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    1. ApocalypticaGM 11 yrs ago

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You know the Christianity of two thousand years ago, if you could call it that back then, was still debating on there was even a devil and where souls went if not 'The Kingdom of God'. A lot of what it is today developed over centuries. It's this developed way of thinking that built over centuries by tons of thinkers. Knowing that, I doubt Christianity would exist in this time as it is today. Scorching most of society means losing a lot of the diversity that's kept Christianity alive. For example, if only Americans survived, most of our population isn't actually very educated about the deeper rituals or theological understanding of the texts. You'd have this religion that survived solely on the understanding of those left, then jump centuries and it's probably changed even more.

I'd be interested in seeing some characters holding on to very old ideas. Imagine those religions that were never too different mixing up together, like Islam, Judaism, and Christianity just merging into this Followers of God thing.

My plan with Guamá is to pull from the Taíno Arawakan culture, something I have a real connection with, while mixing it with some aspects of old Judaism. What about y'all?
Blue Dog said
How good is the sister at tracking?


I may create a Character Sheet for her as well, but being 16 and living among the Arawakan, I suspect she would higher than an apprentice and skilled differently than the 'civilized'. So, I'd say she probably can more than hold her own with tracking and would probably pass on another mindset in going about it.
Unless you've heard from Beo, I would simply take control of the character until you've returned to the ship. We can figure what to do next. As is, though, we're waiting on your half to continue. I understand it's been a while since the last post, so I hope Wind Wind and you can chime in on what you'd like to do from here.
Blue Dog said
How many people do we need to start this?


Good question. I know Hey Seuss is a major part of the Guild News though, so undoubtedly that's been a time eater the last couple days (besides real life obligations).

About your younger characters, Brandon. Guamá is works crafting leather and his sister is around fairly often (she is the hunting sort). Read up on the CS, but perhaps either of them could be mentors to one of the younger characters you have?
Name: Guamá Heylel

Age: 24

Appearance: Guamá stands an average height with relation to his father's tribe, though he is worrisomely slender. Hollow cheeks with high, defined bones give him a lengthy, gaunt -- eerie to some-- appearance. His skin is tan with a warm, earthy hue. While his walk and speech are in line with the 'civilized', his mannerisms are clearly more emotive, underscored by his thin limbs.

Skills/Abilities:

- Cultural Awareness: Shi'mon uses his own mixed heritage as a springboard. He listens to the traditions and stories of other peoples, noting how the customs relate and differ.

- Velvet Tongue: Words can enliven, imprison, enrage, and endanger. Shi'mon uses speech as his first weapon and defence, more apt to play on what he observes in another than to tempt fate in combat.

- Body Conscious: The world is often harsh and unpredictable, so Guamá keeps his connection to it honed. He sees his body as his vehicle. A strict diet mixed with yoga-like exercise has given him a realistic view of his limitations and comfort in his own skin.

- Trained in Leathercraft: Guamá offered his body to the community despite greater strength in the mind. Tanning and leathercraft became his physical contribution to society. The skills he holds today are passed down from his father, allowing him the ability to work leather in civilized or tribal style.


Equipment:

- Crafting Tools: The tools of his trade are essential, as are the basic pieces to keep them operable. He has a set to travel with due to his regular visits into Arawakan territory.
- Ceramic Water Jug: Tall as one and a half lengths of the hand, the jug is wrapped in a thick leather for protection. Guamá uses ceramic in order to allow heating the jug, as advised by his mother when travelling.
- Macana: A common weapon among the Arawakan tribes, Guamá keeps one made of hardened wood with sharpened black stones for the edges. He has fashioned a grip at the end made of leather and maintains his macana with pride.
- Leather Satchel: Food, basic supplies, and items of interest lie in Guamá's satchel. It is the third bag he has made, and each incarnation has adapted to suite his needs. This one is specifically designed to sit close to the body with as much quickly accessible as is reasonably possible.
-Leather Gear: Atop fabric garments, Guamá will wear a poncho made of boiled around the shoulders and softens as it drapes down his crotch. He has created wrapped leather shoes, fingerless long gloves, and a spaulder. Besides the poncho and boots, he generally keeps the gear in his satchel or at home until the need arises.


History:
Guamá is the product of two powerful cultures. An objective scholar to the core, his mother gifted him with an undeniable link to the 'civilized' community. His father connected him to a progressive western tribe. The Arawakan peoples understood the importance of structure, governance, and a system of support, but according to his father, they were not keen to the idea of building lives atop a fallen society. His mother would point out the logic to that based on her studies. They always built off one another, aware of the cultural gap, but positive that understanding would solve all woes.

The Heylel family lived in the western portion of civilized Independence community. Such proximity to the border meant more exposure to tribal communities and usually less controversy. Because Guamá was born in the community, his deep tribal ties made him an object of desire. In their section of the community education was compulsory (in order to keep the peace, according to his mother). During lessons he was often asked to speak on behalf of all 'non-civilized' cultures and fetishized for his 'exotic' background. Leather work became Guamá's path to accepting his identity. Working alongside his father, he learned Arawakan and 'civilized' styles of leathercraft, as well as imagery he could carve into the armour speaking to stories of both peoples. He learned to see how others viewed him, then to use that to his benefit.

When Guamá reached sixteen his parents recognized their age. While his mother maintained a professional distance from any faith-community, his father felt the Arawakan beliefs to his very core. Guamá suspected the move also had to do their daughter, born eight years later, and her rambunctious ways. So with the help of their son, the three joined the Arawakan people. Since then Guamá has worked hard and taken apprentices in order to continue his family's good name. He travels to visit his parents and sister each season, taking the opportunity to stock up on uniquely Arawakan goods. Every couple months his sister, Anacaona, will stay with him for weeks at a time.


Psychological Profile:

Guamá is softer than his sister. While he has been treated as different all his life, he has also refused to identify with the alienated. Some may attempt to cast him out or will disagree with him solely due to his roots, but he retaliates by refining his arguments in as agreeable a way possible. Guamá truly believes that by pleasing others he can be seen no different from them and accepted.

Exposed to the Arawakan and 'civilized' ways of life, he has strong opinion on society. Building off a collapsed people feels strange despite his loose adherence to superstition -- similar, to him, to camping on a graveyard. Guamá sees power in the tightly laced community of the Arawakan, but also values the freedom and ability to grow outside their people. He scowls at the idea of a 'civilized' people having seen the character of both communities. Like the Arawakan, he usually calls opposite community 'Reclaimers' for their aspirations for Lost Ways.

Finally, Guamá finds himself highly reflexive as of late. Since Anacaona apprenticed in hunting, tracking, and weapon craft, she has grown to be the opposite of him in many ways. The two agree that neither community stands superior. They also agree that a bridge can be made between the peoples. Where Guamá will speak softly, however, Anacaona comes in haughty and sharp. He is receptive, she is assertive. Guamá sees a power in her both physically and mentally, and honestly, he admires such strength.


Relationships and Acquaintances:

Anacaona Heylel: Sister, 16 years, Close
Family Heylel: Parents, 38-40 years, Close

((Open to more IC Connections))
Well, I'd just ask that if you feel the need to completely withdraw feel free to do so. Just don't disappear. Perhaps plan it a bit at least for the IC's sake, so those around you aren't handicapped and you still have a part in that story. Otherwise, I'd prefer you to stay, but you should follow your interests.
I may be a day out, but am excited for this. Glad I found it now.
So... OOC is suppppppperrrrrr quiet! How is everyone? Doest anyone here get a Spring Break?
I shot him a PM. Give him another 24 hours before you get too concerned. Till then, if you haven't already, I'd just start writing a post. After a day you may just write for only your character as they return to the boat and what not, perhaps having the two get separated to explain that. I doubt Beo just dropped off without a word, they seemed very invested.
Falling Star
Joshua 'Gunner' Evans


“Weapons check!”

The repetitive thump of the rotor muffled the clapping bolts. A dozen men and women lit in red lined against the walls of the helicopter readying their weapons. Half carried the old military standards, the rest held stockpiled arms from wars long past. All but one sat garbed in digital camouflage utility vests, their shirts and pants likewise coloured. That one man sat in a worn, forest camouflage vest with black fabric clothes stitched heavily with leather. He sported a dented, early nineties Delta helmet. In his hands a weathered Vietnam classic M-14.

“All good El-Tee,” the squad reported.

Slender despite the extensive Kevlar armour, the lieutenant walked between his squad. His helmet was an off putting grey-green tint that made his black balaclava pop.

The lieutenant eyed the group one by one until lingering on the black sheep. “Mackinac is believed to be defended. Drop any sivs who approach. Hit’em hard,” the lieutenant exclaimed, crouching to meet the black sheep’s gaze. “Gunner takes point!”

Sharp metallic pops broke the trance of the rhythm. Like that the lieutenant stood, head cocked, knees bent. He stood over the pilot in flash and pointed down with a thumb. Other than a deep scowl the pilot did not protest.

“Some pissheads want an early taste. Get ready for blood!”

One of the squad approached the mounted gun on right wall. Despite the opening to allow clear visibility, they crouched behind the machine gun and took aim. Gunner eyed the belt of rounds, mostly tracers, feeding into the base of the gun. Fired in bursts, he expected thirty seconds. Half a minute to scare the foolhardy bunch. Part of him hoped they saved themselves and ran off. The gun rattled a burst of three shots. Like thin bolts of lightning the glowing rounds flew down toward the earth. If the bunch ducked back and hid, Mackinac wouldn’t last. They’d never realize the hell at their doorstep.

Gunner watched the coloured streaks glisten against the twilight sky. Beautiful, a sight Simon might paint, but he felt uneasy. The helicopter had lowered to fifty feet by the second burst. He set a hand on the machine gunner’s shoulder and managed half a word before the gun rang a third time. Gunner heard something like a bag of flour hitting the floor. He caught a glimpse a moving light as he rushed to a seat.

The world reduced to a haze of lights and sirens. All the night’s blues and violets blended. A big shining mash spinning round like days passing too soon. Days cast against red light. And then, as soon as Gunner began to catch on, the world stopped. No spinning. No light.

He felt a breeze. Small chilled drops speckled his face, tingled on his lips. He systematically tested each finger, toe. Every muscle from toe to his ears seemed fine, if restrained. They called him Gunner. His name was Evans, Joshua. Sergeant in the United States Army until Fallujah. The memories streamed by at will, so good enough on his mind too. Hard part next.

Joshua inhaled slowly while opening his eyes. He was hovering above a heap of mangled metal and meat. Straight across the aisle, below him, the top half of a the machine gunner. The straps held enough that his head hung lower. He glanced over himself. Blood, but no surface wounds. Before Zed he might ignore the smell and give into stress-induced sleep. Now, however, his fingers ran along the buckles. A brief fall later he found himself rolling off the gunner. Cords hung from buckled panels, Joshua only cared when they began to spark.

After escaping the wreckage he stumbled ten yards out and collapsed. Smoke billowed high despite the falling mist. Joshua vomited, then crawled a bit further before reaching a van-size boulder. Finally, he unholstered the pistol strapped against his hip and waited.
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