[OOC] The Survivor's Club (High Casual)

[Cairo]

The Survivor's Club

"Everybody died, and I'm stuck with you assholes."

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Yeah, so, the world has ended. You probably realized that by now, yeah? I don’t know if it was the great big ‘boom’ that started it off, or seeing your boyfriend get torn apart by zombies, or watching your grand-pappy get shot to shit by fuckin’ robots with fuckin’ machine guns, or whatever happened to you, but something’s probably tipped you off. Welcome to the End War, baby.

Of course, someone probably could have given us a little advance warning that this was coming, because the other guys? They all seemed pretty goddamn ready. But while they were forging their flaming swords and stretching their tentacles out, we were making TV shows. Which was fun while it lasted, don’t get me wrong, but the number’s pretty much up.

I hope you weren’t hoping the government was gonna bail you out, because the government’s basically gone. Six weeks into the apocalypse, and most of humanity’s already gone and kicked the bucket, left the other guys to savage each other on our turf. That’s just sad, is what that is. But not you and me! We’re survivors, and there’s a lot more of us. Well, maybe not a lot, but there’s enough.

See, I know it may be hard to keep morale up in the face of big ole’ ice giants and dragons and literal no-shit goddamn demons killing everyone you ever knew and bringing human society to its knees in a matter of forty-odd days, but the truth is, it doesn’t have to be over. This is the End War, and wars can have a winner. I guy I met in Wichita, he told me the whole story. He met this guy, who met this guy, who says he knows a way to fix things, set everything back to the way it was right when it all went shit-up. This whole End War deal, it’s a scavenger hunt, right? But with murder. All these guys that came to our world, all the angels and elves and tentacley shits, they’re all like kids on Easter looking for the nine painted eggs, only in this case the kids are armies from other dimensions and the eggs are ancient relics corresponding to each of the dimensions, because of course they are. Anyway, whoever finds all of them first wins and gets to be Top Dimension, right? And if we win, we get the world back, just the way it used to be.

Even better, we have a lead. This guy said he knew where they all were, and it was like he’d always known, like he just had to remember. Of course, last anyone saw him, he was being used as tooth floss by a werewolf, but no worries, he wrote all the stuff down first, and I have a copy. I’ll give you one, too, and you can pass it on. Even better, rumor is it wasn’t just the one guy – there are a lot of folks, saying the exact same thing. I know it sounds crazy, and it’s not a lot to go on, but isn’t it better to hope?

Anyway, I’d best be going – some dead shit took a chunk out of me a day ago, and I don’t know how long I’ve got. Look after yourself, you hear? Humans are an endangered species, so we’ve got to stick together. Stay safe. Travel in daylight. Don’t go in the woods. If you see an S spray-painted on the wall, that means safe. If you see an X, that means the opposite.

God save the Survivor’s Club. I think we can win this.

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INTRODUCTION

“Yeah, we’re all gonna die.”

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Welcome to The Survivor’s Club, an Apocalyptic Roleplay about surviving the End War. To summarize what you just read, the end of the world has come – on May 16th, 2018, at approximately 11:00 AM, hell broke loose across the globe as eight armies of extra-dimensional entities clawed their way into earth and began doing battle in the streets, wiping out any humans they came across as a bonus. Within two weeks, the governments of the world had fallen; within three, the last pockets of organized resistance had been crushed.

In the eastern United States, where the RP will begin, the few humans left have congregated into a loose organization known as the Survivor’s Club, a network of warriors and survivalists that communicate through graffiti signs and campfire-lit meetings, sharing knowledge, weapons, and resources, staying under the radar by avoiding traveling in large groups. It’s a grim situation, but hope springs eternal – tales of the people known as Prophets have spread among the club, telling of a way the apocalypse can be reversed. Nobody knows what makes a person a Prophet, save the fact that as soon as the apocalypse began, every single one of them had knowledge burst into their skull – that what was happening might have been the End War but was really just a scavenger hunt, that each one of the eight armies was looking for the same nine relics scattered across the globe, and that humanity had not just a stake but an edge; the Prophets knew where they were. If all nine are assembled, then the apocalypse can be reversed and all the dead restored to life – not all the survivors believe it, but very few have anything better to do.

It’s forty-five days after the End War began, and the race, as they say, is on.

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INFORMATION

“AKA: How to get monsters dead before they get you dead!”

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The Survivor’s Club will be a high casual, action and character focused RP about an adventure through the end of the world. Expect ludicrous action setpieces in the vein of staking vampires with nail-guns, force-feeding a dragon dynamite or driving a truck into Cthulhu’s big fat face, a road-trip story filled with drama and exciting apocalyptic vistas to discover, a few mysteries and ancient ruins to delve into when it comes to actually getting the relics, and hopefully a good deal of character interaction and development, since isn’t that really the core of RP? The tone is dark, yes, and mature themes such as the destruction of human society and the violent death of almost everyone will certainly come up, but there will also be (if you couldn’t tell) a healthy amount of black comedy and action; a major theme of the RP is that, however bad things seem, there is hope, and that ordinary people can do extraordinary things when pushed to their limits.

Again, writing style will be high-casual, with an emphasis on fairly frequent but short posts of a reasonably high quality. I’ll be capping it at 4-5 players, plus myself; I’m also looking for a CO-GM, if anyone wants to offer, but in any case I intend to take a lot of player feedback in the story anyway and hopefully have a very fun, interesting, collaborative experience. Below is a hider containing information about the eight armies that have invaded – hopefully it’s enough to give you a feel for each of them.

Invader Summaries

The Angels

Golden armored magi-tech radiant winged humanoids with laser spears and shining airships. They seem to have relatively little physical diversity, and some survivors have theorized that they’re the only group of invaders to follow something like a standard military hierarchy. They may look like angels, but good guys, they ain’t – they’ll kill you just as dead as any of the invaders, only they’ll be smart about it.

The Infernals

Demons. Horned devils wielding chains and pitchforks, imps with claws, infernal gorillas, succubi, ancient monsters with flaming swords and dark powers, and basically anything else you can think of. Savage, sadistic, and utterly without mercy, they’re the only army of invaders that has been seen infighting. These guys are the worst.

The Fey

This is the reason you don’t go in the woods. They’re the little men, the elves, the werewolves and the centaurs and the satyrs that’ll shoot you full of arrows, or feed you to their hounds, or kidnap you and keep you as a pet. They may be fairies, but this is way more Grimm than Disney. Let me reiterate: don’t go in the woods.

The Deep

Lovecraft may have been onto something. They’re the deepfolk, the shoggoths, the eldritch horrors that rise up from out of the sea. Their presence is almost always heralded by a thick fog, and some survivors claim to have seen twisted humans among their number, gibbering, broken wrecks with crab claws or tentacles or skin covered in barnacles. They tend to stick near the water, which makes them easy to avoid, but we’d best hope they don’t mobilize in force – if you peer through the fog, out to the sea, you can sometimes make out some shit that’s a whole lot bigger waiting beneath the waves.

The Dead

It’s the zombie apocalypse, but a whole lot worse. As if the rabid, flesh-hungry corpse disease that transmits through biting wasn’t enough, these guys have a whole bunch of toys to play with – skeletal monstrosities, frankensteins, hordes of bats and various other undead horrors. To top it all off, they’re also led by actual vampires who ride around on chariots pulled by the damned and drink blood and cut heads off with swords made of pure night. By far the most numerous of the armies, though they do have a weakness – they hate fire, and the really bad ones only ever go out at night.

The Metal

Kill-bots, terminators, droids, mecha, whatever you want to call them, they’re here, they’re lethal, and they hate us. The Metal is an army of brutally efficient war machines of all shapes and sizes, from human-shaped infantry bots to flying drones to spider tanks the size of buildings. Fortunately for us, they’re the rarest of the invaders, but they’re also potentially the most lethal. If The Metal shows up in force, run.

The Giants

In case it wasn’t clear enough that we’re living through Ragnarok, we have the Frost Giants. They come in a variety of sizes from ‘as big as a truck’ to ‘as big as a house’, they’re angry, they’re violent, and they’ve got huge-ass weapons made from some weird blue metal. They definitely have some sort of language, though they’re far from organized, belonging more to the ‘savage berserker’ school of warfare. Areas they congregate in tend to drop in temperature and end up blanketed in snow, and their arrival is usually heralded by a cold northern wind. Some people even say they’ve got shamans who can command the forces of winter to do their bidding, and shit, why wouldn’t that be true?

The Dragons

Rounding it all out is the army of dragons riding dragons. There’s a lot of different kinds, from the four-legged two-winged fire-breathing monsters to the floating wyrms to the two-legged poison-spitting wyverns; they’ve even got human sized ones with armor and weapons that like to ride the big ones. Even better, they’ve got more magical firepower than any other invader; people have seen the little dragons do some crazy shit, like zap lighting out of their claws or turn invisible or pick shit up with their minds.

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RULES

“Travel in daylight. Stick together. No groups of more than seven. Stay away from the water. Don’t go in the woods. Always post a lookout. Keep a weapon handy.”

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1. All standard guild rules apply. No god-moding, flaming, bigotry, general unpleasantness. Romance, as ever, is fine, but if it goes beyond fade to black, take it to PMS.
2. Really, just don’t be a jerk.
3. If you have an idea for something that could happen, either in the story or for your character, let me know, I’m always open to ideas! Furthermore, if you have an idea for an awesome way your character could take out a big baddie, but are worried it would be god-moding, PM me and we can see if we can work something out.
4. Posting schedule should hopefully be once a week. If you’re not gonna be able to make that, that’s fine, just let us know in advance.
5. Characters can die (it’s a dangerous life, after all), but I don’t like to run a super high mortality game; I won’t kill off your character with no warning or anything like that, and any deaths that happen will hopefully be big, satisfying narrative moments for us all. Re-rolling is encouraged in the event of character death!
6. In general, you can feel free to Worldbuild as you see fit – if you want part of your character’s backstory to be that they’re the last survivor of the Siege of Toronto, where a hundred humans held out for days against a horde of frost giants, that’s awesome, do it! Just make sure it doesn’t directly contradict the canon.
7. You can play a Prophet, if you want.
8. At the beginning, I ask that all the characters be basically human in their capabilities – no sci-fi- tech or magic powers. As things proceed, options will be made available for characters to advance in a more supernatural direction if they want, so hold onto those ideas!
9. Post your CS applications in the OOC, or PM them to me. Don't post them in the characters tab until approved.
10. Have fun!

CS Template

Name: Your character’s name. Self-explanatory.

Age: Also self-explanatory.

Gender: Ditto.

Appearance: Can be a description, a picture, or both. If you go with a picture, art or photography is fine, but I’d ask you to refrain from anything anime-ish as it’s not really the aesthetic we’re going with here.

History: Who are you? Where do you come from? What have you been up to since the world ended? Feel free to world-build to an extent, here; if you want to say that Chicago is in the throes of a zombie apocalypse or that New Orleans has been conquered by shoggoths, you’re welcome to.

Personality: What are you like? How are you to work with? Feel free to go shorter on this, as personalities tend to emerge more clearly in RP. Make sure you include your character’s perspective on the End War, whether they believe in the story of the prophets, whether they think it’s a crock of shit, etc.

Skills and Weaknesses: What are you good at? Are you a mechanic? A distance runner? Have you developed a sudden and bizarre knack for killing monsters with meat cleavers? Even skills that don’t directly relate to surviving the end of the world go here, like singing or interpretive dance or underwater basket weaving. Conversely, what are you bad at? What are the gaps in your ability?

Belongings: What does your character have on their person?

Color Code: Pick a color to mark your character’s dialogue.

Other stuff: Anything else you want to include. Relationships, quirks, theme music, trivia, whatever, it goes here.

Sample Post: The real meat: give a short sample post detailing the first time your character encountered the End War.

Well, that’s all I have. I hope you’ll join me for this crazy ride!

[YungTweak]

Bookworm

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.

[Cairo]

@YungTweak Bookworm is awesome! A very dark and honest look at the realities of the setting, and very well done overall. Accepted!

[YungTweak]

Thanks. Super stoked to get started!

[akirashadow]

Only just realise I put the portrait in wrong >.> on my character sheet submissions. Also changed my text color to make it easier if anyones going to quote speech snippets between posts.

[AngelofOctober]

Think I am going to go for the group medic, if that's possible.

[Cairo]

@AngelofOctober

That'd be awesome! I look forward to seeing what you come up with.

[AngelofOctober]

@AngelofOctober

That'd be awesome! I look forward to seeing what you come up with.

@Cairo

Fantastic than. :)

[cunfuzzler]

Dunno if this is still accepting or even alive, but I like the concept and it never hurts to throw up a CS.

Name: Marissa "Mary" Gilroy

Age: 29

Gender: Female

Appearance:

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:

Sample

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 - 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.

[Cairo]

@cunfuzzler@AngelofOctober@akirashadow@YungTweak@Takida Inigo

So, I'm not gonna lie, I had figured interest in this had petered out and was preparing to shutter it, but then all of a sudden there's been a seeming resurgence. I'd still like to play it if there's interest, so I guess I'll put the question out - y'all still here and game to play?

[Takida Inigo]

@Cairo

I'm down, I will start working up a CS.

[akirashadow]

@CairoI'm still interested.

[Cairo]

Well, alright! Seems like there's enough interest left to try. I'll finish up my CS and post it tonight. @cunfuzzler, Marissa is accepted!

[Takida Inigo]

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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Vityaz-SN

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)

MR-412 REX

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)

Japanese Slicer

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.

Leather Pack (Items)

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

ff8333

Theme Song

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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. ~

[Pupperr]

I was in the original interest check. Can I still join? I also have a friend that wants to join.

[Ellion]

I’m the friend :)

[Cairo]

@Takida Inigo Sergei is awesome! The perfect mix of rawness, old wisdom, and sadness befitting the situation. Accepted.

@Ellion@Pupperr

Absolutely! I was going to cap it at six, but since it seems like Yung won't be joining us, you're both welcome to throw something up. Once you guys are done (and hopefully I will also be) we'll get started!

[Pupperr]

@Ellion@Pupperr

Absolutely! I was going to cap it at six, but since it seems like Yung won't be joining us, you're both welcome to throw something up. Once you guys are done (and hopefully I will also be) we'll get started!

@Cairo

Great! I'll work on a CS :)

[Takida Inigo]

So @Cairo how is this story going to start in respects to our characters knowing each other? I would imagine we have not been together long if at all? Another question if it isn't too revealing, as its been 45 days I would imagine we know some things about the creatures fighting in the war, not a terrible lot but strategies by now to help take them down, would we be coming up with such things on our own or would you kind of fill us in on a need to know basis type thing?

[Cairo]

So @Cairo how is this story going to start in respects to our characters knowing each other? I would imagine we have not been together long if at all? Another question if it isn't too revealing, as its been 45 days I would imagine we know some things about the creatures fighting in the war, not a terrible lot but strategies by now to help take them down, would we be coming up with such things on our own or would you kind of fill us in on a need to know basis type thing?

@Takida Inigo

Good questions, all! If any of you guys want to establish your characters as having known each other / been traveling together before the RP starts, that's totally fine. Otherwise, we will all be strangers who just happened to be in a similar place in the D.C. area when some shit started going down.

As far as strategies go, absolutely, the characters would have come up with tricks and tools to get an edge over the beasties and gained a reasonable level of knowledge about them; really, that's how they've survived. If it's stuff like tools or maneuvers that are effective, you're free to come up with those on your own - an example of that sort of thing would be the rope trick Charlie and his friend use against the frost giants in the sample post I put on my CS. When it comes to supernatural weaknesses, or knowledge you've gained about their nature or their organization, those I'll ask you to clear with me beforehand if you have any ideas about them. You can always ask if you have any thoughts or particular questions about that sort of thing. Otherwise, yeah, I'll be filling you in on information about them as it becomes relevant, though most of what Survivors know about them is still rooted in very practical matters, aka, how to get them dead before they get you dead.