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Harisutosu Fukkatsu! ✨🥂
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Just a friendly reminder that Hugo Ball wearing lobster fisty cuffs while reciting Dada poetry was a thing.

Bio







黒痣
m o l e
_______________________________________________________________________
𝒊 · 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 · 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕







Most Recent Posts

This looks amazing. I have zero experience with tabletop, but it can't be all that hard. Count me in.


Thank you for showing interest, and don't worry, the dice mechanics will be very basic. If anything, the gameplay will be a simple introduction into learning how tabletop games are played.




C h i l d r e n o f t h e A p o c a l y p s e
C h i l d r e n o f t h e A p o c a l y p s e
A Dungeon Crawler & Open World Exploration_____________________



T H E M E S :
_____________________


Exploitation of Children Man & the Natural World Extreme Competition Gender, Religion & Power


J O I N S T A T U S : A P P L Y
G M @chrysocoma C O - G M @Exit


T H E P R E M I S E


The year is 2111. Food is scarce. Cannibalism is rampant. Currency is lucid. You survive as either a misguided military, a child of slavery, a young nomad bound to the land, or a beastly metahuman. It has been several generations since the nuclear fall out destroyed the world, and you know almost nothing of the world before the nuclear storm devoured it. If you are a soldier, you may know the first three basics of information. First, there was a global pandemic. Second, there was an error in the globally approved vaccination. Third, there was a war that left a global wasteland of extreme anarchy. If you are a child of slavery, you know nothing except your best friend may be your next meal, and escaping from your masters is almost always futile. However, some friends and you have just found a way to break out of your prison cells. If you are a nomad, you may be all alone or still have family. Your methods of survival are strict with seeking peace with the land, but that often means frailty and scarcer sources of food. If you are a metahuman, you sometimes cannot even remember your first name, but you know the layout of the forest like the back of your hand even if the flora and fauna can sometimes be your worst enemy. Choose a character and explore the lands. Try venturing solo out of fear of making bonds. Join up with others for a better chance of survival. Find out what happened and what is yet to happen. But, whatever you do, be careful. Survival is the only option.







"... I have my own lines. They haven't been crossed.
There's a magic to a story of children growing strong together in the face
of insurmountable odds. I'm hoping to find that here, or paint that picture/find
it in this bleak world."




R U L E S & R E G U L A T I O N S
_______________________________________________________________________
A L L G U I L D R U L E S A P P L Y

1. Be kind, courteous, and forgiving. GM and CO-GM have final say.

2. Your character(s) may or may not survive. The death of your character(s) may or may not be expected.

3. Do not join the game if you have problems with emotional bleeding or spillovers between players and characters.

4. Life is not fair. The game is not fair.

5. Please, reread Rule 1 for all inquiries.









Children of the Apocalypse has been brewing in the background for a while, and we want to gauge how much interest the game will generate before continuing further. CotA will involve tabletop combat mechanics, and a player handbook will be created to explain gameplay. However, the flesh of the game will be how players make decisions and express, through writing, their characters' interactions during gameplay. The game is intended for a large group, and a Discord server will be provided for OOC discussion whether it is through text or voice. Please, let us know if you are interested and/or have any questions. We thank you for your time.






E S T H E R P U N I C E U S A N D G R A C E L I U
L i s a S m i t h W e n g l e r C e n t e r f o r t h e A r t s a t P e p p e r d i n e U n i v e r s i t y

Sitting in front of the stage was a quiet garden of velourlike chairs. A person sat in each of the red shadows, lined in rows with numbers and a letter. Dark, sparkling girls were twirling carelessly upon the stage with bright lights slowly fading as a backdrop. The theater was quaint, and this was the best way for Esther to see the venue. If she could have been somewhere more eloquent, she would have. Even the contemporary pointe dance was also turning away her interest. Nonetheless, the audience was still amused by the performance.

How dull.

Fortunately, it was not the recital that warranted her attention. It was the woman sitting next to her, “Scott may have enjoyed this recital over the last one I took him to. He prefers the brighter lights, at times,” she spoke nonchalantly to herself while tapping a gloved hand against her arm rest. Her eyes were downcast, watching the movement of the fabric in the darkness.

The thing Grace focused on most at that moment was looking like she was actually interested in the performance tonight. That was difficult, because her thoughts focused on how much time, how much effort, how much training it had taken to put on something ultimately frivolous in her mind. She’d be talking about something else in a moment, but a cover identity was only as good as the amount of effort put into maintaining the facade. Tonight she was Mrs. Kim, board member of a quiet foundation with broad mandate covering many social causes, but a particular interest in promoting free market politics, hence their record of donating to this particular university. A quick scan of the crowd confirmed who was sitting next to her, and a comparison with the old saved records provided further proof of identity. She spoke slowly “Every time I go to something like this I wonder who is actually here for the show. The more money someone spends to be here, the more they are here for who they can find in the audience rather than what they can see on the stage.”

Esther now studied the silhouette of Grace, watching as the blue lights from the stage slowly dimmed into violet gently touched the technocrat’s cheeks. The yellow and green colors sprouted around like electronic flowers, flashing a better glimpse of the woman, “You are most certainly not mistaken. Mr. Grigoriev is supposed to be one of the best in California.” There was a small pause, as a rise in music spoke over her, “He is a well-kept secret in the area, studied and taught in Russia, which makes him quite rare. Withal, the studio would like to make some changes as much as some of our more liberal, freethinking audience enjoy this new age of dance.”

Grace kept looking at the stage and said “There will always be traditionalists, always be those who prefer the way it was in older times. I wouldn’t call myself one of them, but I try to understand their perspective. Those views can be quite persistent, it’s amazing how long some have upheld traditions.” Then she checked that one of her settings on the field manipulator was active, the one that would dampen sound-waves between them and make those around here only silence and background noise from their conversation. She turned toward Esther and said “I know some have held their opinions and traditions from a time before the art of ballet even existed.”

“There are many organizations who have. It is a beautiful mystery as to how they keep such awe in their midsts. The Italians for a brief moment, were able to capture that glimmer, and show it to the world, and yet in not even a whisper, it is slowly being tossed off stage. The 16th century was a spectacle in its day, and one can easily see how many parts of it cannot transcend through the ages.” Esther dawned a polite blushed smile towards the innocent technocrat. "One may of course dream, but keeping one's head in the clouds is not always wise." Her eyes cast downward, again, "Would you care to discuss this a bit more backstage. There is a private dressing room I have the luxury of using."

Without saying a word, Grace nodded her head and gestured for Esther to lead the way. To which, the Kindred allowed a small pause, an ending to the measure of the dance, before standing up and directing the technocrat backstage, where a simple room was allowed for her use. It was private, and if anyone asked about it, there was an airy dismal response that warranted no further questioning. Some rooms were left locked for storage or other various, innocent reasons, and only upper management had access to them. Many organizations had similar secrets.

This particular room was dimly lit with a rose ornamented Tiffany lamp on a side table by the vanity counter. The lights around the vanity mirror were set in their lowest setting. Several old, worn books were stacked sideways on the counter along with other such things, like a set of vintage, mosaic trinket boxes. However, there was a nice couch and a coffee table adjacent to the counter. A blanket and throw pillows were kindly placed on the two seater. There were also other such necessities and wants that dressing rooms tended to have. One of such was an antique table with a pair of mismatched chairs.

After unlocking the door and letting Grace in, the door was shut and locked from the inside. Shortly afterwards, Esther went to turn the lamp on, as a courtesy to her guest. Even if the other woman was not in need of any further help with navigating through the scenery, the vampire preferred the yellow-green and pink tint to glow throughout the room. She made her way, she said, "We have the couch or the table. Whichever you find most comfortable. It's your choice. I have no preference."

When Grace scanned the room she did it with senses beyond normal vision. She saw the patterns of energy across the electromagnetic spectrum, the movement of the air currents, even felt how close the nearest biorhythms were. Everything about the place was plain, static, when compared to modern day spaces, it even lacked the radiating background hum of electronics she was so used to. The plainness marked two things, a lack of need for technological conveniences, and a guileless intention behind it. Slowly and calmly Grace chose a spot at the table. She said,

“Thank you. Now, I supposed we can discuss my business here tonight. My concerns deal purely with information, I’m not seeking anything else from this. I know some facts about your kind, but lack detail in important areas, especially regarding myths and psychological drives. As for myself, I come from an organization that values anonymity, but many of the elder statesmen among your community could probably make an educated guess and arrive at the correct conclusion. I hope these are areas you are willing to discuss.”

Esther followed and politely accompanied Grace at the table while she spoke. The Ventrue's petite frame sat upright in her formal wear and studied the mortal. The same quaint smile was resting on her lips as she listened, and after taking time to consider what the technocrat had said, she asked in a gentle manner, "Mrs. Kim, how young are you?" Her hands were resting in her lap, folded into each other, holding ivory beads between pale, mesh fingertips.

Grace answered without hesitation. “If it matters to you, I am forty three.” She stayed motionless, not even changing the small smile she had. Grace thought it was ironic how the conversation turned to age so quickly, but at the prompting of the vampire this time, rather than the mortal. She suppressed the urge to chuckle a little.

"You are so pretty. I thought you surely must have been younger," Esther replied in kind, brightening her insipid smile, "How long have you been working for the organization?"

Grace said “Thank you for the compliment, but I should mention that the interests I represent are the reason cosmetic surgery exists. Not one of our greatest accomplishments, but I count it as a small net positive for the world. It would not be appropriate for me to discuss how long I’ve been a part of this cause, but know that it is long enough that I have broad knowledge and responsibilities; I’m not a new initiate. I know I am being vague, but I hope this is enough to earn some level of trust.”

"Of course. You are very welcome," Esther said, "You are very brave to admit this." She paused as her usual self was known to do, giving a patient distance between the mortal and herself, while her fingers gently glided over the beads like clockwork, "But, I am afraid, due to precautions, I will need a little bit more information about your organization before proceeding with this meeting, Mrs. Kim. Do you have any children?"

The last question made Grace think a little. She had reached the rank within the union that allowed the privilege of having a family, but had always focused on work pursuits. It was something she thought about doing if there was more down time, particularly with the advances that genetic engineering brought. Raising another excellent operative would be a nice way to leave a positive legacy behind. “I do not. I will not name the organization I work for, both because it’s not part of protocol and because names are less meaningful than they appear. It has had many names of it’s eight centuries of existence, but one goal throughout. English lacks a proper word to describe it so I’ll use a greek term, eudaimonia. The other constant is our belief about how to pursue that end. We see it as something for all mankind, and we work to unite humanity and guide it along that path; the concerns and pursuits of inharmonious individuals are suppressed when they interfere with this. Our methods may be extreme, but you must understand that it is the destiny of the human race that is at stake.”

At hearing Grace's words, her smile faded, "We all do what we may for the sake of humanity," the Kindred allowed a small break in her counting as she considered the woman's plea for eudaimonia, as there was a comfort in hearing her native language being used strongly, "Do understand," she spoke softly, "As many, I am committed to a promise. It cannot be broken under any circumstances. It is very well a sacramental oath." The beads slipped through her fingers, again. Her smile returned with dark, cheery, hollow eyes, "What makes your organization different?"

Grace’s tone was dull, as though she was repeating something she had rehearsed many times before. “What makes us different is we’re succeeding, every conceivable metric tracking human misery is trending downwards, and that is thanks to us. It’s trivial to see the difference if you look at the world before our time and the world we have realized. But I’m not here tonight to recruit for my cause, I just want you to see the value in it, and understand what my underlying concerns are. If it’s not prevent by your vow other traditions, I would like to talk about your kind now. Specifically, I want to talk about your legends regarding the most ancient of them and the time they rise, what you call Gehenna. What comes before it, and what may remain after it.”

The beads continued being counted and graced through the soft, thin fabric of Esther’s gloves as she thought about the question, “I will start in the middle, if you will grant me pardon.” She slipped the beads around her wrist and slowly rose from her chair, and walked towards the counter, where the mosaic box trinkets were sitting on display. She picked up two of the boxes and a small framed picture of the Hodegetria. When she returned to the table, she began reverently setting a small place to light and burn incense in front of the silver plated icon, “I always thought, out of all the women, she is the most beautiful of them all.” She spoke in the same quiet voice and began taking her place at the table, once again, "She was very important to the Roman Empire, and many today believe that she is still just as important. In fact, many will do anything possible to make sure her importance along with the Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are known with the same vibrancy."

"Of course, as history has proven, there have been many debates, disputes, and arguments on who the Trinity and the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos, truly are," she spoke as her eyes looked downward, remembering her own Embrace. "It was Emperor Constantine who was leading the way for our kind back then, even if he was Baptized after our leaders..." The dialogue continued for a brief while as the Ventrue attempted to gently lift the mask from the false pretense. However, she failed to mention much of anything in regards to Gehenna outside of the mention in the Bible's Jeremiah. It seemed as if she was going in some circle.

They were curious creatures, according to everything Grace had read in the archives and her own encounters with them. Much more than any normal person, the undead were under the spell of their own obsessions and impulses. The nature of the maladies varied, but every one seemed to have deep areas where control failed, whether it was inhuman fury or merely living a life dominated by the same themes, never able to grow interests beyond them. She thought to herself perhaps it was a symptom of whatever happened the their quantum consciousness, losing a part of themselves in the change to their new pattern of life; that theory had no overt references in the literature, merely mentioning quantum consciousness without prior review was potential grounds for disciplinary action. Also similar were the early experiments with biological immortality, where the regeneration caused subjects brain cells keep regrowing in the exact same state, rendering them unable to form new memories or ideas. While she thought Grace kept track of time, and once she hit the pre-chosen point of diminishing returns, she stood up and said

“I offer my thanks for what you have shared today but I am afraid I do not have time to engage further. I was once a historian. After a few years I realized that I could be more useful shaping the future than creating the past. If you believe it would be beneficial to contact me in the future, I can arrange a line of communication to enable that.”

The push of the chair against the flooring interrupted Esther mid-sentence, and the small mad hope to Embrace the Technocrat wilted. The Kindred spoke in a somewhat disappointed but empty tone, "It was a pleasure meeting with you, Mrs. Kim. Thank you for your time, as well. I hope you at least learned something new today. Future contact would be an honor." For now, the Ventrue closed the lid on the incense burner and stood from her seat, as well. It was time to escort Grace from the theater, as there were no further business dealings.




C h i l d r e n o f t h e A p o c a l y p s e
C h i l d r e n o f t h e A p o c a l y p s e
A Dungeon Crawler & Open World Exploration_____________________



T H E M E S :
_____________________


Exploitation of Children Man & the Natural World Extreme Competition Gender, Religion & Power


J O I N S T A T U S : A P P L Y
G M @chrysocoma C O - G M @Exit


T H E P R E M I S E


The year is 2111. Food is scarce. Cannibalism is rampant. Currency is lucid. You survive as either a misguided military, a child of slavery, a young nomad bound to the land, or a beastly metahuman. It has been several generations since the nuclear fall out destroyed the world, and you know almost nothing of the world before the nuclear storm devoured it. If you are a soldier, you may know the first three basics of information. First, there was a global pandemic. Second, there was an error in the globally approved vaccination. Third, there was a war that left a global wasteland of extreme anarchy. If you are a child of slavery, you know nothing except your best friend may be your next meal, and escaping from your masters is almost always futile. However, some friends and you have just found a way to break out of your prison cells. If you are a nomad, you may be all alone or still have family. Your methods of survival are strict with seeking peace with the land, but that often means frailty and scarcer sources of food. If you are a metahuman, you sometimes cannot even remember your first name, but you know the layout of the forest like the back of your hand even if the flora and fauna can sometimes be your worst enemy. Choose a character and explore the lands. Try venturing solo out of fear of making bonds. Join up with others for a better chance of survival. Find out what happened and what is yet to happen. But, whatever you do, be careful. Survival is the only option.







L I N K S
_______________________________________________________________________
IC · Handbook · Discord




"... I have my own lines. They haven't been crossed.
There's a magic to a story of children growing strong together in the face
of insurmountable odds. I'm hoping to find that here, or paint that picture/find
it in this bleak world."




C H A R A C T E R S H E E T




Real Life Face Claim
F A C T I O N :
N A M E :
N I C K N A M E : Optional unless in the Military
A G E :
S K I L L S : Choose Five (5) Skills
H U M A N I T Y :
S T R E N G T H ○○○○○○○○○○
D E X T E R I T Y ○○○○○○○○○○
C O N S T I T U T I O N ○○○○○○○○○○
I N T E L L I G E N C E ○○○○○○○○○○
W I S D O M ○○○○○○○○○○
C H A R I S M A ○○○○○○○○○○




P L E A S E , R E A D A L L R U L E S & R E G U L A T I O N S
B E F O R E S U B M I T T I N G A C H A R A C T E R S H E E T .
T H A N K Y O U .







R U L E S & R E G U L A T I O N S
_______________________________________________________________________
A L L G U I L D R U L E S A P P L Y

1. Be kind, courteous, and forgiving. GM and CO-GM have final say.

2. Your character(s) may or may not survive. The death of your character(s) may or may not be expected.

3. Do not join the game if you have problems with emotional bleeding or spillovers between players and characters.

4. Life is not fair. The game is not fair.

5. Please, reread Rule 1 for all inquiries.









F A C T I O N S




S T A T S
10 - 12 A G E
5 (+CON) H E A L T H

+1 per bond H U M A N I T Y
-1 per enemy H U M A N I T Y

trade craft kill a Soldier kill a Nomad   B O N D
kill a scav theft B O N D

rummage craft lockpick sharp S K I L L S
slingshot steal climb S K I L L S

wisdom S T A T

__________________________________________________________

S C A V E N G E R S scavs rusts scaps

Scavengers are the largest faction in the toxic wasteland. This faction is typically found through out all of the waste, blurring the lines between themselves and the Nomads, their closest relative. However, the strongest concentration of "Scavs" are found in and around the abandoned cities where they make use of the trashed and forgotten technology, scrapped metals and plastics and the natural verticalities of the the world's remains. Scavengers will do whatever within their means to survive, even if that means killing and consuming one of their own. Seldom alone, they are usually observed in groups, banding together to find strength in numbers against any and all shared foes. However, these groups are easily scattered by a common theme of in-house duplicity. Commonalities are cannibalism, extreme violence, possession and slavery in the more developed "Scavy" camps.






S T A T S
8 - 14 A G E
5 (+CON) H E A L T H

+2 per bond H U M A N I T Y
-5 per frenzy H U M A N I T Y

feed    B O N D
kill a metahuman B O N D

navigate blunt keen S K I L L S
herbalist steal climb frenzy S K I L L S

strength S T A T

__________________________________________________________

M E T A H U M A N S crawlers mutants beasts

Metahumans are the second largest faction in the post-apocalyptic world. They are often found in the forest or countryside, scattered alongside the wasteland's various toxic flora and fauna. Often referred to as "Crawlers," metahumans are able to writhe through the terrain as natural predators without detection and can survive with ease through the barren desert. They are known for their beastly instincts and deformities, which sometimes leave them less than human looking. Some roam in small packs, but most live solitary lives. Regardless, metahumans are aggressive and do not trust other creatures easily. These "Mutants" are hostile carnivores, and unfortunately, their intelligence is lacking and learning new skills is often difficult for them. They also have quite a temper, can trigger a raging frenzy in them. Trusting ones are known to make habitation with the Nomads.






S T A T S
10 - 12 A G E
5 (+CON) H E A L T H

+1 per bond H U M A N I T Y
-1 per meat consumed (forest nomad) H U M A N I T Y

trade   B O N D
kill a nomad hunt or consumption of any meat (forest nomad) B O N D

climb blunt spear navigate cooking S K I L L S
bow sing (forest) herbalist (forest) keen (forest) S K I L L S

constitution S T A T
__________________________________________________________

N O M A D S

Surviving off of the natural land, Nomads are a rare faction to be found. They wander alongside the countryside, forests and in the cities. Sometimes they are alone, and sometimes they are with other family members. They are also known for their skills in taming animals, cooking plant-based recipes and mixing potions. Nomads are also a faction heavily influenced by different cults, beliefs and traditions passed down by their families. These beliefs very from group to group. Due to their peaceful nature, as well, they refuse to join the Scavvy Camps or Military regime, which makes them subject to being an easy source of food. Often times, they are mistaken for "Scavvys," which gives them a layer of protection. As well, they can get protection by mingling with metahumans. Unfortunately, their way of life has given way to the harshness of the lands as they slowly lose a sense of humanity to the infected world.






S T A T S
10 - 15 A G E
5 (+CON) H E A L T H

+1 per bond H U M A N I T Y
-1 per child kill H U M A N I T Y

trade craft information kill a metahuman   B O N D
kill a soldier B O N D

rifle handgun unarmed read S K I L L S
write speech cooking crafting S K I L L S

intelligence S T A T

__________________________________________________________

M I L I T A R Y angels gray ghosts metalheads

The military are the rarest and most technologically advanced faction. They survive around the waste in various outposts that reside under harsh and strict rule. This totalitarian dictatorship style of leadership has cultured a firm base loyalty within it's own ranks to ensure a strict policy of "shoot on sight" and "no prisoners." Even with the firm rule, many times military personnel are mislead by their leaders and end up disappearing during their scouts of hunts. Relying heavily on their technology to survive, the military are less likely to survive outside their posts, and any missing personnel are considered dead. Despite any miscommunication, the military are known for their high intelligence and ability to learn knew skills.



𝓦e should consult a librarian.”

“𝓘 agree,” Lord Finnegan affirmed as he watched again, as the professor waltzed in his merry way. He was a strange one, and indeed, he had not made mention of Walter joining him in his laboratory despite having been told of Walter’s new business learnings. He looked down at her. The sparkles in her eyes less than cheery as when she had been telling him all about her studies, and part of him wishes he had minded more during those times.

Instead, he blamed the ill-will on his failings and the bumbling library. It was shifting like some sort of conundrum, “I think I saw one...” he finally said after some time. He preferred leading the way. Although, he much preferred following her through the library as he did many nights ago when they were much younger and much more naive than now. He also wished her demeanor would change, and she would bring the cheeriness back.

It had been right there, not moments before Professor Clementine Mitchell had made his appearance. He re-measured himself, feeling the fickleness of his own tendencies changing course, “I will follow you. If I remember correctly, I saw one of the librarians…” He motioned his hand beyond one of the finely carved bookshelves that extended to the high painted and illustriously carved ceilings, “But…” He had tried his hardest not to bring up the subject, but there was no holding back at this point. Perhaps, it was because he was an impulsive man or perhaps, it was because of what had happened earlier. It was not as if he had been lying. If anything, he had been more truthful to her than he usually was, “Do you remember our first dance?”
GM comment to Co-GM: 9.21.20.13:06 CST
I have my helmet, but I don't have my head.

Will Complete:
·Factions - Military
·Add levels to Flora & Fauna
·Making sense of the Flora & Fauna
A scale of infection level and likelihood of passing on infection/mutation
I have an idea for why corn, wheat and rye aren't used more for food in the countryside, which will be partly due to rainouts & etc. A measure of nuclear storms and how a campaign will survive one is needed, as well.
·Pictures for the Factions
·Interest Check

Completed:
·Categorizing Flora & Fauna

Needed:
·Maps
·Technology
·Beliefs/Cults




F A C T I O N S : H U M A NWIP



__________________________________________________________
F A C T I O N : Scavengers
N I C K N A M E S : Scavvys, Scaps, Tykes
A G E S : 1 0 - 1 5
H E A L T H :
H U M A N I T Y : +1 for every bond -1 for every enemy
Scavengers are the largest faction in the toxic wasteland. This faction is typically found through out all of the waste, blurring the lines between themselves and the Nomads, their closest relative. However, the strongest concentration of "Scavs" are found in and around the abandoned cities where they make use of trashed and forgotten technology, scrapped metals and plastics and the natural verticalities of the the world's remains. Scavengers will do whatever within their means to survive, even if that means killing and consuming one of their own. Seldom alone, they are usually observed in groups, banding together to find strength in numbers against any and all shared foes. However, these groups are easily scattered by in-house duplicity. Commonalities are cannibalism, extreme violence, possession and slavery in the more developed "Scavy" camps.





__________________________________________________________
F A C T I O N : Metahumans
N I C K N A M E S : Crawlers, Mutants, Beasts
A G E S : 8 - 1 8
H E A L T H :
H U M A N I T Y : +2 for every bond -? for every frenzy
Metahumans are the second largest faction in the post-apocalyptic world. They are often found in the forest or countryside, scattered alongside the wasteland's various toxic flora and fauna. Often referred to as "Crawlers," metahumans are able to writhe through the terrain as natural predators without detection and can survive with ease through the barren desert. They are known for their beastly instincts and deformities, which sometimes leave them less than human looking. Some roam in small packs, but most live solitary lives. Regardless, metahumans are aggressive and do not trust other creatures easily. These "Mutants" are hostile carnivores, and unfortunately, their intelligence is lacking and learning new skills is often difficult for them. They also have quite a temper, can trigger a raging frenzy in them. Trusting ones are known to make habitation with the Nomads.





__________________________________________________________
F A C T I O N : Nomads
N I C K N A M E S :
A G E S : 1 0 - 1 8
H E A L T H :
H U M A N I T Y : -1 for every human meal
Surviving off of the natural land, Nomads are a rare faction to be found. They wander alongside the countryside, forests and in the cities. Sometimes they are alone, and sometimes they are with other family members. They are also known for their skills in taming animals, cooking plant-based recipes and mixing potions. Nomads are also a faction heavily influenced by different cults, beliefs and traditions passed down by their families. These beliefs very from group to group. Due to their peaceful nature, as well, they refuse to join the Scavvy Camps or Military regime, which makes them subject to being an easy source of food. Often times, they are mistaken for "Scavvys," which gives them a layer of protection. As well, they can get protection by mingling with metahumans. Unfortunately, their way of life has given way to the harshness of the lands as they slowly lose a sense of humanity to the infected world.





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F A C T I O N : Military
N I C K N A M E S : Angels, Gray Ghosts, Metalheads
A G E S : 10 - 50
H E A L T H : 5 for Child 10 for Adult
H U M A N I T Y : +1 for every bond -1 for every child kill
P E R S O N A L I T Y : The military are the rarest and most technologically advanced faction. Their loyalties are the highest, and forming a bond with them is easy. Due to their military upbringing, their constitutions are the weakest when living outside their posts, which makes them the least likely to survive when on their own. Often times, military personnel are mislead by their leaders and end up disappearing during their scouts or hunts. However, they have high intelligence and can learn skills more readily than the other factions, when in a group setting.

𝓣he trees are always listening.

Most of them are on our side, but there are trees that would betray us to them...

... you know who I mean...


𝓣witching his smile under the Imperial mustache, the Professor bared a few crooked teeth. They were yellower in nature, “Ah, my dear. Always a pleasure to see a colleague cleaning his or her clock.” He narrowed his eyes at Lord Finnegan. The redness of his own face blushed with some boyish emotion, trying to skirt tail any unnecessary conversation that may direct him into a position of being ungentlemanly. There was a whim of test in him that would always exist, in the classroom and out of the classroom, especially for his students who survived his brutal examinations.

Lord Finnegan was definitely one of them, having a permanent fixation with experimenting with the human mind in one way or another, “To answer Lady Alyssana, I am looking into the core of the human body at the moment. Magic and fire. It's complete mayhem in my laboratory. Lots of explosions. Lots of fun. Woooh,” his hands went upwards and jingled his fingers, “You two should come by sometime. But please, knock before entering. I have some top-secret information that I would not want getting out, but...”

The professor held up his fist with a little gesture that meant as much as it meant as little as it did to anyone who may understand or misunderstand the motion, “Is that not the truth about all of us?” He made a merry giggle as if he was eluding to something or another. It was what he did during class quite often, as if he was waiting for someone or something to happen upon his hybrid-thoughts of bio-steam mechanics and make more sense of it. Lord Finnegan had the notion his wife was probably at wit ends with him because she was never around him, even when he went out in public, but at this very moment, he was starting to wonder if the ring on his finger meant what it actually meant.

“Our brothers are also here, conducting their own studies if that solves any mysteries you may be unnecessarily trying to solve. I assure you, there's no funny business going on. Nothing in comparison to your own fun. We shall have to stop by soon enough.” Lord Finnegan changed the subject as he listed his wrist, twisting it to see the time on his watch. Not much of anything had past, but the bookshelves seemed to have aged quite a bit just listening to the professor talk about himself. He had barely spoken a word, and yet the movement of time seemed to have warped.

There was a legend that the library was indeed a living, breathing entity. Its spirit was alive and well within the center of the building. The upkeep was different and strange, and there were so many rumors running around the large facility that no one ever knew who or what to believe about it. Even the employees themselves had their own stories, but it had become such a lore to the city to make-up stories about the library in order to draw even more attention to it, even if something had happened, it was hard to believe because of all the rumors. Lord Finnegan believed none of them and pegged the situation on his mindset on this morning's toxin, and the confusing aroma steaming from beneath Professor Mitchell's undershirt.

“Oh my, yes, the brothers,” Professor Mitchell continued in his merriment, “We will all be delighted to see you. I promise you that, but shhhh” his fist, let out his pointer finger and pressed it to his plump lip, “Don't let anyone or anything know that you're invited. They may get the wrong idea...” His smile widened, “As if they too are invited.” He straightened his posture and pulled on his coat, “W-wery well, you two. I will be on my way, then.” His body made a small bow and straightened itself again as his eyes shifted about for someone or something and continued his way through the maze. There was a slight gaunt in his walk, and Lord Finnegan could not help feel the brows on his own face weaken against a faded smile.

“So, yes, books on the number five,” Lord Finnegan managed after clearing his throat, “I am delving back into my studies of Phi and the Divine Ratio's relation to flora. Upon further looking at my own home library, I realized my collection is far from complete. It's a shame, really. Someone with such a successful operation should have a better grasp on his studies. Fortunately, I have everything memorized. However, I have to begin teaching Walter somehow.” There was a price for teaching Walter. He was not sure what it was, but it was there. It was an emptying of something in the back of his mind. Whether it be gone or not was hard for him to grasp as being of good or bad consequence.
“𝓨es, there's a couple authors that have released new things,
including one that published some new material on the Wasteland cities.”


“𝓐h, the Wasteland cities,” Lord Finnegan made a serious tone and drew in a small breath as he watched the woman. Her change of demeanor was always a delight to watch, but he found himself neutralizing the situation as opposed to provoking it like Lord Christopher or Walter would try to do. He wanted to show more of something, but within himself, he still could not find it and smiled nonetheless. He was unsure of how he came across because at that moment, he felt to give her his most true self, a serious natured human. It was also true that he was not at all as familiar with the library as he ought, and therefore, he mustered up a small smile to give the woman. Although, the smile turned more into a smirk of sorts.

He enjoyed the cunning parts of Lady Alyssana. Her guard was still easily seen, but with her whimsical charm being shown to him for the first time in what seemed like ages, he felt of utmost need or perhaps an untamed desire or dare even both strings pulled his study into something of all due respect. Therefore, his attitude was more reverent than usual, but Lady Alyssana was too fixated on the spiraling stairs and the ladders and the smell of books that needed more minding and less modeling.

She even chatted away about things that ended up going in one ear and out the other, no matter how hard he wanted to mind her. It was a shame and a slight deflation to his manliness that he could not take it all in, and he wanted to slow her down at some point. He thought several bad thoughts of potions and elixirs that could conjure several such happenings and scolded himself heavily for thinking anything against her. The guilt set in, and he saw himself lagging even further with keeping up with her. Part of him wanted to stop her, but nothing in him could prevent her from continuing.

The feeling of being just a pawn crept over him, and he allowed himself to enjoy it. He knew what she had gone through, and as much as he felt as if he was being used, he knew that she never truly would use him. After all the times that he had ever manipulated a woman to his own will meant far nothing to letting Lady Alyssana steal all of his attention with such a blur of feminine inquiries on such heavy subjects. Her smarts and wits were outstanding, which always proved themselves heavily lauded at the Institute. Even now, right in front of him, her words were dressed in scholarly approval that not any one person could wear as an evening gown and look delightful.

Lady Alyssana wore her intelligence with a special wisdom that invoked a beautiful scent. I wished to capture that scent, but having it be so rarely given gave it all the more value. He enjoyed his time, and wondered little about their brothers, and suddenly, she was done lecturing him like the schoolgirl he once knew. Her eyes were still sparkling with that childlike gaiety as she looked up at him, still dawning her scent, “I almost forgot to be honest. I was so busy listening to you,” he shook his head, “Seeing you so excited like this is rare for me, and I would like to cherish every moment of it,” his words were spoken a little more hushed and quickly than usual. It was not just because they were in a library, but the reasoning could likely be given to the Soleil.

“Lord Finnegan and Lady Alyssana,” Professor Clementine Mitchell, an dark haired, average heighted man who had just turned the corner, approached the two. His stout nature was round, and his face was pale but his beard was thick with dark hair. His strong voice was not easily disguised amongst the rows and rows of books, “I thought I heard some chit-chattering that sounded very familiar,” his wording seemed to have been a strange break, stealing every opportunity for Lord Finnegan to make any real say in the conversation, which reminded the younger man as to why speaking so weakly was ill-advised, “My, what brings you two here to the library today?”

Professor Clementine Mitchell had taught at the Institute and knew both to the best of his abilities as a professor could know his devious students. His mustache was imperial. He used to have a more English mustache, but as time passed, it became curlier and no one ever really minded too much until they had to describe him to someone for some reason or another. His usual dress was in his navy swallowtail jacket with black lining. He was holding his cane and pointing at them as if they ought to be doing something else with their lives than stand there. Unfortunately, he was unaware that he was part of the reason that they were now stuck in the exact same spot of the library and unable to move.

“Oh, no, why yes, hello, Professor Mitchell,” Lord Finnegan smiled, nodding his head slightly, as to see no fine opportunity to shake the man’s hand. This was slightly strange, but all the same, the man was zany and expecting anything usual from the man seemed would have been recorded as much more strange. In fact, he smelled just the same, zaney. Cheating on any of his exams by smelling for the right answer was always a whirl of an experience. To say the least, his smell was not pleasant to the younger gentleman, and he wished that the professor would at least dowse his pits in soap or powder, “Lady Alyssana found some books on the Wasteland and magic, and I have a few books the number five that have caught my attention, recently,” Lord Finnegan looked to Lady Alyssana briefly while he spoke, making a small motion.

“The Wasteland and Magic? By God, my dear Lady Alyssana, Are you never going to give up your studies? Now, I wonder, what really did bring you two to the library today.” The Professor looked at Lady Alyssana with a slight puff coming from his nose, trying to anticipate the answer or decipher through their muddied explanations. Lord Finnegan was never a good one for those things. He was too busy trying to manipulate everyone, during his time at the Institute. The Professor would never imagine anything different from the man. As well, Lady Alyssana was always much more straight forward given most circumstances.
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