[OOC] No Haven [A Walking Dead Roleplay]

[Sightles]

Alright, can't wait to see your bio! :D Yeah, i know what you mean by racist classmates.

[GoyaVive]

CS done. Let me know what you think.

[Sightles]

@GoyaVive, I love it! The wise old man/veteran is one of my favorite types of characters! Accepted!

[Sightles]

We'll be starting in a couple hours, or so! I'm going to write up an intro post in the meantime!

[Ispep]

I'm going to work soon, so I don't know when I'll be able to post. I might be able to from my phone during my break at 6 pm EST, or before that if things are slow, but the latest would be a bit after 8 pm EST.

[Sightles]

That's perfectly fine. Thank you for letting me know!

[Savo]

This was easy to make since I based the character off of me. If you see lots of things that contradict, that's kind of me.

Name: Sven Pike

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Appearence:

He is 6', and 170 lbs.
Weapons: Flare Gun (5 Flares), a Kitchen Knife, Glock 18 (20 Rounds, 2 Magazines)

Personality: Emotionless, uncaring, cowardly, caring, selfless, and friendly, these are a few things that make up Sven.

Bio: "What a surprise to end up back in my birth town.... I wonder if any of my old friends are still here... Or alive."

Sven was born in Enid, and was raised there for a couple of years. He just lived a normal life there, but has put up with a lot of crap from his classmates. After a few years gone by, he was in high school, and was finally a bit less.... Ignorant. When it was his Sophmore year, he was forced to move to Las Vegas. The only thing he liked about the place was starting anew, and that was it. He made new friends and new enemies, living out the same boring mundane life... Until his Senior year.

He would of graduated a few weeks ago, but now he is plunged into a world of crushed dreams, and ambitions.He has been wandering this whole time, barely surviving thanks to his luck. After a few more weeks he reached the outskirts of Enid, and abandon his car he found since it was out of gas. As he trudged on forward, he decided to change his name to Sven Pike. He wanted to keep his anewed start, and he didn't want anyone to remember who he was before the apocalypse. As he trudges on, he finally reaches his old hometown.

Most of this is based on irl stuff, so yeah.

[Sightles]

@Savo, excellent! Accepted! :D

[Sightles]

Intro post is now up!

[Epsir]

Name: George F. Walsh

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Appearance: George stands at 173cm (5'8") tall with a stocky, broad build. He is not fat, but has little in the way of visible muscle. He is gaunt faced, looking older than he really is in the way that the skin is drawn over his face. His features are fixed in an ever neutral stare, equal parts the result of corporate life and a naturally bored personality. He is fair skinned, under normal circumstances pale, but is typically burnt in patches of agitated red skin. His small, squinting eyes are a pale, mottled shade of blue. Topping his head are the remains of a once beautifully combed head of brown hair, now shaggy and running longer than he'd ever let it stay in the real world. It begins to curl only a tiny amount, and much like the rest of him is in true need of civilization and its amenities before they could return to being presentable.

He wears the tattered remains of a three piece suit. His jacket and tie are long gone and the rest of it is marred by grime and even a little blood. The vest has kept the best of any of his garments, a dark gray close fitting piece with a flat lapel. His shirt was previously white, but borders closer to a gray at this point. Its sleeves have been tattered or torn below the elbows. It has more than justified its cost in keeping together. His pants are black, and have stayed that way. They are neatly maintained and obviously expensive. Not the things he would have liked to stay the apocalypse in but the things on his back when he got there. He also wears a set of circular, wire-frame glasses to correct his mildly poor vision. They are dust-marked and one of the lenses got a little cracked along the way but he values them more than any of his other possessions.

Weapons: Sometime after he got out on the roads, George found a baseball bat. It's brand new, yanked from some nameless store in some nameless town, and made of arguably good quality wood. It is unused, and he sometimes doubts if he would have it in him to use it, but it was better than walking unarmed.

Personality: George was a cool headed, calculating man with little concern or regard for the people around him. He wanted to go his own way in life and find his own happiness wherever it lay. A week and a half in the Oklahoman sun, running from walkers and watching civilization go to waste in short order has brought him unhinged. On the exterior he's still the same man, cool headed and determined to keep himself under the radar, but he's begun to suspect that this is all some kind of purgatory. Indifference towards others has begun to shift towards paranoia. He does what he must to fit in and coexist in the new world, the same way he lived in the offices of old, but every day he questions why more and more.

History: Mr. Walsh was an accountant on the east coast. He grew up in, lived in, and was ready to spend the rest of his days in Boston when the retail firm he worked for decided to move one of its offices out west. It was tantamount to a promotion, he'd end up in charge of a section of new-hires rather than one of the drones himself, although it didn't mean much other than warmer weather to him. His flight had been stopped at an airport around Oklahoma city on layover, and shortly put into quarantine. That had only lasted a few days before the city was all but given up to the dead. George escaped with his life, barely, taking more scrapes from the frenzied refugees heading into the countryside than he ever did from the Walkers. Since he got out of the city, he's been avoiding people and making his way along the roads under the oppressive sun, no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He slowly became aware of just how futile his wanderings were, and had the good fortune to fall in with the Last Hearth community. From there, he's made his way pulling his weight and biding his time, the same as the rest.

[Sightles]

Accepted!

[DrowsyPangolin]

Name:Vincent 'Vince' Cross

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Appearance: Vince is tall, standing just above six feet, and is rather slim, almost to the point of looking underfed. He has a pale complexion, and is nearly always sunburned. His eyes are light green, and usually bloodshot from lack of sleep. He has short red hair, which darkened as he aged, and a scruffy beard. He wears an ill-fitting white button-up shirt that has been heavily stained, and wears a simple black tie, which despite the state of the world has remained intact. His pants are simple black dress pants, and his shoes are made of battered black patent leather.

Weapons(Nothing too farfetched): Vince's primary weapon is a two-and-a-half foot length of pipe. It has black electrical tape tied around one end to make a makeshift handle. The business end of the pipe is pointed, making it seem it was sawed out of it's proper place with a hacksaw. Vince also has a snub-nosed .44 revolver, but he keeps it hidden, as it only has five rounds, and survivors with firearms are usually put on guard duty, something he has no interest in. The weapon is usually kept tucked in his waist band, and covered with his untucked shirt.

Personality: Vince usually seems like a decent enough person, if not a bit awkward. He often tries to adjust his speech and personality to fit who he's talking to, making him a bit of a social chameleon. He doesn't necessarily go out of his way to help others, though he will if the situation benefits him. Despite his exterior, something seems off about Vince, a trait that only becomes apparent to those who are around him for long periods of time. He is usually very tight-lipped about his past.

Short History: When the outbreak started, Vince was in a mental hospital. As panic engulfed the place, he was set free, scavenging what he could and setting out to find a safe location as quickly as possible. He arrived at Last Hearth three days ago.

[Sightles]

Accepted!

[GoyaVive]

Ok, I'll admit I'm a little bit lost. Who is Lacy speaking to?

[Sightles]

Oh, sorry. She's speaking to George,Epsir's character

[GoyaVive]

Ok, cool. I somehow missed his post.

[Sightles]

Savo, who did you bump into?

[Ispep]

Sorry, I won't be able to post for a bit. I'm busy.

[GoyaVive]

So is Sven talking to Max and Hugo? I was under the impression he was talking to Lacy and George.

[Sightles]

He is.. Clocky messed up, I assume.