GuySenpai said
Gonna have Skylar post again before I do if that's ok.
Alrighty, will try to get a post up as soon as I can.
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Alrighty, will try to get a post up as soon as I can.
I'm game for RP'ing lunch. Powers is just looking for her Striker right now.
Memo to the Boss
Headcount
40 gangers (Loyal to you boss)
36 Military (mostly rear eclion eclelon rearguard and engineer types. Three shouting sergeants among them. A Medic too.)
24 Airship crew (tech-heads and mechanics. No officers)
135 laborers and worker -types.
15 children
250 Total
Got a few more girls than men. Got a bunch of walking wounded with only bandages to patch them up. All in all, no worse than the lot we had on the streets. And we're certainly better stocked. Got plenty of canned food, boots, jackets, and guns. Still doing counts on the stuff. But its a literal ton of canned food boss.
- Roland
* * * * * * *
Victor looked away from the accumulated pile of short reports on his impromptu desk made of three empty crates to look out his tent and the small camp that quickly cropped up within hours after the crash. The few tents they had were allocated to the wounded and children while everyone with two free hands made trips back and forth from the airship to haul crates out of the wreck, each crate adding to their chances of survival that much more. Most of it was food, crates filled with cans of preserved foodstuffs that would last a thousand people for a year. Or 250 for four years if the seals held in this humid weather. A few crates filled with canned coffee and tea were also a welcome addition, although they lacked any utensils to boil the stuff properly, damnit. Furthermore, other crates held outdoor adventurer clothing, providing both some measure of comfort and uniformity to the camp, although Hawthorne valued the supply of thick military boots more than the jackets. And above all else, they had plenty of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and ammunition. While keeping the gunpowder dry in these conditions was going to be a hellish task at best, those guns would save his people if nothing else would.
But what they didn't have was water or shelter. The river was some distance away, and there were precious few canteens and buckets amongst the survivors to haul water back. Victor was considering moving the camp directly to the river, but they knew too little about their surroundings despite sending out scout patrols to risk a large-scale movement at this time. Furthermore, they had very little to actually build with. They had exactly a dozen axes of dubious quality, and all of them were being worked heavily around the clock to cut trees and branches into impromptu hovels. But they were too small and too few to be real housing, and he doubted they would hold up under moderate rain, let alone a storm islands like these were supposedly known to have.
Furthermore, they still needed to keep watch on the carrier. No one knew if any infected got out into the wilderness, and the wreck still wasn't completely clear. But nobody wanted to risk going back inside its tangled decks to clear it out the hard way. So a dozen men with guns kept watch over the ongoing salvage efforts.
Scratching out a priority list of orders, Victor briefly wondered why everyone was so accepting of his authority. The military sergeants glared at him, but were the first to organize patrols and regularly report in on headcounts and supplies. The civilians were scared, but leapt to work when he ordered crews to haul crates, get water, cut trees and branches, and harvest berries found nearby. And his own men and women, the crew that held with him since the outbreak, well they were hanging on his every word as usual. He wasn't leading because of fear or rank or authority. He was leading by dint of being willing to lead. It was an unusual scenario to him, one his wasn't sure would keep up for long.
"Water, we need to get more water." He said, voicing his thoughts as he scribbled out a note to Roland before whistling for his trusty runner-boy to come forward. "Jake, take this to Roland and then tell the lumber-workers to focus on making more buckets or some other water container. If anyone has ideas on how to get more water, listen and tell me. Got it kid?" Jake nodded silently as he took up the note. "Good, hop to it."
Good kid. Loyal ever since Victor pulled him from street urchin into a courier. And one of the few Victor felt he could rely upon if things got worse, which they were likely to.
"Alright, what's next?"
* * * * * * *
@So Bored
"So then I tell him, thats not ale your drinking."
"I don't get it."
"Yeah, your jokes are never good Lente."
"Oh fuck you both."
A trio of men walked through the jungle wearing outdoors jackets and with carbine muskets in hand, prowling the jungle looking for anything, particularly water and any means to carry it back to basecamp. So far no luck and the trio were instead taking advantage of their peaceful surroundings to have a nice stroll. Relatively peaceful that is, as Carter found the continual stream of bad jokes from Lente to be really grinding on his nerves.
"Okay, let me try another one. A midget, a courtesan, and a whore walk into a bar-"
"Shh!" Carter cut him off, waving both of his companions down to the ground. "Shut up! Listen, I hear footsteps." The march of army boots in unison. Army men.
Whispering out a quick plan, Lente and the other civilian guy ducked into a bunch of brushes to hide while Carter pulled out a heavy magnum revolver to use instead of his one-shot carbine as he shifted to an alternate position to try and get some elevation on these newcomers, deciding on climbing a tree to get a heads-up on how many they were dealing with.
Only to get a real good look at a platoon of armed soldiers stomping along. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Carter was committed now on his treebranch perch. "Ho there soldiers! What be the march for?"
Headcount
40 gangers (Loyal to you boss)
36 Military (mostly rear eclion eclelon rearguard and engineer types. Three shouting sergeants among them. A Medic too.)
24 Airship crew (tech-heads and mechanics. No officers)
135 laborers and worker -types.
15 children
250 Total
Got a few more girls than men. Got a bunch of walking wounded with only bandages to patch them up. All in all, no worse than the lot we had on the streets. And we're certainly better stocked. Got plenty of canned food, boots, jackets, and guns. Still doing counts on the stuff. But its a literal ton of canned food boss.
- Roland
* * * * * * *
Victor looked away from the accumulated pile of short reports on his impromptu desk made of three empty crates to look out his tent and the small camp that quickly cropped up within hours after the crash. The few tents they had were allocated to the wounded and children while everyone with two free hands made trips back and forth from the airship to haul crates out of the wreck, each crate adding to their chances of survival that much more. Most of it was food, crates filled with cans of preserved foodstuffs that would last a thousand people for a year. Or 250 for four years if the seals held in this humid weather. A few crates filled with canned coffee and tea were also a welcome addition, although they lacked any utensils to boil the stuff properly, damnit. Furthermore, other crates held outdoor adventurer clothing, providing both some measure of comfort and uniformity to the camp, although Hawthorne valued the supply of thick military boots more than the jackets. And above all else, they had plenty of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and ammunition. While keeping the gunpowder dry in these conditions was going to be a hellish task at best, those guns would save his people if nothing else would.
But what they didn't have was water or shelter. The river was some distance away, and there were precious few canteens and buckets amongst the survivors to haul water back. Victor was considering moving the camp directly to the river, but they knew too little about their surroundings despite sending out scout patrols to risk a large-scale movement at this time. Furthermore, they had very little to actually build with. They had exactly a dozen axes of dubious quality, and all of them were being worked heavily around the clock to cut trees and branches into impromptu hovels. But they were too small and too few to be real housing, and he doubted they would hold up under moderate rain, let alone a storm islands like these were supposedly known to have.
Furthermore, they still needed to keep watch on the carrier. No one knew if any infected got out into the wilderness, and the wreck still wasn't completely clear. But nobody wanted to risk going back inside its tangled decks to clear it out the hard way. So a dozen men with guns kept watch over the ongoing salvage efforts.
Scratching out a priority list of orders, Victor briefly wondered why everyone was so accepting of his authority. The military sergeants glared at him, but were the first to organize patrols and regularly report in on headcounts and supplies. The civilians were scared, but leapt to work when he ordered crews to haul crates, get water, cut trees and branches, and harvest berries found nearby. And his own men and women, the crew that held with him since the outbreak, well they were hanging on his every word as usual. He wasn't leading because of fear or rank or authority. He was leading by dint of being willing to lead. It was an unusual scenario to him, one his wasn't sure would keep up for long.
"Water, we need to get more water." He said, voicing his thoughts as he scribbled out a note to Roland before whistling for his trusty runner-boy to come forward. "Jake, take this to Roland and then tell the lumber-workers to focus on making more buckets or some other water container. If anyone has ideas on how to get more water, listen and tell me. Got it kid?" Jake nodded silently as he took up the note. "Good, hop to it."
Good kid. Loyal ever since Victor pulled him from street urchin into a courier. And one of the few Victor felt he could rely upon if things got worse, which they were likely to.
"Alright, what's next?"
* * * * * * *
@So Bored
"So then I tell him, thats not ale your drinking."
"I don't get it."
"Yeah, your jokes are never good Lente."
"Oh fuck you both."
A trio of men walked through the jungle wearing outdoors jackets and with carbine muskets in hand, prowling the jungle looking for anything, particularly water and any means to carry it back to basecamp. So far no luck and the trio were instead taking advantage of their peaceful surroundings to have a nice stroll. Relatively peaceful that is, as Carter found the continual stream of bad jokes from Lente to be really grinding on his nerves.
"Okay, let me try another one. A midget, a courtesan, and a whore walk into a bar-"
"Shh!" Carter cut him off, waving both of his companions down to the ground. "Shut up! Listen, I hear footsteps." The march of army boots in unison. Army men.
Whispering out a quick plan, Lente and the other civilian guy ducked into a bunch of brushes to hide while Carter pulled out a heavy magnum revolver to use instead of his one-shot carbine as he shifted to an alternate position to try and get some elevation on these newcomers, deciding on climbing a tree to get a heads-up on how many they were dealing with.
Only to get a real good look at a platoon of armed soldiers stomping along. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, but Carter was committed now on his treebranch perch. "Ho there soldiers! What be the march for?"
Posted. Hope I got some of the mealymouthness of the Military Police right. If not, well Laura's corrupt side might be better illustrated later in on training.
Perhaps by motivating trainees under her by offering meals in the officer's mess to her top performers? At least, top performers on paper that is.
Perhaps by motivating trainees under her by offering meals in the officer's mess to her top performers? At least, top performers on paper that is.
Laura wasn't surprised by the number of cadets intending to enter the Military Police. Afterall, she had been in their shoes once, seeking the fortunes and easy life of the MP's. Uncaring of the hard truths she already knew, only that the military police were among the privileged few to be firmly safe from the Titans. A desire made all the more desperate since the fall of Wall Maria.
"Cadets! Listen up! I am Laura Strasse of the Military Police Brigade!" She announced as the cadets assembled in front of her. "You have all done admirably well to come this far in your training to be recognized as the best and brightest of each of your classes to come here today. Show that kind of dedication and talent to me here, and your efforts will be rewarded according to your ability and due position."
It was double-talk, and she knew it quite well. The question was how many among these cadets would recognize it as such? As she spoke, Laura watched the cadets for those that met her criteria. More to the point, competition for the top 10 slots would certainly be something to behold in this cadet company that was made of the best and brightest of many other classes. Only those who would truely have the qualities of a MP would make it to the top if Laura had her way. But as it was, she had to share grading with a damn Scout and a Garrison officer she knew nothing about. Meaning her job working between them would be just as interesting.
"Assemble at the barracks and settle in. Get to know eachother. By the time I walk in at-" Laura pulled out a pocketwatch and pretended to glance at it, still watching the reactions of the trainees. "Five minutes from now, I expect each of you to know the name and a fact about the person you share a bunk with to share, and I expect it to be a interesting fact! Dismissed!"
With that, Laura stood back and watched the cadets amble around. Pulling a sweet honey candy out of her pocket (a parting gift from Magnus) and popping it in her mouth, she then turned to watch how the other section leaders would handle their charges. In particular the scouts, they looked to have a larger-than-norm complement of aspirants this class.
"Cadets! Listen up! I am Laura Strasse of the Military Police Brigade!" She announced as the cadets assembled in front of her. "You have all done admirably well to come this far in your training to be recognized as the best and brightest of each of your classes to come here today. Show that kind of dedication and talent to me here, and your efforts will be rewarded according to your ability and due position."
It was double-talk, and she knew it quite well. The question was how many among these cadets would recognize it as such? As she spoke, Laura watched the cadets for those that met her criteria. More to the point, competition for the top 10 slots would certainly be something to behold in this cadet company that was made of the best and brightest of many other classes. Only those who would truely have the qualities of a MP would make it to the top if Laura had her way. But as it was, she had to share grading with a damn Scout and a Garrison officer she knew nothing about. Meaning her job working between them would be just as interesting.
"Assemble at the barracks and settle in. Get to know eachother. By the time I walk in at-" Laura pulled out a pocketwatch and pretended to glance at it, still watching the reactions of the trainees. "Five minutes from now, I expect each of you to know the name and a fact about the person you share a bunk with to share, and I expect it to be a interesting fact! Dismissed!"
With that, Laura stood back and watched the cadets amble around. Pulling a sweet honey candy out of her pocket (a parting gift from Magnus) and popping it in her mouth, she then turned to watch how the other section leaders would handle their charges. In particular the scouts, they looked to have a larger-than-norm complement of aspirants this class.
I'll get a post up sometime tonight to kick-start those that are applying for the military police.
Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.
Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.
FRAKKING SHOOT!
Victor snapped back to conscious awareness of his surroundings to the smell of burning wood and flesh, and the scent of gunpowder from his favored shotgun in his hands after is blew a hole in a infected man's head. He must have fired by reflex, and that instinct saved his life in his cabin when a infected tried to break in after the crash.
"Boss! Boss! You alright up there?!" Called out a voice down the hall. Victor picked himself up to peer out the doorway to find a pair of familiar faces from his gang with smoking pistols in their hands rushing up to him. "You okay boss? Your covered in blood."
"Not mine. Its Peterson's when some bastard infected tore out his throat trying to get into my cabin." Waved off Hawthorne as he pulled himself into the corridor after picking up his ready bag from its cabin locker. "How many survived Marks?"
"About forty of our guys boss. Port forward cargo bay was crushed, nobody's alive there sir. I think the aft cargo hold fared better, I sent Roland to take a look. Some aft bridge crew and military-types signed on with us, they're working forward to the armory lockers with Reed to grab some guns and ammo and see if this ship is gonna explode or not." Marks face was pale and his breath was coming in staggered heaves, but he diligently reported as he fumbled to reload his pistol. "Gotta be careful sir, theres infected everywhere. Best to stick with us."
"Agreed. We move together. Alright, lets get to the aft cargo hold and grab everyone and everything we can. Forget the starboard bay, lets focus on the aft hold.” Taking point with a now-reloaded shotgun, Victor took his two men through the fire and smoke-filled corridors of the airship calling out for survivors, more than once running into infected that had to be put down. Man, woman, child, it made no difference to the trio of hardened criminals who had once thrived under the chaos the plague had brought back in their homeland. The infected had to die. The only cure was a bullet to the head.
Managing to make their way to the aft cargo hold, Victor saw firsthand the ruin the crash landing brought upon the stacked cargo and packed refugees within, but squelched the revulsion at the sight of blood with a brutally analytical assessment. There were at least a hundred people alive in this bay, possibly a hundred more amongst the corridors and cabins. A fraction of those who boarded, but perhaps enough for his purposes. Miraculously, no infected here.
A ragged blonde-haired woman in a aviator’s jacket rushed up to meet him at the hatch, heaving with exertion at both the run and the large bundle in her arms. “Boss. We got about a hundred-fifty people in this here hold. Lotta crates of food and hard clothing too. I think the cargo doors are still working, but I haven’t had a chance to check the control box yet.”
“Right, good work. Alright, you and Marks check out the control box and prepare to get the cargo doors to open on my order. Jamal, stand by the door and make sure no infected get in. It would be mite embarrassing if a plaguer interrupts my speech.” A round of affirmatives as Victor’s associates rushed to obey his orders while he clambered ontop of a stack of crates and fired his shotgun into the ceiling to get the attention of everyone in the bay.
“LISTEN UP! My name is Victor Hawthorne, and we need to get out of this crate! If we’re going to survive, we need to stick together! Everyone grab something and be ready to haul it out of here the moment those doors open, nobody comes out of here empty handed you hear!? Get to the treeline, and stay there until I tell you otherwise, got it! Any objections? No? Good! Now get ready to move!”
Victor honestly didn’t know how the crowd was going to react to his crazed rant, but everyone seemed to be in enough shock to obey and start lifting crates and bundles. Someone evidently had the smarts to try and get a pull-sled moving even without a steam engine on hand, replacing it with the muscle of twenty men. In the control booth, Roland gave Victor a thumbs up, which he returned with a wave in acknowledgement.
“Get to the treeline and don’t stop for anything!” Repeated Victor as he reloaded and picked up a travel bag that looked military. “Open the gate! GO GO GO!”
Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right.
FRAKKING SHOOT!
Victor snapped back to conscious awareness of his surroundings to the smell of burning wood and flesh, and the scent of gunpowder from his favored shotgun in his hands after is blew a hole in a infected man's head. He must have fired by reflex, and that instinct saved his life in his cabin when a infected tried to break in after the crash.
"Boss! Boss! You alright up there?!" Called out a voice down the hall. Victor picked himself up to peer out the doorway to find a pair of familiar faces from his gang with smoking pistols in their hands rushing up to him. "You okay boss? Your covered in blood."
"Not mine. Its Peterson's when some bastard infected tore out his throat trying to get into my cabin." Waved off Hawthorne as he pulled himself into the corridor after picking up his ready bag from its cabin locker. "How many survived Marks?"
"About forty of our guys boss. Port forward cargo bay was crushed, nobody's alive there sir. I think the aft cargo hold fared better, I sent Roland to take a look. Some aft bridge crew and military-types signed on with us, they're working forward to the armory lockers with Reed to grab some guns and ammo and see if this ship is gonna explode or not." Marks face was pale and his breath was coming in staggered heaves, but he diligently reported as he fumbled to reload his pistol. "Gotta be careful sir, theres infected everywhere. Best to stick with us."
"Agreed. We move together. Alright, lets get to the aft cargo hold and grab everyone and everything we can. Forget the starboard bay, lets focus on the aft hold.” Taking point with a now-reloaded shotgun, Victor took his two men through the fire and smoke-filled corridors of the airship calling out for survivors, more than once running into infected that had to be put down. Man, woman, child, it made no difference to the trio of hardened criminals who had once thrived under the chaos the plague had brought back in their homeland. The infected had to die. The only cure was a bullet to the head.
Managing to make their way to the aft cargo hold, Victor saw firsthand the ruin the crash landing brought upon the stacked cargo and packed refugees within, but squelched the revulsion at the sight of blood with a brutally analytical assessment. There were at least a hundred people alive in this bay, possibly a hundred more amongst the corridors and cabins. A fraction of those who boarded, but perhaps enough for his purposes. Miraculously, no infected here.
A ragged blonde-haired woman in a aviator’s jacket rushed up to meet him at the hatch, heaving with exertion at both the run and the large bundle in her arms. “Boss. We got about a hundred-fifty people in this here hold. Lotta crates of food and hard clothing too. I think the cargo doors are still working, but I haven’t had a chance to check the control box yet.”
“Right, good work. Alright, you and Marks check out the control box and prepare to get the cargo doors to open on my order. Jamal, stand by the door and make sure no infected get in. It would be mite embarrassing if a plaguer interrupts my speech.” A round of affirmatives as Victor’s associates rushed to obey his orders while he clambered ontop of a stack of crates and fired his shotgun into the ceiling to get the attention of everyone in the bay.
“LISTEN UP! My name is Victor Hawthorne, and we need to get out of this crate! If we’re going to survive, we need to stick together! Everyone grab something and be ready to haul it out of here the moment those doors open, nobody comes out of here empty handed you hear!? Get to the treeline, and stay there until I tell you otherwise, got it! Any objections? No? Good! Now get ready to move!”
Victor honestly didn’t know how the crowd was going to react to his crazed rant, but everyone seemed to be in enough shock to obey and start lifting crates and bundles. Someone evidently had the smarts to try and get a pull-sled moving even without a steam engine on hand, replacing it with the muscle of twenty men. In the control booth, Roland gave Victor a thumbs up, which he returned with a wave in acknowledgement.
“Get to the treeline and don’t stop for anything!” Repeated Victor as he reloaded and picked up a travel bag that looked military. “Open the gate! GO GO GO!”
Hey, I'm all for having a neighbor close at hand! Might be fun to have two groups splinter off of the same crash!
Crash Site: 18
Items Salvaged from Crash Site:
- Guns | Crates of muskets, with gunpowder and balls. Use them to destroy your enemies, but be warned – the humid weather can play havoc with their mechanisms. Do not use in rain.
-Large Non-perishable Food Stockpile | Pallets stacked high with tins of preserved meats and vegetables, enough to feed a thousand people for a year. Why catch that weird looking half-cat half-rat creature over there behind the bushes, when you could crack open a can of corned beef?
-Specialized Outdoor Clothing | Tough, but made from lightweight fibres, these overalls will deter the strongest heat, and keep out the fiercest rain. A technological marvel of our time, and look, there’s a whole compartment full of them!
Leader’s Name: Victor Hawthorne
Leader’s Age: 39
Leader’s Appearance: Here
Leader’s Former Occupation: Criminal Gang Leader
Leader’s Mentality: "Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right!" Is his motto, and one he ruthlessly abides. He is firmly the leader of his clan of survivors, and is willing to perform unpleasant actions himself if that is what it would take to survive. He favors aggression and absolute commitment to a task once started, and is not the type to let other dictate his fate.
Amount of Survivors at Start: 250
Survivor Group Type: Majority of survivors are lower-class refugees, predominantly laborers, factory workers, farmers, and unskilled craftsmen. 60 are military deserters or former airship crew fallen in with Hawthorne.
Items Salvaged from Crash Site:
- Guns | Crates of muskets, with gunpowder and balls. Use them to destroy your enemies, but be warned – the humid weather can play havoc with their mechanisms. Do not use in rain.
-Large Non-perishable Food Stockpile | Pallets stacked high with tins of preserved meats and vegetables, enough to feed a thousand people for a year. Why catch that weird looking half-cat half-rat creature over there behind the bushes, when you could crack open a can of corned beef?
-Specialized Outdoor Clothing | Tough, but made from lightweight fibres, these overalls will deter the strongest heat, and keep out the fiercest rain. A technological marvel of our time, and look, there’s a whole compartment full of them!
Leader’s Name: Victor Hawthorne
Leader’s Age: 39
Leader’s Appearance: Here
Leader’s Former Occupation: Criminal Gang Leader
Leader’s Mentality: "Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right!" Is his motto, and one he ruthlessly abides. He is firmly the leader of his clan of survivors, and is willing to perform unpleasant actions himself if that is what it would take to survive. He favors aggression and absolute commitment to a task once started, and is not the type to let other dictate his fate.
Amount of Survivors at Start: 250
Survivor Group Type: Majority of survivors are lower-class refugees, predominantly laborers, factory workers, farmers, and unskilled craftsmen. 60 are military deserters or former airship crew fallen in with Hawthorne.
Call me very interested.
Crash Site: 18
Items Salvaged from Crash Site:
- Guns | Crates of muskets, with gunpowder and balls. Use them to destroy your enemies, but be warned – the humid weather can play havoc with their mechanisms. Do not use in rain.
-Large Non-perishable Food Stockpile | Pallets stacked high with tins of preserved meats and vegetables, enough to feed a thousand people for a year. Why catch that weird looking half-cat half-rat creature over there behind the bushes, when you could crack open a can of corned beef?
Leader’s Name: Victor Hawthorne
Leader’s Age: 39
Leader’s Appearance: Here
Leader’s Former Occupation: Criminal Gang Leader
Leader’s Mentality: "Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right!" Is his motto, and one he ruthlessly abides. He is firmly the leader of his clan of survivors, and is willing to perform unpleasant actions himself if that is what it would take to survive. He favors aggression and absolute commitment to a task once started, and is not the type to let other dictate his fate.
Amount of Survivors at Start: 250
Survivor Group Type: Majority of survivors are lower-class refugees, predominantly laborers, factory workers, farmers, and unskilled craftsmen. 45 are military deserters or former airship crew fallen in with Hawthorne.
Crash Site: 18
Items Salvaged from Crash Site:
- Guns | Crates of muskets, with gunpowder and balls. Use them to destroy your enemies, but be warned – the humid weather can play havoc with their mechanisms. Do not use in rain.
-Large Non-perishable Food Stockpile | Pallets stacked high with tins of preserved meats and vegetables, enough to feed a thousand people for a year. Why catch that weird looking half-cat half-rat creature over there behind the bushes, when you could crack open a can of corned beef?
Leader’s Name: Victor Hawthorne
Leader’s Age: 39
Leader’s Appearance: Here
Leader’s Former Occupation: Criminal Gang Leader
Leader’s Mentality: "Never let a sense of morals stop you from doing whats right!" Is his motto, and one he ruthlessly abides. He is firmly the leader of his clan of survivors, and is willing to perform unpleasant actions himself if that is what it would take to survive. He favors aggression and absolute commitment to a task once started, and is not the type to let other dictate his fate.
Amount of Survivors at Start: 250
Survivor Group Type: Majority of survivors are lower-class refugees, predominantly laborers, factory workers, farmers, and unskilled craftsmen. 45 are military deserters or former airship crew fallen in with Hawthorne.
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