Post: Day 1 - The End
Another day, another dollar. Or so the saying goes, having finished up his shift in the workshop Jake was on his usual drive home. That drive that was almost like second nature, you feel you could do it blind folded but that would be a stupid idea. Such random thoughts would always be running through Jake's mind it was like there was no off-switch for pointless ideas. Stopped at the lights Jake softly bopped his head to the music from his CD, completely oblivious, like everyone that today was not just another day.
Lights changed and off he continued. The drive was un-eventful as alw- "Oh shit!" Jake shouted to himself as the car screeched as he slammed on the brakes, but it wasn't enough though the blow from the car were at a near stop. What the fuck, why did someone just step out like that. Jake peers out to the road below, now he wasn't too in touch with human anatomy, but Jake was pretty sure that getting hit at 10mph wouldn't separate ones leg, from the rest of their body. Both disgusted and confused he fumbles his phone from his pocket only to drop it down into the footwell beneath him. With a look of despair to where it had ended up, he shifted his body in an attempt to reach his phone below him, glancing occasionally to the victim laying on the road.
Thoughts plagued Jake's mind, he could be arrested for this, lose his license. Shit even if they gave it back to him eventually insurance would be through the roof. But it would prove this should be the least of his worries. Was that person, dragging themselves away from the incident. Jake stared as if fascinated by the disgusting scene unfolding in front of him, though it'd be more true to say fixated in horror. Peoples fingers weren't supposed to bend that way, was his flesh peeling off on the... Jake coughed as he observed before reaching for the car door, taking several attempts to grab the handle to open it before cracking it open as he barfed out onto the road.
Whatever the fuck was going on he didn't want to stick around to observe it. Closing the door with a series of breaths he closed the door once more before speeding off toward home, paying no heed to traffic laws. Suddenly things were starting to make a scary sort of sense. Was this why the roads were practically deserted? Had he been caught in his own little world, whilst the real world had collapsed around him in a matter of moments? Heading home was starting to seem like a dumb idea, but where else could he go he needed his things.
Arriving back at his house Jake scrambled inside as he rushed around gathering things up, like some nutcase with a zombie attack survival plan. Though the events from earlier made him slightly disoriented as collecting the most basic of items in any form of logical order had been thrown into chaos. Everything that was essential was now not essential, and things that were taken for granted, now essential. It felt like his head was spinning and on the verge of turning into full-blown panic mode. But then maybe it wasn't as bad as he would initially think, Jake turned on the TV as he continued to throw odds and ends into a pile. Not as bad after all, worse. Creatures of legend, creatures of sci-fi and horror all merged into one giant cluster-fuck of invaders.
Jake just stared at the screen, devoid of the world around him. Where had humanity gone so wrong to bring this upon itself. It took a while but Jake finally managed to snap himself back into some form of reality, but now reality felt like it had a much broader meaning. He began to sift through the pile of stuff that he'd gathered trying to make sense on what was required before throwing it all in his backpack. After all the time for panic was over, he needed to get his shit together unless he wanted to become chow.
Upon finishing it was though someone had flipped the panic switch again as he scurried to his car to leave throwing the bag onto the back seat before speeding off once more. where he was going, what he was planning even he didn't know, he was just getting away from where he was. He'd be sparred the the anguish of reaching a blockade of traffic, but not the anguish of losing his car. He was too panicked to remember how it happened, he didn't even know if he was the one to blame. The events unfolding indicated survival of the fittest and in his less then stable state he grabbed his bag from the back seat of his car before clambering out of the vehicle which as luck would have it had been struck on the passenger side. He glanced around, there wasn't anyone about and he had to find more people quick. Even if it meant discomfort, discomfort was a more desired fate than dead.
cunfuzzler Just here so I don't get fined.
Member
Seen
23 hrs ago
Name: Marissa "Mary" Gilroy
Age: 29
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Standing at 5'11" and weighing 140 lbs, Mary could be described in one word as 'lanky'. She keeps her hair in a buzz cut since a bout of madness saw her tear it from her head by the handful. Mary generally sticks to a wardrobe of cotton, leather, and denim.
History: Born and raised in Wyoming, Mary learned to shoot before she could reliably tie her shoes. And damn if she wasn't a natural, she bagged her first buck at eight, though she quickly thereafter realized she enjoyed shooting a lot more than hunting. As such, she turned to target shooting as a pastime, something she predictably excelled at.
Academically she was an above average student with no real aspirations, but an almost infectious confidence. After high school she went to college on a partial scholarship due to her time on the shooting team, her path from there was fairly uneventful. Eventually she landed a job as a sonar tech working on a NOAA hydrographic research vessel.
It was there she met the love of her life Jared Emery, the ship's second engineer and chief handsome bastard. What followed was a several year long relationship before eventually she proposed to him in an incredibly convoluted process that involved the entire ship's crew.
Sadly that was only two weeks before the world ended, she doesn't remember much about that day, though the image of her fiance, his eyesockets empty aside from the blood dripping down his face broke First Officer Ryden's grasp and jumped into the Atlantic ocean raving about 'it' calling for him. She never saw him again.
It was two days before she made landfall near Lubec Maine, the town was seemingly abandoned so she figured noone would mind if she borrowed a vehicle. From there she stuck to the coast and headed south, she passed through more of the same, abandoned town after abandoned town few signs of life but occasionally clear signs of the opposite. It was an unnerving experience, not at all aided by her having become quite clearly delusional, it didn't take long for her to realize that. You only really need to see one long dead family member walking through the streets muttering an inhuman language before you realize your grasp of reality is failing.
Still Marry persevered and made it to her home in Portland, along the way she had pieced together what had happened. Though she wasn't sure until she saw a local paper headlined with 'APOCALYPSE' in massive letters. Wasting no time she grabbed her rifle, a bag and whatever she thought she could need before setting the place ablaze(It was what the voices asked) and hoofing it. Since then she has been keeping to the woods, avoiding population centers and roads until necessary to resupply, occasionally lending her help to others in the form of a few well placed bullets from a few hundred yards.
Personality: Mary is by all rights rather friendly and outgoing, or at least she was until she started seeing monsters that aren't there and hearing voices that ask the unspeakable. For the most part since the end Mary has become completely self contained.
Skills & Weaknesses:
Sureshot - Mary is an excellent shot from long range.
Butcher - Mary knows how to skin and quarter animals.
Touch of Madness - Mary is delusional ever since the day the world ended.
Not a fighter - As good a shot as she is, Mary is just as bad a close quarters fighter.
Belongings:
.280 Hunting rifle, 40 rounds.
Beretta 92, 30 rounds(2 mags).
Backpack.
1 Can white spray paint.
1 Hunting knife.
1 Jar of honey.
1 Jar peanut butter.
1 Box crackers.
1 US MRE Chili Mac.
1 Compressed towel
6 20 oz bottles of water.
1 Compact first aid kit(15 assorted Band-Aids, 1 pair latex gloves, 4 gauze pads, 1 roll medical tape, 4 alcohol pads, 4 antiseptic pads, 6 tongue depressors, 6 cotton swabs)
Color Code: In Technicolor! f26522
Sample Post:
Age: 29
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Standing at 5'11" and weighing 140 lbs, Mary could be described in one word as 'lanky'. She keeps her hair in a buzz cut since a bout of madness saw her tear it from her head by the handful. Mary generally sticks to a wardrobe of cotton, leather, and denim.
History: Born and raised in Wyoming, Mary learned to shoot before she could reliably tie her shoes. And damn if she wasn't a natural, she bagged her first buck at eight, though she quickly thereafter realized she enjoyed shooting a lot more than hunting. As such, she turned to target shooting as a pastime, something she predictably excelled at.
Academically she was an above average student with no real aspirations, but an almost infectious confidence. After high school she went to college on a partial scholarship due to her time on the shooting team, her path from there was fairly uneventful. Eventually she landed a job as a sonar tech working on a NOAA hydrographic research vessel.
It was there she met the love of her life Jared Emery, the ship's second engineer and chief handsome bastard. What followed was a several year long relationship before eventually she proposed to him in an incredibly convoluted process that involved the entire ship's crew.
Sadly that was only two weeks before the world ended, she doesn't remember much about that day, though the image of her fiance, his eyesockets empty aside from the blood dripping down his face broke First Officer Ryden's grasp and jumped into the Atlantic ocean raving about 'it' calling for him. She never saw him again.
It was two days before she made landfall near Lubec Maine, the town was seemingly abandoned so she figured noone would mind if she borrowed a vehicle. From there she stuck to the coast and headed south, she passed through more of the same, abandoned town after abandoned town few signs of life but occasionally clear signs of the opposite. It was an unnerving experience, not at all aided by her having become quite clearly delusional, it didn't take long for her to realize that. You only really need to see one long dead family member walking through the streets muttering an inhuman language before you realize your grasp of reality is failing.
Still Marry persevered and made it to her home in Portland, along the way she had pieced together what had happened. Though she wasn't sure until she saw a local paper headlined with 'APOCALYPSE' in massive letters. Wasting no time she grabbed her rifle, a bag and whatever she thought she could need before setting the place ablaze(It was what the voices asked) and hoofing it. Since then she has been keeping to the woods, avoiding population centers and roads until necessary to resupply, occasionally lending her help to others in the form of a few well placed bullets from a few hundred yards.
Personality: Mary is by all rights rather friendly and outgoing, or at least she was until she started seeing monsters that aren't there and hearing voices that ask the unspeakable. For the most part since the end Mary has become completely self contained.
Skills & Weaknesses:
Sureshot - Mary is an excellent shot from long range.
Butcher - Mary knows how to skin and quarter animals.
Touch of Madness - Mary is delusional ever since the day the world ended.
Not a fighter - As good a shot as she is, Mary is just as bad a close quarters fighter.
Belongings:
.280 Hunting rifle, 40 rounds.
Beretta 92, 30 rounds(2 mags).
Backpack.
1 Can white spray paint.
1 Hunting knife.
1 Jar of honey.
1 Jar peanut butter.
1 Box crackers.
1 US MRE Chili Mac.
1 Compressed towel
6 20 oz bottles of water.
1 Compact first aid kit(15 assorted Band-Aids, 1 pair latex gloves, 4 gauze pads, 1 roll medical tape, 4 alcohol pads, 4 antiseptic pads, 6 tongue depressors, 6 cotton swabs)
Color Code: In Technicolor! f26522
Sample Post:
70 MILES OFF THE COAST OF LUBEC, MAINE; DAY 1
"Can someone tell me how this fog was nowhere to be seen on the radar?" Captain Velasquez paced across the bridge looking out at the impenetrable fog that had had come to surround the ship. He was an imposing man, tall, Latin, built like an ox and with a head shaved so well you could see your reflection. "This really shouldn't have been possible." His voice betrayed a deep sense of disappointment and agitation. Mary glanced up from her station to gauge the situation, he was understandably upset, usually a fog this thick at least has a weather advisory, but this seemingly came out of nowhere.
Still, nothing she could do about it, so she turned her attention back to the sonar screen. Immediately Mary noticed something was wrong, the seafloor was reading as being hundreds of feet above where it should be. "Sir, I don't mean to interrupt your tirade against the weather, but you might want to take a look at this. Unless we're many miles off course I think the sonar is malfunctioning." Captain Velasquez made his way to her station and looked down at her screen. "A whale? Or perhaps a submarine?" Mary took a moment to consider the possibility. "No, too large for any whale or submarine I've ever heard of. It's as though the entire sea floor has raised 3 hundred feet." She stared at the screen intently for a few moments. "And rising. Sir, the sonar is just malfunctioning, what it's reading is simply not possible. If it's not, we'll know soon enough, this phantom seabed is going to hit us any moment."
No sooner had she finished her sentence then a massive crack rang out as the entire ship shook as though from a significant impact. Once the ship settled, gone was the hum of the twin diesel engines that had been ever present for their voyage up to that point. Captain Velasquez quickly strode to the ship's intercom. "Engineering, what's the damage? Pavlechek?" After several seconds without a response he turned to the man across the bridge from him. "Ryden, go down there and find out why Pavlechek isn't responding." Ryden glanced up at the Captain for a second before responding "Aye."
What followed was a couple minutes of silence before being sudden and harshly interrupted by the distinctive crack of a gunshot from below deck. The bridge crew quickly evacuated to the main deck of the ship. The fog made it difficult to even see the Captain next to her as she stood on the deck but she was pretty confident the two sillhouettes that rose from the ship's rear compartment were Ryden and her fiance's a suspicion confirmed by his distinctive baritone muttering something to Ryden that she couldn't make out from the distance.
She and the Captain both approached the pair almost in unison as the sound of Ryden's voice spread across the deck. "Sir, we have to get off the ship, she's sinking, Pavlechek is dead and Emery lost his mind, clawed his own eyes out." Ryden's words didn't quite register in her mind as she saw her fiance's horrific visage. His eyesockets were empty save for the crimson fluid that was dripping from them down his face. Mary froze, she wasn't sure why, the sight of the man she loved disfigured in such a way just left her in a state of shock, she didn't even notice the similar effect it had on the Captain as he had stopped in his tracks upon coming into view of the pair.
"Sir, we need to get off this ship, it is going to sink. I'm going to deploy the life rafts and ready the rigid." Ryden pulled on the arm of Emery. "C'mon." What happened next was so fast she could barely process it. Emery broke Ryden's grasp and flung himself over the edge of the ship in one smooth motion. Without a thought Mary immediately bolted for the spot her fiance once stood and began towards jumping into the water after him. She found her momentum stopped quite suddenly however as Ryden's hand grasped around her arm. "Let me go! I have to go after him!" Ryden just stood there blank faced for a moment, she struggled against his grip, but to no avail though she did notice now that in his other hand he held a pistol. "Look, I can't possibly understand what you're going through right now, but look!" He forcibly maneuvered her so her head was looking out over the side of the ship. "I can't even see the water, can you? What hope do you think you'd have of finding him? I don't know what is happening, but I do know it isn't natural. Pavlechek tried to kill me, Emery tried to kill himself, and I'm not sure what the fuck it was I saw down there. We will take the boat and find him with it, but for now we need all hands on deck, you understand!?” Mary nodded, noting the ship's significant lean and how far it had already sink into the water as she brought her head back from the edge of the ship.
Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes and anger boiling up throughout her being. "Look, I'm gonna go ready the liferafts and the rigid, we will find him." She felt the Captain's hand firmly rest on her shoulder as Ryden let go and turned to go back below deck. She considered for a moment trying to shake his grasp, his grip wasn't near as firm as Ryden's, she could be in the water before he could stop her. But her train of thought was interrupted when one of the ship's deckhands spoke up "Umm whose that?" She and everyone else notably the entire ship's crew minus Pavlechek, Ryden and Emery looked at the deckhand and traced his finger towards the massive sillhouette in the fog across the ship on the starboard side. Whoever it was, they were massive looked to be almost 7' tall with a noticeable hunch.
Mary felt the Captain's grip guide her ahead of him as they walked across the deck towards the mysterious figure. It didn't take long for it to become apparent that the figure was not human. It was to put it bluntly a fishman, standing on the deck of their ship in silence. As it came into view she felt the Captain's grip loosen before he eventually let go completely and walked past her towards the giant fishman. His pace slowed to a crawl as he approached, slowly extending on hand towards the thing. "What are you?" He came to within a couple feet of it. "Do you spe-" His speech was interrupted as the fishman's arm slashed across his chest. Captain Velasquez' stance faltered as he glanced down at his own chest before he turned around with clear difficulty to face Mary. Now she saw him, his chest had three massive slashes across it each over an inch deep. He stared into here eyes, his face a clear picture of shock. "Run!" His voice was weak but firm and he collapsed as the word finished crossing his lips.
She wasn't the first to react, instead she watched as most of the crew abandoned ship. Instead she stood there frozen, staring at the Captain as the life faded from him listening to the occasional sounds of panic and fear punctuated by the splashes of the crew hitting the Atlantic Ocean. It wasn’t until the fish monster took a step forward that she snapped back to reality. Mary wasted no time once the creature began to move once more. In a matter of at most two seconds she went from the deck to falling into the frigid waters of the coastal Atlantic.
The water was cold, very cold but that was to be expected, what wasn’t was the mass beneath her. It defied all logic, one second it was as though a massive lake of oil suspended in the ocean, the next it was a solid formless black beast with countless maws and twice as many tendrils. It was attached to the ship and seemed to spread out endlessly from there. She couldn't help but stare at it for a moment before swimming back to the surface to find a liferaft. Just as she was about to climb to the surface the thing changed again, it was eyes on practically every square inch of it, and in a moment they all seemed to be staring right at her.
Suddenly all was right in the world, she couldn’t understand why but she knew she was safe, all she needed to do was breathe. But she never had the opportunity, she found herself being carried by someone towards the surface, she couldn’t make out who but she tried to stop them, she wriggled and swung and clawed at the man that was taking her from her sweet salvation, but to no avail. As soon as her head broke the water it was as though her existence was a white noise, just constant interference, every sense was overloaded by a deeply displeasurable sensation even her sight was little more than a haze. Still she was faintly aware of what was happening, she was on the ship's rigid inflatable, with two others, Ryden and Morrison and they were not getting along the constant noise prevented her from hearing the exchange entirely, but she could make out pieces.
“Look at yourself man, she did that to you.”
“She’s been through a lot man, and I’ll recover.”
“Look at her eyes man, they’re - before he got rid of them. It’s not her anymore, if we keep it aboard - you have to trust me.”
“- letting you do that.”
“You don’t have to - me take care of it.”
The next thing she heard was the bang of gun firing, which miraculously seemed to bring her back to her senses. Just in time to see Morrison’s body lifelessly slump to the floor of the boat. She quickly took stock of her situation, “Ryden, what have you done? Give me the gun now!” Ryden looked at her for what felt like an hour a perplexed look across his face before he replied. “Sure thing.” He lifted the gun to his Temple and fired, his body immediately slumped forward and the gun fell to the floor beside him.
Mary reached out and picked up the pistol, all there was to do now was wait. She knew what was coming. Mary took a deep breath as the fiery red tendrils came into view from overhead. Or wait, it was just her hair.
"Can someone tell me how this fog was nowhere to be seen on the radar?" Captain Velasquez paced across the bridge looking out at the impenetrable fog that had had come to surround the ship. He was an imposing man, tall, Latin, built like an ox and with a head shaved so well you could see your reflection. "This really shouldn't have been possible." His voice betrayed a deep sense of disappointment and agitation. Mary glanced up from her station to gauge the situation, he was understandably upset, usually a fog this thick at least has a weather advisory, but this seemingly came out of nowhere.
Still, nothing she could do about it, so she turned her attention back to the sonar screen. Immediately Mary noticed something was wrong, the seafloor was reading as being hundreds of feet above where it should be. "Sir, I don't mean to interrupt your tirade against the weather, but you might want to take a look at this. Unless we're many miles off course I think the sonar is malfunctioning." Captain Velasquez made his way to her station and looked down at her screen. "A whale? Or perhaps a submarine?" Mary took a moment to consider the possibility. "No, too large for any whale or submarine I've ever heard of. It's as though the entire sea floor has raised 3 hundred feet." She stared at the screen intently for a few moments. "And rising. Sir, the sonar is just malfunctioning, what it's reading is simply not possible. If it's not, we'll know soon enough, this phantom seabed is going to hit us any moment."
No sooner had she finished her sentence then a massive crack rang out as the entire ship shook as though from a significant impact. Once the ship settled, gone was the hum of the twin diesel engines that had been ever present for their voyage up to that point. Captain Velasquez quickly strode to the ship's intercom. "Engineering, what's the damage? Pavlechek?" After several seconds without a response he turned to the man across the bridge from him. "Ryden, go down there and find out why Pavlechek isn't responding." Ryden glanced up at the Captain for a second before responding "Aye."
What followed was a couple minutes of silence before being sudden and harshly interrupted by the distinctive crack of a gunshot from below deck. The bridge crew quickly evacuated to the main deck of the ship. The fog made it difficult to even see the Captain next to her as she stood on the deck but she was pretty confident the two sillhouettes that rose from the ship's rear compartment were Ryden and her fiance's a suspicion confirmed by his distinctive baritone muttering something to Ryden that she couldn't make out from the distance.
She and the Captain both approached the pair almost in unison as the sound of Ryden's voice spread across the deck. "Sir, we have to get off the ship, she's sinking, Pavlechek is dead and Emery lost his mind, clawed his own eyes out." Ryden's words didn't quite register in her mind as she saw her fiance's horrific visage. His eyesockets were empty save for the crimson fluid that was dripping from them down his face. Mary froze, she wasn't sure why, the sight of the man she loved disfigured in such a way just left her in a state of shock, she didn't even notice the similar effect it had on the Captain as he had stopped in his tracks upon coming into view of the pair.
"Sir, we need to get off this ship, it is going to sink. I'm going to deploy the life rafts and ready the rigid." Ryden pulled on the arm of Emery. "C'mon." What happened next was so fast she could barely process it. Emery broke Ryden's grasp and flung himself over the edge of the ship in one smooth motion. Without a thought Mary immediately bolted for the spot her fiance once stood and began towards jumping into the water after him. She found her momentum stopped quite suddenly however as Ryden's hand grasped around her arm. "Let me go! I have to go after him!" Ryden just stood there blank faced for a moment, she struggled against his grip, but to no avail though she did notice now that in his other hand he held a pistol. "Look, I can't possibly understand what you're going through right now, but look!" He forcibly maneuvered her so her head was looking out over the side of the ship. "I can't even see the water, can you? What hope do you think you'd have of finding him? I don't know what is happening, but I do know it isn't natural. Pavlechek tried to kill me, Emery tried to kill himself, and I'm not sure what the fuck it was I saw down there. We will take the boat and find him with it, but for now we need all hands on deck, you understand!?” Mary nodded, noting the ship's significant lean and how far it had already sink into the water as she brought her head back from the edge of the ship.
Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes and anger boiling up throughout her being. "Look, I'm gonna go ready the liferafts and the rigid, we will find him." She felt the Captain's hand firmly rest on her shoulder as Ryden let go and turned to go back below deck. She considered for a moment trying to shake his grasp, his grip wasn't near as firm as Ryden's, she could be in the water before he could stop her. But her train of thought was interrupted when one of the ship's deckhands spoke up "Umm whose that?" She and everyone else notably the entire ship's crew minus Pavlechek, Ryden and Emery looked at the deckhand and traced his finger towards the massive sillhouette in the fog across the ship on the starboard side. Whoever it was, they were massive looked to be almost 7' tall with a noticeable hunch.
Mary felt the Captain's grip guide her ahead of him as they walked across the deck towards the mysterious figure. It didn't take long for it to become apparent that the figure was not human. It was to put it bluntly a fishman, standing on the deck of their ship in silence. As it came into view she felt the Captain's grip loosen before he eventually let go completely and walked past her towards the giant fishman. His pace slowed to a crawl as he approached, slowly extending on hand towards the thing. "What are you?" He came to within a couple feet of it. "Do you spe-" His speech was interrupted as the fishman's arm slashed across his chest. Captain Velasquez' stance faltered as he glanced down at his own chest before he turned around with clear difficulty to face Mary. Now she saw him, his chest had three massive slashes across it each over an inch deep. He stared into here eyes, his face a clear picture of shock. "Run!" His voice was weak but firm and he collapsed as the word finished crossing his lips.
She wasn't the first to react, instead she watched as most of the crew abandoned ship. Instead she stood there frozen, staring at the Captain as the life faded from him listening to the occasional sounds of panic and fear punctuated by the splashes of the crew hitting the Atlantic Ocean. It wasn’t until the fish monster took a step forward that she snapped back to reality. Mary wasted no time once the creature began to move once more. In a matter of at most two seconds she went from the deck to falling into the frigid waters of the coastal Atlantic.
The water was cold, very cold but that was to be expected, what wasn’t was the mass beneath her. It defied all logic, one second it was as though a massive lake of oil suspended in the ocean, the next it was a solid formless black beast with countless maws and twice as many tendrils. It was attached to the ship and seemed to spread out endlessly from there. She couldn't help but stare at it for a moment before swimming back to the surface to find a liferaft. Just as she was about to climb to the surface the thing changed again, it was eyes on practically every square inch of it, and in a moment they all seemed to be staring right at her.
Suddenly all was right in the world, she couldn’t understand why but she knew she was safe, all she needed to do was breathe. But she never had the opportunity, she found herself being carried by someone towards the surface, she couldn’t make out who but she tried to stop them, she wriggled and swung and clawed at the man that was taking her from her sweet salvation, but to no avail. As soon as her head broke the water it was as though her existence was a white noise, just constant interference, every sense was overloaded by a deeply displeasurable sensation even her sight was little more than a haze. Still she was faintly aware of what was happening, she was on the ship's rigid inflatable, with two others, Ryden and Morrison and they were not getting along the constant noise prevented her from hearing the exchange entirely, but she could make out pieces.
“Look at yourself man, she did that to you.”
“She’s been through a lot man, and I’ll recover.”
“Look at her eyes man, they’re - before he got rid of them. It’s not her anymore, if we keep it aboard - you have to trust me.”
“- letting you do that.”
“You don’t have to - me take care of it.”
The next thing she heard was the bang of gun firing, which miraculously seemed to bring her back to her senses. Just in time to see Morrison’s body lifelessly slump to the floor of the boat. She quickly took stock of her situation, “Ryden, what have you done? Give me the gun now!” Ryden looked at her for what felt like an hour a perplexed look across his face before he replied. “Sure thing.” He lifted the gun to his Temple and fired, his body immediately slumped forward and the gun fell to the floor beside him.
Mary reached out and picked up the pistol, all there was to do now was wait. She knew what was coming. Mary took a deep breath as the fiery red tendrils came into view from overhead. Or wait, it was just her hair.
Takida Inigo ☦ The Fallen ☦
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Sergei stands around 6'1" with a rather stout yet firm appearance. He is pretty well taken care of for the most part, his body is not as muscular as it once was but he is fit for his age. Like most Russians he has a rather toughened face with a grizzled beard albeit going on salt and pepper colored with faded brown thrown into the mix. Heavy set eyebrows and a fairly full head of salt and peppered brown hair that is medium length. His eye's are a dark brown and always have the appearance on one who has much pride within themselves. Being one for more neutral colored clothes he is usually wearing something that is of a black and gray pigment. As he is from an older generation he can often be seen wearing a suit like build. This build usually consists of a black dress shirt, long overcoat, a scarf usually around his neck, a pair of dress shoes and dress pants, and of course his signature Ushanka and dark shaded glasses.
It is unfortunate in that current age that such attire is not really suited like it once was in a more civilized world. Many aspects have changed since the start of the war. Now and days his hair a bit longer and his beard a bit more erratic. Still sticking to neutral colors he can most commonly be seen wearing a pair of scuffed black boots, loose faded black dress pants, a plain black t-shirt covered by a torn black overcoat, dirty scarf and still his signature Ushanka and now cracked dark shaded glasses.
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53
Male
Sergei Vasily Borodin was born in a small village outside of Moscow, Russia to a peasant father and mother who did not have much to their names. Like much of Russian at the time, life was fairly hard in his lands and often filled with strife and power struggles and a mounting distrust among officials. Much of his childhood days were spent wrapped in a thin blanket trying to keep warm or on the streets trying to find food while his parents spent their days trying to make some currency to survive. Unable to get any kind of formal education, Sergei was home schooled, at least when his parents had the time to do so and when he was old enough he became an apprentice to a local butcher where he was able to make little currency to help support himself and his family.
It was in his early teenage years that life really took a turn for the worst, due to high tensions within Moscow a small uprising gave way and a lot of angry people stupidly tried to march on the Kremlin and unfortunately his parents were among them. Suffice to say that they died that day which in any case was better than being put in facility for the rest of their lives. After their deaths Sergei no longer had anyone in his life, being what his parents had done he was scorned as if he had been their himself and even worse he was often abused by the local law enforcement. It is safe to say that these years were if anything the worst for him and at the same time the most emotionally damning.
It was in his early adulthood that he attempted to change his fortune, he attempted to join the Russian Armed Forces. Wanting to prove he was not like his foolish parents and wanting to make a name for himself, he was however rejected because his parents indiscretions hanged over his head still. Try as he may, Sergei was a cursed man and no one would have him, no money, no home, not ever a friend. It was fortunate for him when he was approached by a ranking member in the SRV two years later. In not so many words the man who truly has no name told Sergei that because of his parents ignorance he would forever be an enemy to mother Russia. That was merely the reality he faced, but if so chose he could choose to disappear and become someone who worked within the shadows. Knowing his future was set in stone at that point, Sergei accepted the offer and thus began a career in Intelligence.
Much of what transpired between Sergei's 20th year of life to his 40th year of life is highly unknown. For all anyone who cared, he had literally disappeared from the world, not that anyone was blinking an eye over it. When his name did eventually resurface it was followed by enemy of the Federation. It is unclear what transpired to make Sergei a traitor, no one ever knew the full truth, and when he disappeared completely and could not be found it would remain a mystery. Around the time people began to forget the brief commotion Sergei appeared once more but in a small town in America. He opened up a butchers shop and catered happily to the local residents. An it was up until the war began that he happily enjoyed a new life far from the country that had tortured him most his life.
They often say that happiness is a fleeting thing and is not truly meant to last, this was the case for Sergei and many people on that fateful day when the world went to utter hell. May 16th would forever hold a burning point in his memory. When that day had started it was like any other since his defection so many years ago. But the very moment the clock stroked 11:00 am, the life he knew, was over. Although he tries hard to forget that day, that moment in time, his mind refuses to let those images go from his conscious. All the things he had seen in this world up until that point could not prepare him for what later on he came to know as the Infernal, attacked his small town and all but obliterated the many friends he had made there.
He should have died that day, he knows that more than he has known anything else in his entire life. Maybe it was the training from his previous life, maybe it was luck, maybe... just maybe God decided that it was not his time just yet. But he escaped from that living hell, but not without scars both mental and physical thrust upon him by the spawn of pure hell. The memories of knowing that he couldn't save anyone even though he tried, they all died and he became the bearer of their memories. He did not give up that day or the many days since, if was due to stubbornness or anger or even that he could not bare to take his own life, it is unknown.
All that he truly knows is he heard the words of the so called Prophets, he knows what must be done. If it is true or not, the only thing he had to hold onto now is the belief that if they could win this war than everything could go back to the way it was. While he never wanted to go back to old way of life, he has resigned himself to the fact that he must do so if only to try and find the peace he loved so much.
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Like any true Russian, Sergei holds a very high amount of pride, this is something that can lead to both strength and clarity of mind and a never ending stubbornness that any older man might have. At his very core he is good man, a generous man, someone who is both kind to those who deserve it and a nightmare to those who would hurt others. In his heart he wants nothing more than a solitary life, one where he can be free to live in happiness in his own way, but at the same time he is often haunted by his past and who he once was. Sergei is an older man and like many older man he is quite wise and tend look at things in a far less serious way than the young. He has a certain way about him, a certain persona that makes people feel easy around him and just a calming energy. He is wise beyond his years and knows what to say when the time is right.
- Wise: Sergei is very wise and a very smart man, given his past life he was often forced to think on his feet and solve problems that could mean life or death. This way of life has made him quite a thinker. You could say it was this wisdom that got him out of that small town when the Infernal destroyed it.
- Combat: You wouldn't think it looking at the man and how kind he is but Sergei is a trained combatant, his specialty being in hand to hand techniques. If your not prepared for it he could put you in a rather nasty hold that would be hard to get out of or give you a rather well aimed shot to your body that would reek havoc on you in the long run.
- Blades: Sergei is good with sharp edges, almost too good at it, being a butcher for a good amount of years, he knows how to cut meat with good proficiency if it be dead beef or an opponent. An he is also pretty good at twirling knives for the younger children who find joy in it, maybe evening juggling but than again nearly losing a thumb has dissuaded him from doing that again.
- Age: They say a man who can't accept reality is often the fool who dies the quickest, Sergei is no fool so even he knows he is far from that strong man he used to be, decidedly so in some cases. If he wants to accept it or not his body has aged and with it comes the various pains one will get not only in general but from a life of action. It is this reason that he is not as fast or as precise as he once was, not like the younger generations.
- Endurance: The mind is willing but the body isn't, a very cold sediment to a man who could once take so much damage. Life however often has other plans and in Sergei's case he can not keep going like he used to, he tires a lot faster than before and in a world where one needs to run this can be a dangerous weakness to have. While he is in pretty good shape for his age, he won't be able to run miles on end without a rest, and old injuries paining him even more so.
- Stubborn: An old man who isn't stubborn would indeed be a miracle, but Sergei is not that miracle and it can sometimes put him in danger. When your full of pride, and you care way too much, and your too stubborn to accept certain things it can lead to mayhem. Sergei hates death, he does not fear it but he does hate it and this leads him to try to and stop it when it comes for someone else. He is far too stubborn to be talked down from doing something he believes is right.
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A weapon in which he brought with him when he defected to the U.S. years ago it is an effective Russian based sub machine gun that's has a lot of similarities to the AK-47. It is smaller a bit more compact and uses the common 9×19mm Parabellum round. With a higher fire rate and an auto to semi auto function it is a versatile weapon for the right user. Its clip is capable of holding thirty rounds and there is a flashlight attached near the barrel for dark area's.
Current Ammo Count: 2 Full clips plus one half clip in the chamber (75 Rounds)
Another gun he brought with him during his defection the MR-412 is an double / single action shot variant of the more commonly known magnum. With a break action chamber and auto eject function this weapon was a special for those who could use it correctly. Chambered for the 357. magnum round with a six barrel capacity, it is a fairly strong weapon and moderately powerful.
Current Ammo Count: 12 rounds plus 4 in the chamber (16 rounds)
About the only weapon that is not brought from Russia, this is a Japanese slicing knife. In fact it is the very same knife he was using the day everything went to hell. Razor sharp and of a good length it can be quite lethal in a close quarters battle however it is still a kitchen knife so it does lack proper balance. In any event he can not bare to part with it, as it is the only piece of his previous life he has left.
He carries around an old leather backpack that holds his assorted items albeit he does not carry much on himself as he tries to remain light for long distances of travel.
- 1x Bottle of 1950 Jewel of Russia (wrapped heavily to avoid breakage)
- 1x Knife sharpener
- 2x 750 mml water bottles
- 1x Large bag of homemade beef jerky (Teriyaki flavor)
- 1x Length of military strength cord
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"Do you think... that I will see my mom and dad again in heaven?"
Sergei was silent as he sat upon the scorched asphalt his back pressed up against the crumbling brick of the building behind him. He was fighting back the tears welling in the corner of his eye's as a young girl lay in his arms. She was only fourteen, a young girl he had know since she was born, she was the prettiest, gentle thing he had ever known. She had her moms light blonde hair and her dads blue eye's and she was always the sweetest child. He found so much strength in her bright smile but now he could hardly look upon her. Her once platinum blonde hair was now drenched in blood, dried and caked, clinging to her forehead, her body was torn in many places, claw marks that gashed deep, her clothing torn to shreds in many places. He had tried... tried so hard to protect her from those things... that hell spawn. The pain from his own wounds barely seemed to register to him now.
Sergei his hand over her eye's to block her view from the streets around them, as he looked around there were bodies everywhere both old and young. Some were torn apart, others cut to shreds, some were even missing limbs, the massacre that had taken place here was unforgivable. The tears he had fought began to move down his cheeks as he looked upon her... finally after trying to avoid it. Her question played in his head, at that point he was unsure if God was even a real being anymore... and if he was than how could he allow such evil to do this? She was just a baby to him, she was so young and had everything ahead of and now at the end on a street of... horrors she was gonna die, right in his arms.
"I do believe so my dear girl. I know they are up their right now waiting for you, because I know better than most just how much they love you."
Sergei just let the tears fall as her body was shuddering in his arms, he looked up at the sky, it was so filled with storm clouds... it was so dark... almost fitting.
"I am scared, I don't want to die..."
Her words sounded weaker than before, he could feel the warm tears on the hand over her eye's as he grip on his shoulder tightened.
"There is nothing to be scared dear girl, dieing is... almost like going to sleep and waking up in a whole new world. In fact your just starting a new life in a beautiful place. No more tears, no more pain, no more fear. I promise you that the next you open your eye's... there will no more worries and no more regrets."
Sergei's free hand tightened as he tried so hard to believe in his own words, he felt anger welling up inside of himself. What kind of monster could do something like this? What kind of beast could be so merciless?
"Will I... see you again Uncle Borodin?"
Her grip slowly loosened as her breathing was becoming more ragged, she did not have much longer left now, he could feel her slipping away.
"You will see me again my girl, I promise, although it maybe a little while, until my time here is done. But you go on ahead of me and find your mom and your dad, keep an out for me. I love you child, more than anything in this world."
"Ill... keep watching... than for... you. Don't be.. to long.. Love you... Uncle... Bor..."
Her arm fell gently from his shoulder as her body tensed just one more time and than she lay completely still in his arms. Sergei clenched his fist as he tightened his eye's so hard that every muscle in his face hurt, he gritted his teeth as he fought the urge to scream violently. Sergei removed his hand from her eye's, her once vibrant blue's stared at him, they were faded now and lifeless. He swallowed hard as he place a hand over her eye's and closed them. Slowly and painfully he stood up with her in his arms, he began his way up the road. Things almost seemed to blur over the next many hours, time almost seemed to spin out of control before it finally slowed down as Sergei was standing in front of a three fresh graves, a crude wooden cross lay before each of them. He stood there and stared at it as the night was starting to set and the sun was fading under the horizon.
"My dear friend I am sorry... I could not keep my promise to keep her safe. I only hope... that you can forgive me.. you and your family were my salvation. You took in an old Russian immigrant with such a troubled past and made him your brother. You made him the godfather of your daughter and in all my life there was no greater honor.
Sergei bent down to his knee before one of the graves, removing a knife from within his jacket pocket he lay it over his outstretched hand.
"I don't know if there is anything I can do to right what has happened.. I am just an old man now. But I promise you on my blood that I will NOT let this go unpunished! I swear it on my own life that I will fight for you, your daughter and your wife until my dieing breath, this I swear."
Sergei cut his own hand with the knife, he squeezed his hand as the blood trickled out and onto the dirt over the fresh grave. He put his hand to his mouth and closed his eye's nodding his head before finally getting up and walking away from the graves, this would be his last go around even if it meant he was breaking his oath to never be that man again. It was only the beginning but he would see the end or die fighting for it.
~They say the measure of a man is determined by the life in which they live. When I look back upon my life, it is hard to see beyond the injustices that influenced my life. I was born into nothing, I had nothing and I could not long for anything for it was but a dream. My parents were killed, and the manner in which they died... it made me so mad that I even cursed their names, the same people or rather the only people that ever loved me. My fate was tied to theirs and my life was turned to a bitter pain, an cursed existence. Even when I rose above it all and made a name for myself, there was no escaping the past I had come from. They say the older we get the more clarity we seem to obtain and things that seemed to clear cut suddenly become fogged by doubt. You exchange your absolute certainty for the ability to see the truth beyond the perception that was pushed upon you... and for the first time you see the world with your own eye's instead of another.
I find myself thinking of the meaning of that saying now that my life might come to the grand final moments before leaving this world for another. It is a most wondrous thing how when one faces the oldest concept of time, when one faces their own mortality. You start to think about all the things you otherwise never would, you start to question if your life amounted to everything you made believe it did. In the face of the war we now face in these times, even I a man who has never looked backed regardless of circumstance is now trying to find resolve within himself for all the years he believed in a lie. Trying to make himself believe that the people whom mattered the most are proud of him, trying to leave this life knowing that it made a difference before the very end.
Heh... its almost funny to me how much those things I didn't think I cared about are now conflicting me at every step. But I am not ready to die just yet, no matter how much I seek to resolve the moral dilemmas deep down. It has never been in me to just give up and die, to go without a single word or fist on the contrary. I am an old man, that is the truth, but I am not so old that I can not still fight just one more time. I am not so old that I can not make a difference just one more time, that I can not try to win this war and find the peace I once knew. People say I am stubborn... its probably true because as I look out upon this war torn hell, I have never felt more will to live, felt more resolve for my existence nor felt more confidence welling up inside of me than I do now. There is a fire burning in my belly for the first time in many years, and anger deep down. My story is not done, not by a long shot, and if and when the time comes for this story to end... I vow I will make it such an end, that is worthy of remembrance. After all I still have my pride after all, and that's more than enough for now. ~
Default Back From the Dead
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Name: Colin Bright
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Appearance:
History: Colin’s life was a good one before it all started. He was born and raised in Washington D.C., spending his weekends at the various museums and monuments. He learned all the best restaurants, which shortcuts to take, which street was which. He even had a girlfriend, which was pretty cool. His dad raised him alone, but they never got caught up about it and never really argued or had to worry about being low on money. He made friends pretty easily, and his life was good.
His father and him lived in a medium-sized apartment in a relatively quiet area. They never really got involved in any trouble until it all hit. Colin and his dad were playing Monopoly (Colin was sick, and his father took the day off to keep his spirits up). They were getting involved, talking trash and everything. Until they heard a scream from outside in the hall of their apartment building. Colin poked his head outside, looking left and right. His dad looked outside, seeing the madness that they kept away. People were eating people.
They soon realized something was very, very wrong, and the apartment building exploded into action soon. Those who had been turned undead were attacking the living, and the living were banding together to fight them off. Colin and his father gathered their things, barricading the entrance just as the fighting spread to them. They took all the food they had, leaving through the fire escape while the undead broke their door down. They ran, making their way through the city. They traveled through many of the different armies' territories, dealing with the likes of frost giants, infernals, and fey.
Eventually they ended up back in the Undead territory, establishing another safehouse. They lived alone, scavenging when they needed too, the supplies they took back beginning to be less and less. They went too far one day, near the Undead center. Everywhere was crawling with them. They found a supermarket, feeling lucky before Colin's father was killed in a horrible accident. Now Colin wanders D.C., doing whatever it takes to survive.
Personality: Colin was a good kid before it all started. Got all A’s and B’s, turned in all his homework on time, kept a good attitude, and that partially transitioned over to the hellhole he lives in now. He focuses on the ups instead of the downs, always trying to keep everybody in good spirits. However, sometimes his facade cracks and he’ll have a breakdown. Afterwards, he’ll deny it ever happened. Colin always tries to help people out by using his brain, solving problems because it’s the only way he knows how to distract himself. He’ll crack jokes in the worst of times, but only because he doesn’t know any other way to cheer people up. He wants to believe that the world will be fixed, trying to convince himself, but always fails.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Stamina: Colin’s stamina is a remarkable thing. After being on the track team for two years of highschool, it’s grown, and he’s thankful for it. The long practices, the burning lungs, it all paid off.
Wrestling: Colin also participated in the school wrestling team. I mean, it’s not that useful, but grappling the living dead might come in handy. As if.
Baseball: Now this one’s the actual useful one. He wasn’t even all that good at it. I mean, sure, he scraped by, but he never considered it in his future. Now the baseball bat he thought he’d never look at outside of school saves his life again and again.
Firearms: Colin’s aim is not quite bad, but it’s not even close to good either. It’s just medium, leaning heavily to bad. A gun is a useful thing, but Colin can’t use it if his life depended on it.
Cooking: Colin is a mean chef. He can whip up some pretty good meals out of a couple cans of old food.
Spanish: Colin also knows a bit of Spanish, though it’s fading now that he’s out of school.
Belongings:
-Backpack
-Baseball bat, studded with nails.
-Winter coat
-Beanie
-Three cans of food
-One canteen, large
-Some comics
-Jokebook
-His father’s wedding ring
-Flashlight
-2 flares
Color Code: aba000
Other stuff: Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLSCJmOIIJI
Sample Post: The End is a funny thing. Everybody has their own perception of it, their own theory as to how their life was going to end. Whether you're high, just wondering about an absurd future, or just bored, you formulate some perception, some strange story of how it'll all end. Colin couldn't help but wonder if someone got it right on a long day, their mind addled by fatigue.
"Hey, bud." His dad shook his shoulder, rousing him from his stupor. Colin was laying down on his cot, his blanket draped around him. Their current sanctuary was a concrete warehouse, and clearly nobody had thought to add some heating. In fact, it must have been used to store cold goods, because it was freezing constantly. But it was well fortified, and that's all that counts.
"Yeah?" Colin said, rubbing his eyes almost as if he could ignore the sleepless nights for just a little longer. "Time to find some more food." Colin grumbled. "Are we low already?" His father nodded. "I'm afraid so. We still have some cans, but..." Colin sighed. "Alright, fine." His father pointed on the map of the district they were in. "Okay, this is a supermarket so there might be some more stuff here." Colin scanned the map, looking through the various markings his dad had added. "That's kinda close to where the...dead people stay." His father nodded. "We're just gonna have to go further than usual bud."
Colin scooped up his backpack neatly, his bat contained in a makeshift sheath he had added, made of some leather and belts. "Alright, let's go." They made their way cautiously to the target, eventually hiding in an empty alley. Colin flinched as some undead shambled past the alley they resided in. His grip on the bat tightened. Once the coast was clear, they tiptoe-ran to the building, hiding behind shelves once they were in. Soon they got to work. They scanned the shelves, most empty. Soon, they had reached the near end. Stan walked down aisle 10, his father on the other side of him. “Like a ghost town in here…” His dad muttered. “At least in a ghost town your dead body doesn’t eat other people.” Colin quipped back. His dad shot him a look. “Sorry.” He said apologetically,
Colin almost cried in happiness when he saw a loaf of bread, perfectly untouched and wrapped, on the empty shelves. His dad held him back. “Wait. It might be a trap. You know what those vampire things are like. It must be dangerous.” Colin chuckled. “Dad, the only dangers in that loaf of happiness are carbs." Colin shot out his arm, grabbing the loaf. His dad’s eyes went wide. “Colin, no!” As soon as he pulled the bread away, a tripwire activated, setting off some sort of crude alarm.
“Oh shit!” They both turned to see the undead already emerging from various corners of the store, way more than they had ever dealt with. Colin gripped his bat tightly. “I’m so sorry!” His dad sighed. “Little too late, bud.” They ran towards the back of the store, heading for the manager’s office. The dead slowly closed in on both sides, with father and son barely making it. They shut the door quickly, Colin’s dad shoving filing cabinets and a desk behind the door to hold them off.
Colin looked around for another exit, spotting a small vent. “Dad. In there.” His father looked at it. “I-I...I can’t fit in that, son.” Colin shrugged. “Okay, another way out then." As they assessed the area, they could only the stained walls, staring back at them. Colin’s face went pale as he realized the implications. “You can fit, that’s plenty big.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Colin’s father looked at him with a resigned look. “Colin, we both know that’s not true.” Colin started crying. “Dad, please...no.” His father shook his head as the door shook harder. “Go.” He whispered quietly. “No, no, no, no. Dad you can’t do this.”
His father picked him up and bundled him into the vent, Colin kicking and screaming all the way. “DAD! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! WE CAN MAKE IT OUT! PLEASE!” Colin’s Dad looked at him one last time, slipping off his wedding ring. “Take this.” Colin had given up pleading now, and reached out his hand, taking it in his trembling grasp. “Colin. I love you.” Colin crawled out through the vent, landing on the cold hard concrete outside of the store just as he heard the door get broken down. Tears streamed down his face, even as he laid on his cot that night, drifting into a nightmare-riddled sleep.
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Appearance:
History: Colin’s life was a good one before it all started. He was born and raised in Washington D.C., spending his weekends at the various museums and monuments. He learned all the best restaurants, which shortcuts to take, which street was which. He even had a girlfriend, which was pretty cool. His dad raised him alone, but they never got caught up about it and never really argued or had to worry about being low on money. He made friends pretty easily, and his life was good.
His father and him lived in a medium-sized apartment in a relatively quiet area. They never really got involved in any trouble until it all hit. Colin and his dad were playing Monopoly (Colin was sick, and his father took the day off to keep his spirits up). They were getting involved, talking trash and everything. Until they heard a scream from outside in the hall of their apartment building. Colin poked his head outside, looking left and right. His dad looked outside, seeing the madness that they kept away. People were eating people.
They soon realized something was very, very wrong, and the apartment building exploded into action soon. Those who had been turned undead were attacking the living, and the living were banding together to fight them off. Colin and his father gathered their things, barricading the entrance just as the fighting spread to them. They took all the food they had, leaving through the fire escape while the undead broke their door down. They ran, making their way through the city. They traveled through many of the different armies' territories, dealing with the likes of frost giants, infernals, and fey.
Eventually they ended up back in the Undead territory, establishing another safehouse. They lived alone, scavenging when they needed too, the supplies they took back beginning to be less and less. They went too far one day, near the Undead center. Everywhere was crawling with them. They found a supermarket, feeling lucky before Colin's father was killed in a horrible accident. Now Colin wanders D.C., doing whatever it takes to survive.
Personality: Colin was a good kid before it all started. Got all A’s and B’s, turned in all his homework on time, kept a good attitude, and that partially transitioned over to the hellhole he lives in now. He focuses on the ups instead of the downs, always trying to keep everybody in good spirits. However, sometimes his facade cracks and he’ll have a breakdown. Afterwards, he’ll deny it ever happened. Colin always tries to help people out by using his brain, solving problems because it’s the only way he knows how to distract himself. He’ll crack jokes in the worst of times, but only because he doesn’t know any other way to cheer people up. He wants to believe that the world will be fixed, trying to convince himself, but always fails.
Skills and Weaknesses:
Stamina: Colin’s stamina is a remarkable thing. After being on the track team for two years of highschool, it’s grown, and he’s thankful for it. The long practices, the burning lungs, it all paid off.
Wrestling: Colin also participated in the school wrestling team. I mean, it’s not that useful, but grappling the living dead might come in handy. As if.
Baseball: Now this one’s the actual useful one. He wasn’t even all that good at it. I mean, sure, he scraped by, but he never considered it in his future. Now the baseball bat he thought he’d never look at outside of school saves his life again and again.
Firearms: Colin’s aim is not quite bad, but it’s not even close to good either. It’s just medium, leaning heavily to bad. A gun is a useful thing, but Colin can’t use it if his life depended on it.
Cooking: Colin is a mean chef. He can whip up some pretty good meals out of a couple cans of old food.
Spanish: Colin also knows a bit of Spanish, though it’s fading now that he’s out of school.
Belongings:
-Backpack
-Baseball bat, studded with nails.
-Winter coat
-Beanie
-Three cans of food
-One canteen, large
-Some comics
-Jokebook
-His father’s wedding ring
-Flashlight
-2 flares
Color Code: aba000
Other stuff: Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLSCJmOIIJI
Sample Post: The End is a funny thing. Everybody has their own perception of it, their own theory as to how their life was going to end. Whether you're high, just wondering about an absurd future, or just bored, you formulate some perception, some strange story of how it'll all end. Colin couldn't help but wonder if someone got it right on a long day, their mind addled by fatigue.
"Hey, bud." His dad shook his shoulder, rousing him from his stupor. Colin was laying down on his cot, his blanket draped around him. Their current sanctuary was a concrete warehouse, and clearly nobody had thought to add some heating. In fact, it must have been used to store cold goods, because it was freezing constantly. But it was well fortified, and that's all that counts.
"Yeah?" Colin said, rubbing his eyes almost as if he could ignore the sleepless nights for just a little longer. "Time to find some more food." Colin grumbled. "Are we low already?" His father nodded. "I'm afraid so. We still have some cans, but..." Colin sighed. "Alright, fine." His father pointed on the map of the district they were in. "Okay, this is a supermarket so there might be some more stuff here." Colin scanned the map, looking through the various markings his dad had added. "That's kinda close to where the...dead people stay." His father nodded. "We're just gonna have to go further than usual bud."
Colin scooped up his backpack neatly, his bat contained in a makeshift sheath he had added, made of some leather and belts. "Alright, let's go." They made their way cautiously to the target, eventually hiding in an empty alley. Colin flinched as some undead shambled past the alley they resided in. His grip on the bat tightened. Once the coast was clear, they tiptoe-ran to the building, hiding behind shelves once they were in. Soon they got to work. They scanned the shelves, most empty. Soon, they had reached the near end. Stan walked down aisle 10, his father on the other side of him. “Like a ghost town in here…” His dad muttered. “At least in a ghost town your dead body doesn’t eat other people.” Colin quipped back. His dad shot him a look. “Sorry.” He said apologetically,
Colin almost cried in happiness when he saw a loaf of bread, perfectly untouched and wrapped, on the empty shelves. His dad held him back. “Wait. It might be a trap. You know what those vampire things are like. It must be dangerous.” Colin chuckled. “Dad, the only dangers in that loaf of happiness are carbs." Colin shot out his arm, grabbing the loaf. His dad’s eyes went wide. “Colin, no!” As soon as he pulled the bread away, a tripwire activated, setting off some sort of crude alarm.
“Oh shit!” They both turned to see the undead already emerging from various corners of the store, way more than they had ever dealt with. Colin gripped his bat tightly. “I’m so sorry!” His dad sighed. “Little too late, bud.” They ran towards the back of the store, heading for the manager’s office. The dead slowly closed in on both sides, with father and son barely making it. They shut the door quickly, Colin’s dad shoving filing cabinets and a desk behind the door to hold them off.
Colin looked around for another exit, spotting a small vent. “Dad. In there.” His father looked at it. “I-I...I can’t fit in that, son.” Colin shrugged. “Okay, another way out then." As they assessed the area, they could only the stained walls, staring back at them. Colin’s face went pale as he realized the implications. “You can fit, that’s plenty big.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Colin’s father looked at him with a resigned look. “Colin, we both know that’s not true.” Colin started crying. “Dad, please...no.” His father shook his head as the door shook harder. “Go.” He whispered quietly. “No, no, no, no. Dad you can’t do this.”
His father picked him up and bundled him into the vent, Colin kicking and screaming all the way. “DAD! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! WE CAN MAKE IT OUT! PLEASE!” Colin’s Dad looked at him one last time, slipping off his wedding ring. “Take this.” Colin had given up pleading now, and reached out his hand, taking it in his trembling grasp. “Colin. I love you.” Colin crawled out through the vent, landing on the cold hard concrete outside of the store just as he heard the door get broken down. Tears streamed down his face, even as he laid on his cot that night, drifting into a nightmare-riddled sleep.
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