H O M E [IC]

Jinx

A Stupid Hopeless Romantic ♡
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
  2. 1-3 posts per day
  3. One post per day
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
  4. Prestige
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Female
Genres
Romance, Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Horror.
H O M E

  • It is the year 2030, for those who still keep track of the passing days.

    Most have completely forgotten how the world used to be, if they had even been alive when the world made sense. Neighbor turned against neighbor as the basic instinct of kill or be killed began to set in. Supplies were hoarded and fought over, dwindling till every store contained only empty shelves and those unlucky enough to cross the wrong person while looking for food. Once the initial chaos of the apocalypse had ended, survivors began to band together to create places where they could watch out for one another.

    As territories were established, some communities began to trade supplies. Others began to take supplies. Tensions rise, bandit encampments begin to pop up, and fights over territories begin as some began to realize that humans may be a bigger threat than the zombies. Between rivaled communities at war, Abductors grabbing those suspected of being immune to the zombification disease, and the dead growing in numbers, survival has never been more difficult.

    In the small community of Graceland, around 100 survivors have made their home. There is an easy peace with the local communities and Eden, with whom they often trade with. When a member of the community is taken by an Abductor, the race begins to bring him home before they reach the labs in Nevada. They’ll have to survive both the dead and the living if they hope to make it back alive.

  • GM - @Jinx
    CoGM - @Applo
    Coder - @Lillian Gray

    Can I be immune? : For the time being only one immune player is being allowed. Due to the expressed interest, this will be dealt with on a case by case basis and decided by the GM.

    How many characters are being accepted? : For now, we are limiting the selections to 6 characters.

    Can I have multiple characters? : Yes! You can have a maximum of two characters. We would like to first make sure that initially we accept one character per person, however.

    How do I know I've been accepted? : We will approve all CSs that are submitted. That means it is important for you to remember it is not first come first serve. If you are worried you will not have time to finish, please let us know!

  • Rules and Requirements
    • Adept writing skill
    • One post per week, with multiple paragraphs
    • Respect the GMs
    • Respect other players
    • Do not control other players' characters
    • Please be involved, and contribute to ideas and posts
    • Of course, please follow Iwaku's basic rules and requirements

    • Almira "Alley" Renton
      Immune | 28 | Scrounger
      Name:

      Almira Renton

      Nickname:

      Alley

      Race:

      Black

      Age:

      28

      Home Territory:

      “Graceland. Sure, I came here only six years ago, but where I came before that doesn't matter.”

      Profession:

      Scrounger

      Description:

      An ebony haired, olive-skinned woman with moderate height and lean build. Wiry muscles lie hidden beneath baggy, green wool commando sweaters and a sweeping spring dress that is thread-bare thin. Almira claims that its weak enough to tear quite easily and can be used as impromptu bandages. Beneath that, is a tough pair of cargo pants. While Almira only makes the effort to cut her hair once a year, she keeps it tied up and tight in a small bun. The effect of which makes her look rather plain. Black eyes, a strong jaw are the few features that make her face stick out while the constant presence of her hiking backpack marks her presence across the Eden compound.

      However, beneath her sweater, her body tells a different tale. Old breaks that haphazardly healed left their marks across her body. Not to mention the distinct scarring of bite marks on her left shoulder, right side of her rib cage, and upon her right forearm.

      Personality:

      Almira is deceptively cheerful. She cracks jokes, laughs openly, and seems to be just a lass trying to make the best of the apocalypse. Certainly, this is true, yet lying beneath these surface emotions is the incredible isolation that she feels from everyone. The knowledge that, no matter how widespread and how terrible the infection is and becomes, she will survive. That, after the las corpse has risen, Almira will still be alive. So, she doesn’t let others in, unable to shake the feeling that it will all be temporary. That everyone will, someday, die around her. In direct contrasting harmony is Almira’s belief that the disease will, one day, fail completely. After all, she stands as living proof that there are those immune in the world. Some will always survive, somehow, and humanity will learn to carry on. This “apocalypse” is not their end. It’s a belief Almira clings to, calling upon her Christian faith and reserves of determination to make it so. So she seeks to help people, putting to use her gift of immunity to enter into dangerous and infected wrecks of human civilization and find survivors, scrap, and other useful supplies for the rebuilding of civilization. Even still, she wonders if that’s the best use of her abilities.

      Bio:

      On January 30, twenty-eight years ago, Almira “Alley” Renton was born into this world. A second generation of Egyptian migrants, Almira inherited her mother’s looks in full force and minimal of her father’s. Denver, Colorado’s Winter was windy and frozen that year. And gave her taste of the suffering she’d undergo while at home. Naturally, as a baby, she couldn’t remember the fights, the missed feedings, and near misses of being shaken.

      But with age came memory. And within memory lay tales of punches and belts, broken bones and locked closets. So, as soon as she was able, Almira found her way outside. Repeatedly running away from home and taking shelter with the homeless. Sleeping with them in the alleys and under the highways of the city. Fortune sided with her in the community she took refuge with wasn’t one that forced drugs upon her. Soon, a cyclic process came into effect. Almira would run away. Her parents would call the police. After a some hours, or days, they’d find her. She’d be brought home. A series of abuse would commence. Then the girl would run away again. Her time with the homeless wouldn’t exactly be called healthy, but it was at least caring. She began to learn skills that served her well in the coming apocalypse. Fire making, meals in foil, the ability to sleep anywhere and on most anything, how to make simple shelters.

      It had to be one of the greater ironies as to how little her life changed when the apocalypse came to her household. Almira was in her room in the family’s apartment. Waiting for night to fall so she could crawl out the window and down the side of the brick building to rejoin her second family. A typical evening in the cycle. When her mother came in. Almira stood and turned to face her. The thirteen-year-old’s face was blank, waiting for the shouting, sobbing, or whatever her mother would do to start. It didn’t. Instead, the woman staggered over, Almira assumed she was drunk, and clamped her jaws down upon her left shoulder. Teeth dug into and through the cheap blouse and into her shoulder. Strong as vice her mother bore permanent scars and damaged her shoulder's ability to function forever. However, one step behind her mother, was her father who hammered a cast iron pot into the woman’s head. He himself was already half turned and going deranged. He gave Almira one order: run. It was the most fatherly thing he had ever done for her. An action that Almira still doesn’t understand to this day. She did run, screaming and weeping in agony, out the room, out the front door, down the stairs and into the deteriorating state of the city. Through the mad looting, the girl found her way to her homeless friends.

      There, upon seeing her injury and as the infection was not as understood as it was, they poured looted alcohol across her shoulder as a few of them pinned the writhing child down and bandaged it up. Like many of her childhood injuries, it never healed properly. The homeless squad rode out the initial wave of infection as they had survived for ages, by simply being invisible and out of the way. Certainly, there was the need for barricades and hidden locations to hide from the hordes, but by-the-by, the largest change to Almira’s life was the fact that the police no longer brought her home. For five years her life was this way, living upon scavenged scraps, until, finally, Denver became barren enough that the group was forced to leave.

      However, success was not to be theirs. In the exit of the city, a horde came staggering on their heels that drove them to DIA, where another horde intercepted them. The homeless group that had been her family bit them down to a man. While some, including Almira, escaped, all had sustained bites. Almira’s upon her chest. Within a few days, all but her had turned, and she fled continually East with the scavenged food from the corpses of her family. Aimlessly, the 18-year-old wandered, wondering why the horrid disease could not claim her body.

      It was in the plains that the wondering band under one Old-Man Todd found her. Todd was three steps past weird, but four steps ahead in common sense and old faith wisdom. And he didn’t give up on the deadened teen. Every step of the way, he pushed her to live. To survive in this new reality. Forcing her to learn how to make a camp, scrounge off the wilderness, sling a stone, and set snares. Always with what she once found to be an infernal positivity about it all. “Not to worry,” he’d always say in the face of her frustrations, “the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through.”

      At these times, he’d pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to her with a toothy grin. Almira would eventually have no words for this, namely because his calm, strong belief denied all argument. And slowly, very slowly, she came round. His stead fast determination and the continued proofs of life in both herself and other, changed her tune and, on her 20th birthday, she was given a hatchet and Todd’s own necklace. In turn, she told Todd about her immunity. It was a blessing her called it, and she finally began to believe him.

      Of course, as all things, it didn’t last. A horde swept upon Todd’s group in the night and plowed into them. Almira was bit upon the arm just before she drove her hatchet into its skull. Eventually, she and a scatting of others were able to pull free, including Todd. But he was bitten and no immunity would manifest itself in him. He gave Almira the necklace after forcing her to promise she would never allow herself to sink so low again, before leaving to die, out in the Midwest as the rest of the survivors succumbed to the illness.

      Despite her promise, the young woman almost fell into deep depression again. She went further East, following growing rumor and story that there were some friendly settlements along the east coast regions. Along the way, while cutting through Indianapolis, IN, she came across a small family in hiding. Stunned that the woman had survived on her own, she told a tall-tale about a raider attack breaking up the group she was with. The family had fled their group after it began to twist towards such tendencies and were going to the settlement of Graceland. Taking pity upon them, Almira helped lead them out of the dangerous city and further East. Sleeping in quickly fortified allies and up in trees. The young daughter of the couple took to calling her “Alley Cat,” without a single ounce of offense for her like of these ruined spaces and a seemingly soft nature.

      Often, the parents would struggle with despair, not used to being out without the support of a large group of individuals. In the face of such despair, she’d often make light jokes or say, “Not to worry the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through.” At these times, he’d pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to them with a grin. And, to her own amazement, they made it. Entering into the Graceland community when Almira was 22. And, due in part to the child’s insistence, Almira stayed and began to carve out a living for herself. Utilizing her gift of immunity to go on solo expeditions into infested territory to find useful materials to bring back home. Being in a community restored much of the woman’s pepper. She took to easy laughter in the face of the continued disease, a quick smile, and simple jokes. However, being the sole survivor twice over has taken its toll and she can’t help but wonder when the next tragedy will ruin this home she’s built and Almira will be forced to wander across the states again, looking for the next place to call home.

      Pack:

      Almira’s pack is a veteran scavenger’s pack. Meaning if it weren’t ready for most anything, it would be considered a failure. Belted to her waist is a sharp hatchet that rests on one side while on the other holds a simple contraption of cloth, a sling. In her pack, the woman stores rations for three of eating, and those are her last resort for food. Preferring to devour the surrounding wildlife in case she has to hole up somewhere for awhile while waiting for a horde or raiders to pass. Furthermore, she keeps a basic Boy Scout book of survival for its knots and list of simple, edible wildlife. Within the various pouches, she also stores a hand-crank flashlight, whetstone, matches, heavy leather working gloves, buck knife, flint, bandages, tin foil, water resistant-winter coat, road maps of most everywhere east of the Rockies, 100ish ft of twine, and a portable water filtration kit, and a solid fifty feet of paracord. Dotting around the outside of the pack are a set of pitons on a chain of caribeaners, a few of which clip a mummy bag to the outside straps.

      Prized above it all is a small silver necklace with the worn image of Saint Christopher of travelers that she carries.

      Skills:

      • Advanced Wilderness Survival: “Who wants to set up the lean-to for those without tents and who wants to join me in looking for edible bugs, roots, and berries!”
      • Jury Rigger: “Tie this here. Prop the board like this. Load all that and hey presto! A brick rain trap!”
      • Excellent Listener.

      Strengths:

      • Long years of wandering, abuse, and scrounging has toughened Almira’s body with the gift of endurance.
      • ”I’ve got two eyes for something.”: Living on the streets and scavenging taught Almira to keep a sharp eye for useful material, good sleeping places, and perceiving others in the area, not to mention changes in her companions.
      • Slinger: “No matter what falls to ruin, there will always be another rock."

      Weaknesses:

      • Stubborn: “After I’ve set my mind, I dare you to break it.”
      • Risktaker: “Hey, I bet I can find, or create, a safe way through that infected-infested town than just walking around it.”
      • Damaged Left Shoulder: “Yah, some crazed idiot brought a spiked club down on it one day and it just never healed right. Not to worry, it never slows me down." Which certainly is a lie.

      Romanceable:

      “I’ve got issues, like everyone. But I don’t feel like discussing them naked.” That's a negative on love.

      Art:
      Sadly, I couldn't find who did the lovely piece.

    • Dr. Benjamin Crane
      Sniper | 46 | Medic
      “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.”
      - Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

      Name:

      Dr. Benjamin Augustus Crane, MD

      Nicknames:

      Ben, Benji, Doc, 'Hey You'

      Race:

      Non-Immune Human

      Age:

      46; DOB August 28th

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Doctor

      Description:

      Benjamin stands at an uneven six foot, or perhaps a near five foot eleven, it's hard to tell with the shoddy prosthetic leg he's kept cobbled together over the last fifteen years. He lost his left leg as a child in a car accident and without any surviving companies creating new parts to keep it in balance, the inch of leeway would have to do. As a result he walks with a limp, and on the days the rain is a bit too much, he can be seen using his rifle as a cane. It's hard for most people to look past the prosthetic to notice his tired facial features. Benjamin has peppered black hair and a short beard which he lazily trims when permitted the luxury. A long scar cuts across his right eye, which has caused him to lose a good portion of his vision. His eyes are a steely blue and there is little life left in the two dark orbs.

      Usually, the good doctor can be seen in the same rugged pair of charcoal cargo pants tucked into a pair of shin high cargo boots-- at least on the one side. It's easy to see which leg is missing a bit of meat on the bone, but he still dons both shoes every morning. Benjamin has long since lost his precious white medical coat, not as if he'd wear it anyhow, the only item he has kept over the years is his stethoscope. It hangs around his neck like a badge of honor and a clear indication of his practice.

      Personality:

      The good doctor appears outwardly genuine, with compassion and care his first priorities when treating patients within the Graceland compound he's come to call home. He has few worldly possessions, not that anyone else has much to claim for themselves either, and most of what he finds he gives to others to put to good use. Benjamin already has everything he needs and puts his focus into keeping his community healthy and thriving. This is the face that the residents of Graceland are accustomed to, the smiling doctor who greets each day with a subtle smile and a wave before going about his business with a quiet sort of concentration.

      Inwardly, Benjamin is rather reclusive and prefers to be left alone to his self destructive thoughts. He turns to booze for comfort and is struggling to keep the façade of a happy life up as his chronic pains grow worse each day, his leg getting more and more tired the longer he goes without a proper fitting prosthetic. The only people who know about the more depressive side of Benjamin are those he would call his closest friends, though the list isn't very long.

      If he had to be honest, putting on a brave face and curing the world one scrape at a time suited him just fine, even if he did miss home. At least there was a purpose in that.

      Bio:

      Before the shit show of a virus spread across the country, Ben spent most of his young adult life studying and preparing himself for a life of fatherhood and residency. Like all problems in life, he approached them in the same manner. Through the arduous memorization and study of books and reference material, Ben set forth to excel in every challenge presented to him without any room for failure. He was determined to clear a path for his happy little family.

      He met Joanna in his first year of college. She was a student in her second year, studying business without a passion for her studies. It was an instant attraction. Within a few more years, Joanna had graduated and began a decent job as a secretary for a small printing company in the DC area. Barely a month later, Joanna found out she was pregnant. That winter she gave birth to twins, Hannah and Grace. All the while she always encouraged Benjamin to continue to his dreams of becoming a doctor. Despite the difficulties the two had shared with the both of them attending school, Joanna being pregnant, and the overwhelming amount of debt looming over their heads, they had so much joy within their little family. After the girls were born, at the young age of 21, Benjamin proposed. It was a whirlwind time in Benjamin's life but he never regretted choosing Joanna and his girls.

      Finally, at the age of 25 he got the notification that he had been accepted at Inova Fairfax Hospital in Annandale, Virginia for a residency program. Now that he'd completed both his bachelor's and four long years of medical school, he was ready to tackle the next phase of his education. He was over the moon. They celebrated by finally tying the knot, and Joanna and Benjamin officially married that afternoon at the courthouse. Everything was perfect. Joanna was doing well in her position, Benjamin had a residency at a highly respected hospital, and their two girls were due to start school in the fall. He felt like he was on top of the world and all the pieces were falling exactly into the right places. Once his residency was up, Benjamin was offered a position as a surgeon and was officially a part of the hospital staff, working towards specializing in cardiology.

      How many times could he say it was perfect? Not enough.

      And then, one day, his perfect world began to crumble apart. It started with an unknown disease. He saw it in patients. A strange illness they couldn't treat as one by one, patients had to be quarantined and staff sent home. Schools shut down due to the spread of some unknown virus. At first, Benjamin couldn't believe it. Zombies? The apocalypse? It wasn't real. This was the kind of stuff straight out of a horror flick, not a real disease. Yet he saw it day by day in the patients at the hospital. Much to his dread, he finally saw it in his own wife. It started as a cold and quickly turned into something much worse. From his wife, to his daughters, and from there, Benjamin knew that everything he had worked so hard to build, this perfect little world he treasured, had finally been broken.

      He travelled between compounds for a time, offering his services as a doctor to those who needed it, before settling in Graceland permanently. Five years after the chaotic affair of the beginning of the end of the world, Benjamin met someone. A boy. That kid changed his life for the better.

      Pack:

      Inside of Benjamin's pack are primarily stockpiles of bandages, ointments, and a mix of medications and whatever other supplies he can get his hands on. He even had the fortune of finding two Epi-pens on an expedition. He hoards medical supplies at his own personal expense and doesn't carry much else beyond a canteen and a few spare rifle bullets. He has a dull knife, half a roll of duct tape, and some gum he's pretty sure is expired. Benjamin has a pistol, but the ammo comes and goes as easily as the liquor he sometimes carries.

      His most prized possession is tucked away against the back of his pack. There's something there, a flat object wrapped and tied securely inside of a red plaid kitchen towel. It stays there.

      Skills:

      • Medical knowledge; licensed surgeon in the state of Maryland
      • Hunting knowledge; as a child, hunted with his grandfather for sport
      • Steady hands; practice through hunting and medicine has given Benjamin steady hands for healing and hunting

      Strengths:

      • Level headed; thinks rationally instead of emotionally
      • Soothing; a calming presence to anyone acting anxious
      • Loyal; once an ally, always an ally

      Weaknesses:

      • Impaired vision; right eye scar
      • Impaired mobility; limp in left leg
      • Alcoholic; in a depressive mood, his addictive tendencies to liquor can get the better of him

      Romanceable:

      Absolutely, I guess?

      Art:
      Credit to UNKNOWN

    • Cerys Victoria Owens
      Soldier | Thirty-Two | Welsh
      Name:

      Cerys Victoria Owens

      Nickname:

      Tor, The Dragon of Graceland

      Race:

      Caucasian (Welsh)

      Age:

      Thirty-Two

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Sentinel

      Description:

      Cerys is no easy to miss waif of a being. Clocking in at five foot and nine inches tall, her frame is bulked out by the sort of well defined muscles that are only achieved through buckets of sweat and decorated with a slew of piercings and long, swirling, lilac tattoos that travel up from her wrists on onto her back. This striking look is completed by the shock of dark red hair, most of which is tied back in long, thick braids while the rest has been shaved almost to the scalp.

      When it comes to clothes, Cerys values practicality and freedom of movement over other considerations like protection from the elements; there isn’t much in the way of bad weather that can phase this girl from Brecon anyway. When traveling Cerys prefers a small pack over something large and cumbersome and makes up for the lack of space with various pouches strapped to her belt. The only slight concession to personal style this welsh transplant makes comes in the form of dog tag necklace; only one of the tags remains but either side of it hang two gold rings.​

      Personality:

      In years gone by, Cerys was known, possibly even renowned for her breathtaking anger. People who crossed her would at the very least receive both barrels of a vicious bilingual assault. Others lost limbs. Since she returned from her long stay in Eden however Cerys is significantly more measured in temperament; Whether the anger the used to drive her has been extinguished or just buried it is impossible to tell but she is more like a stern school mistress than a fire breathing dragon. Taciturn would perhaps be the best word to describe her now. She’ll never use twenty words to say something if ten will do and she very much doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve. That is not to say that Cerys is shy. She will give her opinion on something just as readily if she hasn’t been asked as if she has. Either way it will be delivered in a blunt and to the point fashion. She will open up more to those she has shared plenty of history with, but even then she still gives off a guarded vibe, as if she doesn't want to get too close to people.​

      Bio:

      Cerys was seventeen when the world collapsed. On holiday in the United States celebrating passing basic training to join the Royal Marines, she wasn’t able to get out of the country before the borders were closed. Stuck in a world where society was disintegrating more and more every day she did what everyone else did. She joined the biggest group of survivors she could find and tried her best to stick with them.

      The group Cerys had joined, like so many others at the time, was semi-nomadic, wondering till they found somewhere to settle and staying there until a lack of supplies, the dead or other survivors forced them to move on. This pattern repeated itself over and over for the next three years.. Over time, human stupidity, ego, greed and wroth whittled down the number of survivors till perhaps only one in five of the original group members remained. The zombies and disease played a part too.

      As the number of survivors dwindled, Cerys slowly became an increasingly important figure. At first her youthfulness and foreign accent meant that she wasn’t taken seriously when she said she had military experience. As the ranks began to thin however, the leaders of Cery’s group became more willing to accept the foreign girl's claims. Her gun, was literally prized from a dead man’s hands and she was promoted into their position.

      Those first three years for many were the worst part of the end of the world. For Cerys, they were largely the best. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the apocalypse made romances burned hotter as everyone looked for someone to share the horror and pain with and the lost welsh girl found Heather. The thirty year old New Mexico native was a balm to a painful world and Cerys fell head over heels for the woman. For two and a half years, the pair were all but inseparable, guiding each other through the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse. And then the bandit raid happened. The feeling of Heather’s blood seeping through her hands still haunts Cery’s dreams. The ever pervasive feeling that she failed to protect the person she loved still haunts her days.

      By the time Graceland was formed, Cerys wasn’t ready to settle down. There were too many feelings she wanted to runaway from. At the same time however, the thought of not knowing anyone who had known Heather was too much to bear. Instead she spent the next seven years guarding the settlement’s trading expeditions. There was a sort of peace in traveling. She took particular pleasure in dealing with any bandits that tried to rob the settlements good. Disturbing and reckless pleasure. Eventually though this recklessness caught up with her and she ended up with a bullet in her right thigh and a knife in her back before she lost consciousness. Cerys survived due to the fact the bandit attack took place less than an hours frantic horse ride from Eden and blind dumb luck.

      It was a year before Cerys was strong enough to even think about making the journey back Graceland. It was another eight months before the leadership of Eden where satisfied that she had paid back enough to community that had saved her to let her go. When she finally returned to Graceland, people noticed something was different about Cerys. That anger at the world and desire not to be still to long seemed to have gone. She still wasn’t easy to get along with and seemed somewhat distant, but now she seemed to have a desire to be in Graceland, to keep it safe.

      Pack:

      Traveling light is the name of the game and apart from the bare essentials of a couple of days worth of water, some food, a small first aid kit and a change of underwear and perhaps a warm top, not much else goes into Cery’s pack or pouches. There is an old plastic sheet big enough to form a small shelter, a spool of navigation line, as much spare ammunition as she has at any one time and carefully folded, a very old and much repaired Welsh flag. In addition to this she also keeps a baseball bat with a circular saw blade embedded and bolted into the end strapped to her pack, a metal, spring powered realistic looking BB gun and knife on her belt and almost most importantly of all a repeating rifle slung across her shoulder. Cery’s most truly treasured possession however is the necklace on which hang two gold rings and a single, battered military dog tag.​

      Skills:

      • Military Survival training.
      • Battlefield first aid trained.
      • A remarkably better than average shot with most guns.

      Strengths:

      • Natural navigator.
      • In near prime physical condition.
      • Has traveled many of the major trade routes multiple times.

      Weaknesses:

      • Suffers from hayfever.
      • Reduced hearing and tinnitus in her right ear.
      • Her right legs both pains and slows her down.

      Romanceable:

      Theoretically.

      Art:
      Credit to Karla Ortiz


    • Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne
      "...but please, call me Candy"
      Name:

      Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne

      Nickname:

      Candy | Lia | Del

      Race:

      French-American

      Age:

      40

      Home Territory:

      Eden

      Profession:

      Entertainer/Hunter

      Description:

      Candy stands at roughly 170 cm (5'7") and weighs 125 lbs (57 kg). She has wavy black hair that she likes to keep at mid back length that often gets disheveled or messy looking, which sometimes gives the impression that she can't be bothered to comb her hair. Her eyes, a mixture of chocolate and amber, doesn't reflect so much light that makes her eyes look deeper if not hypnotizing. She has dark skin marked with imperfections: small scars littered her body while her face has a few acne scars.

      Personality:

      The entirety of Candy's character is hard to distinguish. When entertaining, she's considered as a femme fatale: capable of convincingly portraying friendly and flirtatious, yet deadly and fierce. She can also be timid, vulnerable, and scared. For the most part, she is a level-headed and strong-willed woman. She tries to maintain a controlled, almost emotionless persona to keep whatever she is thinking a secret unless she is around people she trusts.

      Bio:

      Candy's childhood wasn't easy. Her mother was a hooker while she grew up not knowing who her father was.

      She grew up at the crime-ridden streets half of her life, trying to survive. Her mother made sure Candy rakes in the big bucks for their family by selling her for a night to the rich people to do favors at the ripe age of fourteen.

      Life was hard for the poor girl though thanks to her mother and her work, she met people from all walks of life. She learned how to social climb; use her charm to get what she wants. This went on for a couple of years until when she met Joshua, a young man who owns a bar and became a regular client. He was the one who taught her how to live her life. He even taught her to read and write. Long story short, they fell in love and decided to be together. Her mother was fine with it after being paid a large sum of money.

      Since then Candy had a comfortable life. She stopped selling her body and began singing at the bar Joshua owns. Everything was perfect. She got her happily ever after! That is until the zombie apocalypse happened.

      She was twenty five and twelve weeks pregnant when all hell broke loose.

      They were driving down to Georgia to visit Joshua's family when a man popped out in the middle of the road. Naturally, Joshua swerved the car to avoid him only to crash against another car. Candy couldn't clearly remember what happened after that although when she woke up, learned that Joshua was missing and she had a miscarriage.

      Candy joined and wandered with the people who helped her in hopes to find Joshua. For years she searched, refusing to believe that he's dead or turned. She promised herself that either he was dead or a zombie, she needed to see it through her own eyes. The group she was with the thought she went crazy when in truth, she just can't bear the thought of losing someone again. But years of looking for him took a toll on her. She grew tired and weary.

      Thus, she decided to settle down at Eden for a few years, reach to her connections and ask for help. Every time she heard the news that Joshua was alive and he was seen somewhere, Candy would travel and search for him. It was a vicious cycle of disappointment but Candy never gave up. She strongly believes that Joshua was alive; and that he wasn't turned yet.

      Years passed and her search came into fruition. She followed a lead that Joshua was seen near Wrecks. It took her weeks scouring the woods but it was worth it. She finally saw him, surrounded by zombies and trying to fend off himself. Although tired and exhausted from tracking him down, Candy helped out and did whatever she could to save him.

      She soon found herself in some makeshift camp with Joshua sitting right beside her. There are other people there as well although that wasn't her concern since at that time, her main focus was her long lost lover. She thought it would be a reunion. A day full of love. Oh how she thought wrong! Joshua drugged her and quickly shot her expectations down by telling her that they couldn't continue their relationship. At least, for now.

      While she was in and out of her consciousness because of the drug, Candy could hear snippets of words. Something about a kid and a bounty. She also heard the words "forced" and "owed".

      Candy didn't know how long she was out but when the drug wore off, she realized the makeshift camp was gone and she was back in Eden. Residents told her that they found her right outside the gates.

      Feeling lost and betrayed, Candy vowed to find Joshua no matter what. She then made her way to Graceland just in time to hear the news that someone abducted a child! Although she refused to believe that Joshua would do such heinous crime, the whispers she heard from the residents of Graceland are enough.

      Now she's on the search for him and the child. She vowed that this would be her last trip of finding him for she wanted to clear things out between them once and for all.

      Pack:

      Candy's bag only contains necessary items: a set of clothes, a blanket, food, and water that can last her for two days, a hunting knife, catgut, fire starter kit, and a medkit. Her most prized possession is not in the pack but on her neck. Its a .68 carat square-cut pink diamond pendant that was given to her as a birthday gift by her beloved. She changed its silver chain to catgut and made it longer so the pendant can be tucked between her bosom.

      Skills:

      • Network. Candy knows quite a handful of people that used to be her clients and can simply ask in favors from them. That is if they're not dead yet.
      • Wilderness survival. Candy has advance knowledge of how to survive in the wilderness. She can hunt animals and forage for tubers or berries.
      • Hand to hand combat. Candy has enough knowledge to protect herself in short-range combat.
      • Excellent Tracker.Years of trying to find her lover, Candy developed her skills in tracking. She can track a person or an animal based on its trail. Thus, if the trail has been there for hours or days, she'll start having difficulty.

      Strengths:

      • Candy can easily get along with people. That means she's charismatic and charming enough to manipulate. She can even get them to spill their dirty little secrets.
      • She is rational even when under pressure. She doesn't show her true emotions so easily and she sees that as an advantage.
      • Although she lost her baby, Candy's motherly instinct hasn't left her. She can easily comfort kids and can take care of them as if they were her own.

      Weaknesses:

      • Candy can fend for herself but that doesn't mean she's strong. She lacks the muscle power to lift half a sack of potatoes.
      • She struggles to be honest with herself and others. This may lead to mistrust and miscommunication.
      • Candy gets easily impatient. For her, time is precious and it shouldn't be wasted over trivial things.
      • Topics of loss, death of a child, or her lover triggers her emotions.

      Romanceable:

      Possibly once she finished chasing her boyfriend

      Art:
      Credit to Aleksei Vinogradov

    • Dennis Haufman
      Sigh. "I'll fix it."
      Name:

      Dennis Haufman

      Nickname:

      Go on, if you're feeling creative, give it a shot. He'll accept most nicknames.

      Age:

      35

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Mechanic

      Description:

      Scruffy and tired would be the best two words to describe Dennis’ appearance. His full height is 6’2”, though a slouch keeps him from reaching such most of the time. Dark brown hair that lays fairly shaggy, as well as an unkempt beard. Dennis stopped putting effort into his appearance long ago. His hands are fairly weathered, covered in small little scars, but beneath the mess is a pair of somewhat striking grey green eyes, often hidden by locks of hair. He most often wears anything that he finds in comfortable and good condition. The only constant item he keeps on his person is a tool belt. He wears it very often, but if not, it is stored safely in his bag.

      Personality:

      Many can say they’ve developed a hardened shell to survive the apocalypse, but Dennis likes to claim he had it long before. Gruff and sluggish, Dennis feigns a lot of disinterest when meeting new people. He can often be viewed as somewhat rude or uninvolved, but actually, it’s usually the opposite. Dennis is observant, though quietly so. He tends to stick to the back and save his energy for the dire moments and pressing situations, then whipping out his knowledge in an unexpected moment. He’s not very sensitive to people’s feelings, but he often has their best intentions at heart, even if it may not come across like it. When he's in the mood, he can also be quite a bit of a jokester and can sometimes find joy in pushing people's buttons, a rare glimpse of the childishness that lingered from before the apocalypse.

      At the root of it all, cliche-y enough, Dennis is a softie. He cares about those he bonds with and is found making the most rash decisions when another person’s safety is in question. A lot of his actions are weighed down with a deep regret for the people he couldn’t save or find, and the will to survive is slowly beginning to dim after fifteen years struggling alone. Dennis is very much a pessimist, but a small, squashed part of him is waiting for a reason to shed that title.

      Bio:

      Born and raised in Annapolis, Maryland to two middle class office worker parents, Dennis had a rather boring start. He struggled to pay attention to school, and found quite quickly that his interests lay in places outside the academic realm. His first years of schooling made him feel somewhat inadequate, but once he realized it wasn’t his priority, life got a lot easier. His parents were clueless, and if anything, a little intimidated by the blunt attitude Dennis carried early on, but they loved him nonetheless. This affinity for the more brutish and hands-on hobbies didn’t quite come from them, but his grandfather on his mother’s side.

      Dennis adored his grandfather, who was a veteran in the Korean war. A tough, hardened, clever old man who knew just about every survival skill there was to know, and Dennis was there to soak up knowledge like a sponge. He also had a love of cars and boxing, two interests Dennis took to immediately. He begged his parents to sign him up, and after getting quite into it, they discovered it did help to get out some aggression and improved his mood in school. Not exactly his grades, but he was no longer picking petty fights. Most of his childhood was spent at his grandfather’s house, watching wrestling matches together, or poking his nose into whatever work his grandad was doing on his old truck.

      His teenhood had a lot of the same with a few more risky activities mixed in; some girls, some parties, some illegal substances… every stupid thing a teen could get their hands on, Dennis probably tried. He’s not the proudest of it. He did have a girlfriend for the later part of highschool, but she moved away before senior years’ end. He and his grandfather also fixed up an old motorcycle together, Dennis’ eighteenth birthday gift. Dennis cherished it more than anything else.

      But he passed a few weeks before Dennis graduated highschool. Though he didn’t get to see his grandson graduate, he’d left his mark on the young man, and Dennis quickly became a certified mechanic and started work in Baltimore. Life was good for two years; he had roommates, decent pay, independence.

      Dennis was twenty years old when the end of the world came around and stole away the sense of normalcy he had grown so used too. Despite the chaos that engulfed the world rather quickly, but Dennis was no idiot. He didn’t have a nuclear fallout shelter or a stack of supplies, but he had skills and his wits. He vacated Baltimore quickly, with nothing but his motorcycle and his most essential and treasured items.

      He went back to Annapolis first, to his parents' home. It was ransacked. There was blood, but no bodies. The mailbox was untouched, and in it Dennis discovered a letter addressed to him.

      It was from his highschool girlfriend, who had moved away. She had a son. His son, who was nearly two years old then. She had wanted him to come, regretting having never told him that she was pregnant. Maybe if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, he’d be a loving father in a happy family. His parents would be alive and his problems would be the damn motor on a client’s car that just wouldn’t work. But of course, things don’t work like that. They never do.

      Dennis spent the most part of the last fifteen years on his own. He searched long and hard for his parents, for his son and his mother, but he never found them. Their apartment was empty; there was no sign of where they’d gone.

      Anyone who Dennis traveled with, he never stayed long. He avoided interactions if possible, and kept mobile most of the time. Fairly early on he ditched his motorcycle, even though it pained him greatly, though he still kept the keys.

      Eventually he joined a wandering group heading from St. Michael’s. Losing sense of purpose, Dennis stayed in this group longer than any other, all the way until it met its bitter end due to a horde of zombies. Only he and one other woman survived, Momo. Now he’s found himself somewhat attached to her, and reluctantly agreed to pause in Graceland for a little while. Two months have passed as Dennis and Momo attempted to gather their bearings and find a new plan, and now Dennis finds himself roped into a rescue mission courtesy of the kindness of his traveling companion.

      Pack:

      Prized Possessions: Of personal value - A hand-written letter with a photo inside, yellowed with age. The keys to his motorcycle, which he left behind.
      Of utility - A toolbelt and a set of tools given to him by his father. The tool belt itself is what Dennis values more in terms of personal attachment, but some (not all) of the tools within it were also part of the original gift. It includes:
      • A medium sized hammer, his favored zombie skull-crushing tool (always at arm’s length)
      • A set of screwdrivers
      • A set of wrenches
      • Pliers
      • Heavy duty mechanical gloves
      • Wire terminal crimper
      • Torque wrench
        Other tools not in his toolbelt but that he does carry in his pack include:
      • Wrecking bar
      • Jumper cables
      • Electrical tape
      • Scavenged ratchets and sockets (not exactly a complete set)

        Non tool related items:
      • A roll of bandaging
      • Water canteen
      • Small package of matches
      • Swiss army knife (His grandfather’s)
      • Change of clothing
      • Blanket

      Skills:

      • Experience with machinery, specifically automobiles, which has transformed into a fairly seasoned ability to jerry rig certain items and things together to help him out.
      • Fighting. Dennis had a deep love for boxing as a kid and has used these valued skills throughout the apocalypse. He is an excellent hand to hand combatant.
      • Agile. Even though Dennis is a fairly hefty guy, he's surprisingly quick and has a high amount of finesse that can often come as a shock to someone on his tail, especially those pesky zombies. He has kept physically fit throughout his lifetime.

      Strengths:

      • Quick Thinking (while keeping cool, most of the time)
      • Clever. Dennis is able to solve problems creatively and make use of his skill set.
      • Observant. He's always on high alert and taking mental notes of surroundings and people.

      Weaknesses:

      • Enjoys pushing buttons, and lacks sensitivity with people at times in pursuit of a larger goal.
      • Stubborn as hell. He's hard headed and must be thoroughly persuaded on certain matters.
      • Dyslexia - it was a large factor in his struggles in school but he was never formally diagnosed. Therefore, he isn’t the most academically skilled and generally tries to avoid reading or anything similar.

      Romanceable:

      Indeed, if you’re willing to brave the thick layer of stubborn. (Bi but female leaning)

      Art:
      Fc: Michiel Huisman
    • Digital-Painting-Inspiration-20.jpg

      "Lettum' burn."
      Name:
      Kent 'Arson' Murphy
      Arson was the name given to him by his group in Beggars End.

      Race:
      Irish-American
      Age:
      Thirty Nine
      Home Territory:
      Beggars End
      Profession:
      Ex-Bandit ~ Scavenger
      Description:
      Sitting atop his 5-foot/10 inches self is a generally messy head of ginger hair with a beard to match. A slightly crooked nose from falling down after a night of drinking is one of two abnormalities on his face. The other being a small scar just above his right eye. His eyes are a blue-green mix that tend to always be tired and scornful. The only hint of happiness manages to shine through when he gets his rough, burnt hands on a bottle of liquor. His body is strong and slightly defined, though lack of a proper diet does leave him more on the skinnier side than he'd like. His arms are covered in burn marks; some old and some new. On his left shoulder is a bullet scar.
      All of this is normally covered by his modified fire-suit. Though it has seen better days, he tries to keep it in good condition by patching up any holes or replacing pieces whenever he finds something in decent condition while scavenging. When he finds a safe place to relax, he tends to wear a pair of denim jeans and a tank top or a hoodie in cooler weather. Despite the season, he also tends to wear a beanie.
      8ea10d1963354af6c6ea0ce9855ea597.jpg

      "Why fire? Maybe it reminds me of a simpler time, where I put out fires instead of started'em. Or maybe it just kills shit and keeps me warm."

      Personality:
      Brash and stand-offish is the best way to describe Kent. While he isn't necessarily charismatic, he doesn't have a problem talking to those he doesn't know. It's hard for him to actually like people, but if you can prove capable you can get on his good side quickly. He sees value in people who are strong and can hold their own in a fight. The worst kind of people in his mind are those that need to be "babysat". He doesn't talk much about his time in Beggars End, and can get rude if pressed on the matter.
      Once you manage to gain his trust he is loyal and enjoy joking around. He is looking for a place to call home where he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open, and though he may deny it, friends to live along side with. Those that share a drink with him might find his personality is completely reversed once drunk and is a kind man who likes to listen to stories, sing songs and reminisce about simpler times.


      Bio:
      Pre-Apocalypse

      A firefighter for the Lancaster Fire Department, Kent was set to marry Samantha Gelt the summer of 2015. When the virus broke out and chaos erupted around the world, fire came with it. In a particularly nasty riot in Los Angeles, the Lancaster FD was called in to help control a fire that had broke out in the city due to a car crashing into a gas tanker truck on the edge of the city. Turned out, the man driving the car had been infected with the virus. When they arrived on the scene, several people had already been bitten.
      Months later and life as Kent knew it was a distant dream. He'd been at a government aid center in the city when a riot began. The riot ended when soldiers turned their guns on the looters, and in the cross fire Samantha was among those dead.
      Most people left the city after that, giving up on the government and sticking it out by themselves.

      Postapocalypse
      Kent was among the few who stayed. Something in him snapped seeing his fiance killed by other survivors rather than the dead. Joining up with an anti-government group, he stuck with them for the coming years. They stole from other survivors and rival bandit groups to survive. They killed when they needed to, which turned out to be often enough in Beggars End. It wasn't until they needlessly killed a surrendering family of four that brought Kent back to his senses. Gathering his things and heading out the following night. At first he went north to St. Michael, but he was recognized as a bandit and was denied entry.
      He's been on the move ever since, traveling East. He caught rides with traders, stolen a horse from a small farming community but lost it a week later too a group of lurkers but eventually he made it to the Atlantic Ocean. He still isn't sure where he's going or what he's looking for, but when he stumbled upon the community of Graceland he decided to stick around.
      He hasn't been around long, but decided to make himself useful when he heard about a child being abducted. Maybe it'd be a way to atone for his past.


      Pack:
      He keeps all his things in a tan travel bag, though his ax and flame thrower tend to sit on his shoulders via straps. His Glock 22 pistol is kept in its holster on his waist.
      Clothing: He keeps two spare shirts, one being a tanktop. Two pairs of jeans, socks and boxers. He regularly trades for fresh clothing every so often, or manages to scavenge some.
      Tools: A can opener for food, a box of matches to conserve fuel, crowbar, folding knife, sharpening stone, canteen for water, burn ointment, bandages and water purification tablets.
      Miscellaneous: A half-drank bottle of rum and two rags. One spare gas tank for his flame thrower and two spare magazines for his pistol, though one is empty.

      Prized Possession: Almost always worn on his person is a bracelet that reads "K + S" and a heart. It was a gift he gave Samantha before things went to hell.

      Skills:
      Bandit Connections: Even though they're out East, he does have several connections from his years as a troublemaker.
      Fire-Starting: Be it molotov or a match, he has plenty of ways to start fires. Alternately, he can also has knowledge to putting them out.
      Fractured Humanity: He has done messed up things in the past and would do it again if needed. This can be useful when convincing someone is out of the question and it helps with the hesitation before killing another person.

      Strengths:
      Fighting: Particularity close range, as he is strong and has quick reflexes.
      Building and Woodworking: A natural at building, be it defenses like a fence or something smaller like a makeshift weapon.
      Woodcutting: Be it for campfires or building, he can cut a tree down.

      Weaknesses:
      Shooting: The opposite of a crack shot, he isn't too good with a gun. Luckily with a flame thrower you don't have to aim.
      Diplomacy: He tends to speak his mind despite the situation. This doesn't tend to be the best for talking with other groups or making friends.
      Afraid of Spiders: He always has been. It's probably the eyes.


      Romanceable:
      Sure! (Hetrosexual)


      Art:
      Face Claim: Aaron Griffin-Here
      Fire-Suit: Daniel Comerci-Here

    • Maricela O. Lee
      Certified Bitch | Baseball Bat Enthusiast
      Name:

      Maricela O. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mari

      Race:

      African American

      Age:

      31

      Home Territory:

      Eden

      Profession:

      Trade Supervisor

      Description:

      Mari had always been tall for her age. When she was younger, her limbs were lanky and got in the way of even walking. As the years stretched on, she grew into her body and now stands at just under six feet tall. Dark grey eyes peer out from her dark brow, keen and watchful. Her springy curls fall just to her shoulder, often tied back with a bandanna or tamed underneath of her favorite baseball cap. A single white scar cuts across her collarbone, the only visible mark that the apocalypse has left on her. It's often hidden behind her thick overcoats or leather jackets, a precaution she always takes if she's going outside of the town limits.

      Personality:

      Mari has been told on numerous occasions that she has a resting bitch face, making her seem unapproachable and distant. Which is accurate. She much prefers the company of Graceland's horses and a few quiet individuals to any large gatherings of people. Whenever Graceland has a dance or celebration, she tends to be standing awkwardly on the outskirts. One part due to the fact that she doesn't like socialization and mainly due to the fact that she can't dance to save her life. While distant, she is anything but quiet. She has her opinions and isn't afraid to voice them without sugarcoating her words. The only thing that can break her hardened, described by some as bitchy, exterior, is unwarranted affection. She doesn't typically do 'feelings' and keeps her flings private and short.

      Bio:

      Mari had the perfect life. Well, at age ten, she thought that it was perfect. She had a younger brother to play video games with and a baby brother to coo over. When she wasn't at the shabby little school that the city of Savannah Georgia couldn't bother to give proper funding, she was playing her Gameboy while her mother tended to the garden. While it was old and out-of-date, it was the best that they could afford and she loved leaning over it for hours on end. They didn't have an abundance of wealthy, but they had enough to put food on the table and a roof over their head. It didn't matter that it was a shabby roof, especially when they'd decorate it with small arts and crafts. When her father would come home from a long day at work, they'd spend hours playing a makeshift game of baseball in the backyard with bags of sand as their bases and a glove that she and her brother shared. She still has memories of long evenings when they'd sit on the porch and watch the sun set, the buzz of the radio in the background and the smell of her mother's cooking in the air. It was perfect.

      Until it wasn't.

      It was hurricane season and the report had told them to evacuate multiple times. Their father, while a kind-hearted man, was set in his ways. He believed that the storm would miss their town and everything would be fine. They didn't have the funds to travel anyway, so the best option was to wait it out. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The storm hit the coast at full force and their whole town was submerged within hours. The storm tore the house apart, flooding the single-level home and forcing them onto the roof. The night was a blur, a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. She only remembered clutching her baby brother, Mihn, to her chest as the waves splashed onto their roof. By some miracle, rescue services came during a lull in the storm and got Mari and her brothers off of the roof. However, as rescue services went back for their parents, they only found a collapsed roof.

      The siblings were put in the foster system, any other family unwilling or unable to take them in.

      Mari was used to taking care of her brothers, even before they were place in an orphanage. As the oldest in the bunch, she learned quickly how to toughen up even as she tried to process the passing of her parents. She did her best to be there for her brothers when they needed to talk about it, but never fully processed the incident herself. The foster home that they were eventually sent to was overcrowded, under-furnished, and under-funded. The two foster parents did their best to provide for the children, but there was only so much that they could do. Once Mari, Mika, and Mihn entered the system, they were soon lost in the wave of paperwork with no hope of being adopted together. She still found time to play her Gameboy, often finding herself reluctantly sharing it when she brought it out.

      She supposed it was a blessing in disguise that nobody wanted to adopt them, as they refused to be separated. When the apocalypse started, Mari didn't have parents to lose, adopted or otherwise. All she had were a six-year-old and a fourteen-year-old brother to take care of.

      Their foster mother, Eliza, managed to get them and two other children out of the city and into the countryside after her husband was lost to a horde of zombies. They settled with a small group that would eventually form Eden. It took nearly two years before the community was finally formed. Two years of scrounging for food, learning how to kill zombies, and trying to make sure that Mihn had a relatively normal childhood. Thankfully, Eliza was around to make sure that he was properly fed and taken care of while Mari and Mika went out with a small group of survivors to try and find whatever supplies that they could. One particular expedition was cut short by bandits that tried to kill them and take their things. Losing two members and gaining a thin white scar across her collarbone, this became Mari's first lesson in the shifted moralities of the world.

      As most things for the Lee family, the semblance peace and stability didn't last. While Eden formed on the outskirts of her old home town and began to trade across the nation, tensions began to rise between the growing farming community and Charcity. Eliza and Mihn had been working in one of the fields when the electric fence was sabotaged, allowing a group of zombies to break through and attack them. Mari arrived just in time to pry a zombie off of Mihn while Eliza was lost in the pack of undead. To her horror, his shoulder was bloody from a deep bite.

      She snuck him back to their tiny barracks and kept the bite covered and sewed it up to the best of her ability. She and Mika agreed to keep it a secret until he actually turned, as neither of them could bring themselves to actually kill their little brother. But to their confusion, he never turned. The thirteen year old boy didn't understand why Mari was so serious as she told him that nobody could ever know. There were horror stories of those rare survivors who were immune being carted off to a lab, and she did her best to instill that fear in him.

      Afraid that the community would discover it and sell him out for supplies, she and her brothers packed up their things and left.

      Eventually they settled in Graceland where Mari found herself creating unwanted bonds with a few of the community members. Mika and Mihn were more than happy to make new friends, but Mari found her own circle limited to a handful of people. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, it was mainly because she was a bitch. At times, she still found herself taking out her Gameboy that had long since broken and thinking about how the world used to be. She often questioned if the world was actually better before the apocalypse, as she found herself smiling much more in Graceland as she ever did at the orphanage or the foster home.

      But Graceland seemed okay to have her bitchy nature as she made sure traders got to and from other communities safely. For eight years, she was content. But as previously stated, nothing stayed like that for long.
      Now Mihn is missing and it's her mission to bring him home.

      Pack:

      Mari typically keeps only the essentials in her bag. This includes a few packages of dried meat and fruits, a full canteen of water, matches, a small sewing kit, two knives, a change of underclothes, and a revolver that only has three bullets. If it's a longer journey, she'll stuff a thin blanket in as well. The only non-essential item that she carries is her Gameboy which has become a token of good luck for her.

      Strapped to the outside of her bag is her weapon of choice, which is a wooden baseball bat with two shivs jammed into the top. She's gone through about three of these since she figured out that she liked to fight with it, but typically is able to get her hands on another one or ask someone whose good at woodworking to make her another one.

      Skills:

      • Close-Ranged Combat
      • Horse Handling
      • Sewing

      Strengths:

      • Leadership
      • Physical Strength
      • Analytical Thinking

      Weaknesses:

      • Diplomacy
      • Ranged Combat
      • Teamwork

      Romanceable:

      Yes [Homosexual]

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST


    • Mona Jablonski
      "I refuse to waste words on you."
      Name:

      Mona Illian Jablonski

      Nickname:

      Momo

      Race:

      Polish/German Descent | Caucasian American

      Age:

      28

      Home Territory:

      St. Michaels

      Profession:

      Farmer

      Description:

      Momo stands at a height of 6'0" and sports a lanky build. Whatever muscle she's managed to gather while roaming the country, it's still not much to begin with. Her complexion was once ghostly pale, but now holds a healthier, sun-withered tan with blotches of dirt that she can't wash off--no matter how hard she tries. And yes, she tries everyday. Finally, Momo's blond mane is cut short and choppy, which she allows to lay on her head in any direction it pleases, and her eyes are a striking shade of blue.

      Personality:

      Socializing is far from Momo's strong suit. Meeting new people stirs a rare anxiety in her gut, so she does her best to avoid doing so altogether. This includes refusing to utter a word to a stranger and pinning them down with a calculative, piercing stare. Nothing malicious, but quite invasive. However, she is far more vocal around those she is familiar with and can easily chat off her poor victims' ears about the wonders of flora and her favorite literary philosophers. In the rare case of anyone being able to get under her skin, Momo tries to meditate (roughly 5-10 minutes) and reel her emotions in. Composure is key, after all.

      68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6e6c65466d443336484653536e413d3d2d3636333034353230382e313536646133333262336338346538393138383931323131313132332e676966

      Bio:

      Before catastrophe seized the country, Momo lived a sheltered and highly pampered life. The Joblanskis were a prestigious and well-revered name, especially so in the academic world. Her father often toured the nation to present lectures, feeding young minds his ground-shaking concepts on historical literature and philosophy, while her mother remained in California as a Botany professor. Momo's studies were strictly monitored the moment she was born, thus leading to plenty of private tutors and a heavy focus on Botany, thanks to her mother's... nudging. Influence. Interference. The words were always interchangeable. Whenever Momo wasn't shoving her face into a book about plants, it was in another about literature and philosophy, of her own will. She'd grown a love for the subject just as passionate as her father's.

      Then came the epidemic.

      She was thirteen years old when it all began. And she was thirteen years old when her father stopped answering their calls. To this day, Momo is unsure of his fate but has long since accepted the reality that he's either dead or turned. She was left to look after her mother and they were lucky enough to have been family friends with a professor at St. Michaels, who leaked information to them about the possibility of a safe haven in the making. It was there that Momo found a niche for herself and developed her skills further as a resident farmer. When she wasn't contributing there, she was also assisting her mother with monitoring the campus greenhouses, hiding away in the library (that she fought tooth and nail to preserve), and participating in trades with farms located outside of community borders. Of course, she never ventured out alone.

      Her life took an unfortunate turn (as if a zombie apocalypse wasn't unfortunate enough) when one trip in particular lead her group to being ambushed by bandits. All members except for her managed to fend for themselves and she found herself taken by force, her fate unknown. She didn't know if they planned to kill her, trade her in as a hostage, or something else entirely. She didn't manage to escape until days under their watch, having slipped Wolf's Bane (Aconite) into their meals. Fleeing back home, she was then delivered even worse news: Her mother had left St. Michaels alone in search of her and they haven't heard from her since.

      Refusing to lose anyone else, Momo packed everything she could and also left St. Michael's. In her travels and desperate search, she eventually joined a wandering group of survivors. Hopping from place to place. Hope after hope. Disappointment after disappointment. After crossing over from west coast to east coast of the country, her group was wiped out by a horde of ravenous Newborns. Only Momo and one man named Dennis survived the ordeal. They decided to band together and traveled further before making a home in Graceland, no matter how fickle that status may be at the moment. A reprieve from the trauma was in order for Momo and she refused to go elsewhere until then. As of now, she and Dennis have been in Graceland for a little under two months, trying to figure out their next move.

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      Pack:

      In Momo's bag is a set of tools responsible for plant gathering and crop production, such as pruners, empty pill bottles to contain seeds, ziplock bags for holding specified vegetation/flora, sturdy work gloves, and so on and so forth. There is also a bowl and small strainer available. These tools lean heavily towards the instance of finding edible, medicinal, or potentially harmful plants. The specified plants that she prioritizes and currently have in possession will be listed below:

      - Tule Mint (Mentha arvensis): For upset stomach, indigestion, and chewing (somewhat like candy)
      - California Wild Roses (Rosa californica): Another source of food and easy to gather in the California area
      - California Sagebrush (Artemisia californica): Crushed leaves in a container, mainly used as a repellent against insects
      - Yarrow (Achillea millefolium): Highly useful for medicinal purposes, used to soothe boils/sores, contains anti-inflammatory compounds, speeds up blood clotting, and can be applied to wounds
      - Yerba Santa (Eriodictyon californicum): Another medicinal herb, though this strain of Yerba focuses on relieving sore throats, sore limbs, colds, asthma, rheumatism, etc

      As far as sentimental items go, Momo has one thing and one thing only--a limited edition golden pages copy of Moby Dick. The margins are filled with little notes scribbled in pen and each one holds a memory dear to her.

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      Skills:

      • Advanced Memory: Some would consider it a blessing, others a curse. Momo deems the skill as both. Her memory is nearly perfect, which definitely appealed to her fascination and love for academics. Thus, it's unlikely for her to become lost while out foraging, unless the path had changed somehow and even then, it would have to be by drastic measures.
      • Medicine (Herbal): Momo utilizes her in depth knowledge of Botany and basic medical aid to heal others of their ailments, though they can only go so far. Her specialty lies in the realm of digestive discomfort, fever, sores, and epidermal injuries. Significant injuries such as bullet wounds and missing chunks of flesh are beyond her.
      • Farming: Of course, she gathers far more than just flowers. If it can be grown by Mother Earth, then Momo more than likely knows where, when, and how to find it. She's also very adept at determining which crops are safe to consume, considering the possibility of zombie virus infection. Her preferred methodology is using a combination of water finding paste (she could thank Dennis for that one) and HP testing strips. It's the most reliable system she has at the moment, but is definitely in the process of improving it.

      Strengths:

      • Intelligent: Momo was provided elite education from private tutors since the moment she could walk. Of course, her hobbies tend to veer her closer to the studies of literature and philosophy, but that never stopped her mind from greedily speeding through every book she could lay her hands on.
      • Level Headed: This skill was one that Momo had to adopt over time. Through years of sheer will power, scheduled seclusion, and frequent meditation, she's managed to put a cap on her temper and anxiety. Most of the time, the calculative composure works well for her.
      • Observant: Momo is always watching her surroundings. No matter what. It could very well be a product of paranoia or the fact that her brain refuses to take a break. Likely a mixture of both. Either way, Momo does well to spot things that others miss, whether it be an item or a completely convoluted idea that could pose as the solution to their problem.

      Weaknesses:

      • Physically Weak: Momo is quite tall, but all her growth spurt succeeding in doing was spreading out what little muscle she has. All those years spent farming and wandering across the country with her group didn't do her body much justice, and it shows through whenever she tries to throw a punch. It's a pathetic sight to behold.
      • Judgmental: Understanding others is a challenge for Momo. She can maintain civil conversation, but when someone attempts to formulate a deeper relationship with her, her lack of experience with other people rears its ugly head. She hates not knowing and because of this, she has a tendency to clam up and assume too quickly. Combing assumptions with distrust just leads to unfair judgement on her part.
      • Reserved / Antisocial: Branching off from her previous weakness, Momo's inadequate social skills are apparent. No--palpable. In order to avoid any awkwardness, she deviates from talking, which can prove to be detrimental in a team setting.

      Romanceable:

      Yes | Demisexual, heavy female leaning

      Face Claim:
      Elizabeth Debicki

    • Ren
      Caretaker | 16
      Name:

      Ren

      Nickname:

      Kid, Son

      Race:

      Asian-American

      Age:

      16

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Hired Hand

      Description:


      Saddled with a mediocre height of 5 ft 8 in, the young man does not strike anyone as an immediate physical threat. Much like his avian namesake, Ren is thin and delicately formed, a few pounds shy of a healthy weight. There is a softness to his overall appearance that belies a sharp mind. His eyes, almond in shape, black in color, are rimmed with lashes, brilliantly filled with life as they look out upon the world. In more ways than one, he has his mother's face, misleadingly feminine save for a squared jaw. He is more pretty than handsome, and it irks him. There was a time when he used to wear his hair long, but in a recent period of self-awareness, Ren has gone to clipping his hair to just below the ears.

      There is no shortage to the clothes Ren can wear. It is a novelty to have clothes that actually fit; in the meantime, Ren has done well with whatever clothes he manages to squirrel away. A needle and thread have done wonders for many a worn pair of jeans or shirt, and he is not bothered in the least if they hang off his small frame like rags on a scarecrow. Shoes are the only thing the teen is particular about. They must fit.

      Personality:


      There is an intrinsic friendliness to Ren’s overall person that makes him quite likeable by others. Aside from his youthful optimism, he draws on his own troubled beginnings to treat community members with kindness and empathy, notably compassionate for one so young. It is easy for him to become invested in other’s lives; though he would not personally consider himself nosy, he does try his best to help out, even if his efforts are ultimately rebuffed by the recipient. Curiosity spurs most of his actions; he is inquisitive, to a degree that has gotten him into trouble once or twice. He is drawn to knowledge of the old world like a moth to the flame. A few times his wings have become singed, and he’s retreated, only to return some time later, ever incorrigible.

      His age reflects poorly on him in other aspects. Though not as gullible as a younger child, Ren struggles to discern truth from fiction and as such often takes things said at face value. While he does not appear to be, he is sensitive in more ways than he would like to the thoughts and opinions of others. As he grapples to find a sense of identity, his mood can be volatile at times, an unfortunate after effect of his own self-reckoning. It does not help that Ren continues to internalize this ongoing battle. This is one battle he believes he must face alone.

      Bio:


      For Ren, there are no memories of a world before the undead. He was only one year old when society collapsed, and his mother, barely 20, was determined to fight tooth and nail to keep them alive. Even if it meant isolating them from other survivors. His early childhood was a large muddling of constant travel, cold meals, and a pervading silence as he was often urged to remain quiet for reasons unknown to his young mind. He did not see much of the decaying landscape. Much of the brutality surrounding him escaped his view, as his mother tried her hardest to preserve his innocence. To this day, he can not fully remember her face. He can only picture her smile: fleeting, wan, something that came and went in the few moments they shared as a family.

      Their life alone was not meant to last. It ultimately came to an end when, while exploring an abandoned farmhouse, a Newborn zombie set upon his mother. As it just so happened, there were two bullets left in his mother’s gun. The first bullet was used to dispatch the Newborn as it drove its teeth into her arm. A minute and a half passed, his mother locked in rigid contemplation. The second bullet then followed, blowing out the back of his mother’s head. The blood and bits splattered distinctly against the wall, like a colorized Rorschach test. Ren was only six years old.

      He does not remember much of what happened next. Ten or so days later he recalls sifting through trash on the road for food when a man emerged from the gloom, a warm disposition about him. The man saved him from certain death; Ren would later come to know him as Benjamin Crane, a kind doctor who took the boy with him back to Graceland. From then on, the two were inseparable, Ren laying claim to one who quickly became a beloved father figure to him. Where the good doctor went, Ren went. In time, the boy flourished under the man’s care, the traumas of his past ebbing away as he embraced his new life. Opportunities to better himself came as he began to branch out to other members of the community. Many of the older members taught him rudimentary skills in various practices. As such, he was able to keep busy, splitting his time between assisting the doctor and performing random odd-jobs throughout town.

      Life was as peaceful as it could possibly be...up until the tragic abduction of Minh Lee. Now Ren is on a mission to help find him, and he will do whatever it takes to bring his friend back home.

      Pack:


      By survivalist standards, Ren is a hoarder. His black hiking backpack is large, and he makes full use of it on his travels, cramming it to the point of bursting with knick knacks and useless oddities he'd like to bring home to Graceland. At present, after emptying most of his junk at home, most of the space is filled with bare necessities. That is not to say that a few frivolous items have not stuck their way in. His supply list is as follows:
      • Two collapsible water canteens
      • 1 Liter Portable water filter
      • Slingshot
      • Pouch with 12 smooth pebbles
      • Rain poncho
      • Space blanket
      • Hand-powered flashlight
      • Small, red tent for two
      • 3 needles and 6 ft of thread
      • A half bottle of gorilla glue
      • Swiss army knife
      • Small compass with cracked screen
      • Over-sized red scarf
      • One set of spare clothes
      • Five days rations of food
      • Two sticks of beef jerky
      Useless items that he keeps solely for selfish reasons are: a rubber bouncy ball, a small sketchbook and pencil, a small palm-sized mirror, a set of playing cards, and a water damaged copy of YA novel The Hunger Games. In the front pocket of his pack rests an intricately designed flower hair clip, the red bloom of the metal petals having turned a faint brown. He never wears it.

      Skills:

      • Scout - Ren is the ideal person to send ahead to scope out an area. His triple threat qualities - small, quick, and silent - allow him to move about virtually unseen through abandoned homes and unexplored territories.
      • Sharpshooter - He learned how to shoot at the age of 12 and is keen to practice whenever the opportunity arises. His more obnoxious mode of target practice is with his trusty slingshot. Unfortunately, the boy is prone to take aim at whatever comes his way, including more than a few hats off unsuspecting passerby.
      • Caretaker - A nurturing soul, much like his guardian, Ren is built to take care of other's needs. He can manage to cook most anything, as well as bandage and clean wounds, take vital signs, and tend to the physical state of ailing ones.

      Strengths:

      • Whippersnapper - Youth is on his side. He has a young, sturdy body with all the energy, stamina, and endurance that comes along with it. He also has a sharp mind and does not easily forget things.
      • Runner - The teen is incredibly fast, quick and nimble in a way most zombies - or people, for that matter - can't keep up with, lest they tire themselves out.
      • Malleable - Ren is adaptive. He is both eager to learn and make needed adjustments along the way. He picks up skills more quickly than some of his older contemporaries.

      Weaknesses:

      • Mother Nature - He is currently in the throes of puberty, and it is not doing wonders for his emotions. That, combined with his continued repression of childhood memories, leaves him particularly sensitive.
      • Young, Dumb & Broke - Relatively sheltered and young, Ren does not have the insight and sound judgement of others around him. His naivete puts him in a vulnerable position.
      • Paci-fist - No hand to hand combat skills whatsoever. He is utterly useless in a brawl.

      Romanceable:

      Wait right there, I'm calling the police.

      Art:
      Credit to enilehtnorevol
    • Name: Set Lichtenfeld

      Nickname: "Lichti"

      Race: American

      Age: 48

      Home Territory: Mal O 'Ica, with close ties to Graceland

      Profession: Travelling Merchant, Scholar

      Description:
      Cutting an imposing figure at 6'5", Set often finds himself compared to a lanky scarecrow due to his height and wiry frame. Wearing his hair long, he holds to the traditions of his upbringing and maintains his *payot* sideburns in the long, twisted Yemeni form. In-keeping with Hasidic practices he maintains a long beard, only occasionally trimming it to keep it from being a magnet for clutching undead hands.

      His adherence to tradition continues on to his sense of dress. Set still maintains his battered old rikel overcoat and sticks to Hasidic dress whenever he can (though he is willing to concede to practicality when the occasion demands). As such, his dress standards are modest and simple even by the standards of the apocalypse, though he is given to wearing a waterproof military jacket over his rikel to help ward off the weather. At all points he can be seen wearing the traditional wide-brimmed black hat that was once a common sight amongst his community and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.

      Personality:
      Soft-spoken and possessing the air of an academic, Set nonetheless has a dry, down-to-earth sense of humour that makes him well-liked amongst the merchants of Mall O 'Ica and the community of Graceland. His relaxed attitude and propensity to acts of kindness does not mean that he is an easy target: Set is a shrewd businessman and careful negotiator who knows how to get his own way in a deal. His contemporaries have deemed him a clever, if slightly eccentric, merchant and are usually happy to do business with him.

      A quietly devout man, Set prays regularly and does his best to find beauty and joy even in the wake of civilisation's end. He holds to the tenets of Hasidic doctrine where he can, though he's willing to make workarounds where necessary given the circumstances he finds himself in. His faith is often taken as another sign of his eccentricity by fellow merchants, but most are happy to tolerate it (at least he doesn't proselytise like some of the cults that have sprung up in the last 15 years). He considers the act of putting down the undead to be part of the traditions of the Chevra Kadisha, Jewish societies that prepared the dead for burial and watched over them until their funerals. When he can, he will consecrate and burn the bodies of the dead he finds. Small acts of kindness and respect, especially to those no longer able to thank him, bring him closer to the aspects of God within the world. Once again this is seen as an eccentricity, but at least its good for hygiene and disease control.

      A keen researcher even before the apocalypse hit, Set has not allowed the end of the world to stunt his curiosity. He is, in his own words, "a businessman by training and a scholar by vocation". He works to collect books and other pre-collapse artifacts, regardless of origin, aiming to preserve human knowledge where he can. Though he trades with St Michaels on occasion, he also keeps plenty of books within his own collection.

      Bio:
      "You're wanting my life story? Feh, you must be really running out of entertainment. Your funeral if you die of boredom.

      "I was born into a niche within a niche, you might say, the subset of an already small subsection of the world's population. A particularly enthusiastic dynasty of a group of people who could trace their origins back to the tribes of Canaan. You know the ones I mean, with the funny hats and the strange hair and more black clothes than those goth kinderlach you used to see loitering about the place. Brooklyn was my home, and what a city it was. A melting pot, so much so that even my community wasn't all that curious compared to our fellow residents. Mine was a good upbringing, quiet and pious but loving all the same. I had plenty of friends, even outside my brothers and sisters: the son of the local butcher is a well-connected boy.

      "I was the middle child, not expected to inherit the family business but still expected to make some of himself. A scion of the Boyan dynasty cannot merely sit with his thumb up his tuches all his days, after all. So it was that I found myself at Hebrew University, half a world away from the Brooklyn neighbourhoods I had grown up in, studying history and the classics. So it was that I first began to dabble in ancient texts and esoteric works, learning to love the smell of old books and parchment: the scent of knowledge itself. So it was that I met a beautiful young mathematics student by the name of Shoshanna, who would later make the horrible mistake of agreeing to marry me and move back to New York City once we had both graduated.

      "My mother always asked me what a man could really do with degrees in history and literature. She should have known that I was my father's son, at the end of the day, for I did what my people have been doing since time immemorial: I went into business for myself. Specialist book selling, focusing on rare academic and occult texts. My primary source of income was Kabbalic works, but I had a roaring trade from other aspects of the occult. You wouldn't believe what people used to pay for a first edition copy of that dreck Le Vay was churning out in the 60s. Shoshanna and I made a home together. A family. For a time, life was good.

      "And as it was for many people, the end of civilisation had to go and ruin it.

      "We'll skip over the immediate aftermath, if you don't mind. Some memories it does not do to dwell upon. Suffice it to say, Shoshanna is no longer with me. Nor are my eldest sons and my youngest daughter. Their loss damn near finished what the undead started, but I had my remaining children to care for. There was little time for grief, in those days. I utilised what I knew best to ensure that we had a place to sleep, food to eat, comrades to watch over us as we slept. I harnessed my skills to do the same for others where and when I could, build friendships and connections. Before I knew it, I was a businessman again. 'Lichti & Sons', they jokingly began calling us. Wasn't long before the name stuck. At the former Mall of America, where my family and I eventually came to reside, I found myself at the centre of a burgeoning community of traders and merchants. We carved a place for ourselves there that remains to this day, one of the oldest merchant enterprises still operating. My younger children handle acquisitions, trading for new imports and handling stock at the Mall O 'Ica, as it came to be known.

      "My eldest son and I handle distribution.

      "Over the last decade I have become a veteran of the post-collapse landscapes, a seasoned traveller of the lands once known as America. Which is a fancy way of saying I shlep up and down the country on horseback, avoiding bandits and walking corpses. Met plenty of good people along the way, from Eden to those isolationists out in St Michaels. Even managed to talk my way into Charcity one time, though I can't say I recommend the experience. But if there's one place I always find myself drawn to, its the people out here in Graceland. This is the first place that I can truly say reminds me of home, of Brooklyn, of a community formed by choice rather than necessity. I stop in whenever I can, for as long as I can.

      "And yes, I hear things on the road. It's the nature of a trader. I have heard the stories of people who are immune to the virus that destroyed our country. I've heard the rumours of them disappearing, too.

      "Which is to say, I've heard about young Mihn vanishing recently. Why else do you think I'm here? I can't have some schmucks going around kidnapping my customers. It's bad for business."

      Pack:
      Set carries a well-used but rugged backpack that he managed to acquire from a former soldier many years back, and which has served him well ever since. Durable and airtight, as well as containing numerous different compartments and pockets to hold his gear, it's easily the most important piece of equipment that he travels with. It commonly contains the following:
      - Multi-tool
      - Water filtration system, w/ collection bladder
      - Paracord, 100 ft
      - Small tent
      - Sleeping bag
      - Mini shovel
      - Knife
      - Crowbar
      - Hatchet
      - Duct tape
      - Compass
      - Small mirror
      - Flashlight, w/ spare batteries
      - Headlamp
      - Matches
      - Spare bolts (limited)
      - Cold weather gloves
      - Waterproof jacket
      - Spare clothes, one set
      - Goggles
      - Spare glasses
      - Hand warmers
      - Chem lights
      - First-aid kit
      - Rations, one week's worth
      - Three large water bottles

      Set's primary choice of armament is his crossbow, a nasty jury-rigged number that looks like something out of a pre-collapse movie but which can cope with life on the road well. As a fallback he also wields a spear that he had crafted by a weapons trader at Mall O 'Ica, which works well from horseback and as a means of keeping the dead at a distance whilst he's dispatching them. In addition, Set carries two items that he would be truly heartbroken to lose. The first is his battered, worn copy of the Torah, which he carries with him wherever he travels. The second is his journal, which he uses as a repository of knowledge, travel routes and contacts all throughout the post-collapse world.

      Skills:
      • Travelling Merchant: A life on the road, roaming from place to place, has allowed Set to gain a greater understanding of the brave new world than most who live in it. He has learned the best routes to take, which regions to evade, and how to find supplies when needed. He's been able to pick up essential survival skills, and over the years he's learned how to ride a horse like the best of them. A veteran negotiator, he can drive a hard bargain and ensure that he gets what he needs for his goods. When it comes to roaming the apocalypse, few know how to do it better.
      • Veteran of the Apocalypse: No-one makes it this far without knowing how to defend themselves. The wastes of America are home to all manner of threats, be it bandits and other rogue survivors or be it the undead. Though he's no soldier, Set has nonetheless learned how to hold his own when it comes to self-defence. His primary means of defence is his crossbow, and years of experience have honed his eye with it, but he also possesses a crude but durable spear that is good at dispatching the walking dead from a respectable distance.

      Strengths:
      • Wandering Scholar: Set is an intellectual at heart, a man at his happiest when he's solving a problem or delving into a difficult subject. Years of study and practical experience have honed him into a highly knowledgeable and adaptable thinker. He can communicate in several different languages, hold forth on academic matters, and come up with crafty solutions to problems as and when its required.
      • Hardened Survivor: You don't survive 15 years of the apocalypse without being something of a survivalist. Set can take a beating, weather a storm and keep himself alive when others have fallen. He may be getting older, but a life of travel and expedition has turned him into a wiry, lean figure who can take what life might throw at him.

      Weaknesses:
      • Getting Old: At nearly 50, Set is far from the spritely young man he once was. Though physically capable and able to hold his own when required, he doesn't have the stamina of a younger man. In a physical confrontation, he will quickly be out-matched.
      • Wears Glasses: "Honestly, you have no idea how much of a pain in the tuches it is to find the right prescription when the last ophthalmologist in the country started eating people two decades ago."

      Romanceable: "You don't look like my wife."

      Art: Javier Charro

    • Abigail Ashwood
      62 | Cook
      Name:

      Abigail Ashwood

      Nickname:

      Abby

      Age:

      62

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Cook

      Personality:

      Abby in a no-nonsense person. Food is a very important part of the community of Graceland, so she runs the kitchen with an iron fist. Unless you’re a cute little kid who can do magnificent puppy-dog eyes, you’ll be leaving the kitchen without anything extra. She’s passionate about what she does and isn’t afraid to talk back to whoever, superior or not, dares question her methodology.

      Bio:

      Abby owned a small Bed and Breakfast with her husband after working at a commercial restaurant for fifteen years. She and Edgar were content to serve travelers with warm smiles and open arms until one of the guests sunk his teeth into Edgar one day. The apocalypse began with Abby sitting at her husband’s side in the local hospital, watching as he slowly grew worse before finally passing away. When he didn’t stay dead, it became obvious that something in the world was wrong. Luckily she was back at the Bed and Breakfast when she got the call that he had come back to life, a call that was cut short by the screams of doctors.

      Armed with a rolling pin and her loyal golden retriever, Gus, she fought her way downtown to the hospital to find it overrun with zombies. Unable to find Edgar in the horde, she goes off on her own for a few weeks before meeting up with a few people that had stayed at her Bed and Breakfast before the apocalypse began. They wandered for a few years, watching each other’s back and staying away from populated areas, until their van broke down near the eventual formation of Graceland.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Barbara Moody
      57 | Nurse
      Name:

      Barbara Moody

      Nickname:

      Mama Moody

      Age:

      57

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Nurse; Oversees Health and Education

      Personality:

      Sweet as pie and mother to many, Barbara Moody doesn’t have an ounce of upset in her bones even if she tried to shake them up herself. Although she has no children of her own, the residents have taken to calling her Mama Moody for her motherly care over all those within the walls, from young to old. She is generous to a fault, and is always giving what meager rations and supplies she has.

      Bio:

      Barbara Moody was born Barbara Gonzales in Mexico. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was very young, and she only remembers the struggle of living paycheck to paycheck in their cramped apartment with her three siblings. She was the first to graduate high school, and the only one of the four children to go on to pursue a college education. Barbara wanted to be a guidance counselor for struggling students, to teach Spanish, to help those in need. Barbara wanted to do everything! She didn’t know where to start. But, she did know one thing. The first thing she did was work towards purchasing a home for herself and her parents to live in. Eventually she met a nice man, and they were married. They became foster parents to over a dozen different children.

      Once the virus began to spread, Barbara was separated from her family in the ensuing panic. She has been unable to make contact with them, or even confirm they are alive. For now, she can only pray that they are safe. She finds peace in knowing the is providing for her new family.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Gracie Scofield
      24 | Teacher
      Name:

      Gracie Scofield

      Nickname:

      Ace

      Age:

      24

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Teacher

      Personality:

      Gracie is a curious mind with a great passion for learning. It doesn’t matter if the subject is from before the apocalypse or from after, she is excited and willing to devote hours upon hours of study. Soon, only studying the material wasn’t enough. She was eager to teach whatever young minds managed to make it through the apocalypse and begins each day with the same reserved enthusiasm that she has had since her first day of teaching. While she sometimes finds herself becoming discouraged at the state of the world, she does her best to instill hope in those she comes across.

      Bio:

      Gracie was a young child when the zombies came, old enough to remember all the horrors of the apocalypse clearly but too young to really understand what was going on. It has taken her years to get over what she saw in those three years that the Graceland survivors wandered the wastes. Since Graceland was settled she has rarely left the safety of its confines, preferring to stay deep within its labyrinth of corridors reading whatever she could get her hands on or taking care of the younger children.

      Her move into the role of teacher was an organic one, at some point her parents realized that she was effectively performing the role already and suggested it be formalized. Although she never finished her own education, Gracie’s enthusiasm for learning lead her to teach herself large amounts of what she had missed out on from books, the same books she now uses to teach the next generation of survivors.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Joyce Scofield
      48 | Founder
      Name:

      Joyce Scofield

      Nickname:

      Joy

      Age:

      48

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Founder; Head of Graceland

      Personality:

      Joy is the definition of tough love. Her hard exterior is necessary when it comes to running a community, especially in the apocalypse. She cares not for what people call her behind her back, as she’d rather be a hardass than be running a corrupt community. Despite her tough nature, she is compassionate and loving of all under her care and would go to great lengths to protect them. Her intelligence and sharp wit made her a viable candidate for leader once the time came for one to be chosen.

      Bio:

      Before the apocalypse, Joyce was something of a soccer mom. With long days to fill she discovered the joy of video games, logging thousands of hours doing what most people considered a waste of time. As it turned out they were wrong. When the apocalypse happened, Joyce started to see more and more situations that seemed familiar somehow. It took her a few months to realize she had seen them in video games. Slowly she started to suggest solutions to problems the group faced based on her extensive virtual experience. When they worked people started to see the woman as a font of wisdom and her rise through the non existent ranks began. After a year she was no longer Robbie's wife, he was her husband.

      As it turned out, leadership was a mantle Joyce had been born to wear and with her husband at her side she soon took over leadership of their group of survivors by general consent. It was Joyce first floated the idea of claiming the fort and despite fearful opposition, got enough people on her side to launch a successful assault against the undead horde occupying it. Since then she has remained the official head of Graceland, although she recognizes the desire for personal agency and often lets the community make decisions on issues through town hall style meeting.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Michael A. Lee
      29 | Farmer
      Name:

      Michael A. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mika

      Age:

      29

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Farmer; Oversees Food and Rations

      Personality:

      While Mika has the same sense of responsibility to Mihn as his older sister Mari has, he is much more laid-back. His high-stress job of farming drives him to find relaxation in the company of whoever would listen to his charming words and promise of breakfast rations.While Mari became the guardian of their family, he took it upon himself to become a positive influence on their younger brother. Somehow he maintained a sunny disposition through the entirety of the apocalypse, keeping a young Mihn entertained while also prying a smile out of Mari every now and again. No matter what the situation, Mika seems to have a joke or song to life the spirits of his friends.

      Bio:

      Tragedy after tragedy seemed to befall Mika and his siblings, but he kept a smile on his face through it all. After their parents died, it became difficult to keep that smile for a long time until he realized that his attitude directly affected Mihn. So from that moment on, while Mari tried to be strong for them, he would be happy for them. This cycle continued even after the apocalypse began. Mari would go out to scavenge for supplies with their group while he would sometimes stay back with Mihn and their caretaker Eliza. He learned how to farm once Eden was formed, as they were all required to work to earn their place, and found that it was both stressful and relaxing. On one hand, there was a lot of pressure to produce good yields while on the other, he found peace in the fields with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.

      After Mihn was bit and they discovered that he was immune, keeping that secret became his top priority. Whatever excuse was needed for explaining Mihn’s scar, Mika would smoothly generate with a charming smile. Moving to Graceland alleviated that stress considerably, but Mika always remained on guard. He found friendships and a few too many romances in Graceland, bringing his knowledge of farming from Eden to contribute. For years, he was content to live his life out in Graceland...that is, until Mihn was taken.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Mihn J. Lee
      21 | Trader
      Name:

      Mihn J. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mini

      Age:

      21

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Trader

      Personality:

      Mihn took after his brother Mika and became an unabashedly social being. While still young, he would eagerly follow after anyone who would tolerate his millions of questions about different jobs and duties in Eden. Curious and wide-eyed about the world outside of the fences of Eden, Mihn often found himself riding along with traders to nearby communities. This gave him the opportunity to meet new people and talk their ear off about anything from the weather to the history of their community. His chatty nature didn’t dissolve after he was bitten, and, in fact, he found himself creating stronger bonds than ever. The fact that they had moved to Graceland had certainly helped. Friendly, helpful, and always looking to learn something new, Mihn is ready to handle whatever life throws his way.

      Bio:

      Mihn doesn’t remember much before the apocalypse. He certainly doesn’t remember his parents, as he was just a baby when they died. What he does remember is Mari beating up a boy who had stolen his lunch and Mika telling him a ridiculous story about a rabbit and a fox to distract him that night in their too-small room. His older siblings were always there for him, making sure that he was fed, healthy, and entertained, even if they had to give up their own food and time. After the apocalypse, their concern only grew. He was often left with their caretaker Eliza while Mari went out to find supplies and Mika began to take up agriculture. This allowed him to shadow a handful of different professions, even as a young boy.

      After Eliza died, Mihn became more withdrawn. It was the first time that someone very close to him had died. Mari and Mika had been able to move on quickly, as they’d experienced this kind of loss before, but Mihn was stuck with feelings of guilt and melancholy. It had helped when they left Eden and he was able to make more meaningful relationships, and soon enough, he was once again talking off the ears of whoever would listen. Life was good. He could travel with the traders and help negotiate prices while also spending time with old and new family.
      It was perfect until he didn’t make it home.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Morgan Holt
      43 | Trader
      Name:

      Morgan Holt

      Nickname:

      Miss Holt

      Age:

      43

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Oversees Trading

      Personality:

      She’s curt, she’s tired, and she doesn’t have time to chit chat. Morgan has spent far too long trying to survive to care whether or not you’re getting a good deal, because honey, everyone is trying to get a good deal. It’s her ass she cares about, and that’s the final word. So it’s a good thing she’s the Graceland trader. Morgan isn’t one for idle banter and is very matter of fact. If you want to get to know anything about her, you’re better off buying something from her first.

      Bio:

      Morgan had grown up a bit of a social recluse, but she had a way with numbers unlike many of her peers. She enjoyed the theories behind the math and excelled in her courses. However, she had no aspirations for anything bigger. She disliked most topics in engineering and didn’t really have a knack for the lifestyle of a statistician. So when she couldn’t find work there, she opted to get a teaching license and return to the very same school she attended as a teen and teach AP studies to the less than eager minds of the next generation.

      The cliques didn’t change, and the drama never left. Soon, she found herself remembering why she hated high school so much in the first place. Her attitude shifted and she became short and curt, known as being one of ‘those’ teachers for her difficult tests and harsh grading system. Her love of math remained.

      When the virus broke out she finally snapped. She took on a no nonsense attitude and pointed both middle fingers to the principal as she stormed her way out of the school. No order in the unknown, and no rules when the only thing standing between you and the next day is your own capabilities. Morgan was present during the original fight for Fort Lee. Some describe her as a terror, a fighter like no other. All that pent up aggression finally was let free. She now operates the channels which move in and around the area or even on longer excursions to other well known outposts.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Robert Scofield
      49 | Founder
      Name:

      Robert Scofield

      Nickname:

      Robbie

      Age:

      49

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Founder; Oversees Combat

      Personality:

      Robert is a man who always has a plan in any given situation. He’s quick on his feet and is indescribably loyal towards his wife and those he trusts. The occupation of sheriff never left his soul, as he still holds himself to a standard of morals and ethics that were taught to him at the academy and expects those who work under him to comply by the same rules. While he can be strict with those running security, he can sometimes be found in the classroom with his daughter Grace more or less distracting the kids instead of helping teach them.

      Bio:

      Robert was a small county Sheriff when the zombies first appeared. Despite his best efforts, his small department fell apart before the end of the second day. Robbie had always been loyal to the badge but he was smart enough to know a lost cause when he saw it and that staying would only lead to doom for him and his family. Stocking up on supplies he loaded his family into his jeep and set off for what he had heard was a safe area. When they ran out of fuel they walked, slowly falling in with other survivors.

      The rumored safe zone proved to be anything but and the band of survivors were forced to keep walking. As a man with law enforcement experience and his easy, approachable attitude, Robbie more or less fell into a position of influence; people clinging to a dream of the old world still saw a sheriff as a figure worthy of respect.

      His wife’s near meteoric rise to power may have caused problems in their marriage if it hadn’t actually made Robbie quite pleased to see the woman he loved finding a new role for themselves. He was her most loyal adviser and closest confidant. When she proposed the taking of Fort Lee he supported her to the point of leading a scouting expedition into the infested base and heading up the assault to clear it.

      In the years since, Robbie has almost fallen into the role he used to have. As the head of security he is responsible both for keeping the dead at bay and the living in line for the good of the community.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • SCOOTER
      GOOD BOY | 4 | CORGI
      Name:

      SCOOTER

      Nickname:

      SCOOTS, SCOOTY, BOY

      Race:

      CORGI

      Age:

      4

      Home Territory:

      HOME IS WHERE THE MASTER IS

      Profession:

      I GUARD THE BACKPACK

      Description:

      I LIKE TO WEAR A GREEN BANDANA MY MASTER GAVE ME. IT SMELLS LIKE MEDICINE.

      Personality:

      A GOOD BOY

      Bio:

      ONE DAY I HAD SIBLINGS. THERE WERE GROWLY PEOPLE. MY MAMA BIT THEM. I GOT SCARED AND HID UNDER A CAR. THEN MY MASTER FOUND US. NOW WE ARE SAFE.

      Pack:

      WHAT IS A PACK?

      Skills:

      • DIGGING
      • ALERTING
      • FETCHING

      Strengths:

      • COMFORTING
      • FINDING
      • MAKING FRIENDS

      Weaknesses:

      • MY LEGS ARE SHORT
      • I LOVE TOO MUCH
      • I AM SMALL

      Romanceable:

      I AM A DOG BUT YOU MAY LOVE ME

      Art:
      Credit to Anneke van Waard

    • Zachariah Mulligan
      32 | Expeditions
      Name:

      Zachariah Mulligan

      Nickname:

      Second Shot, Mulligan

      Age:

      32

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Oversees Expeditions

      Personality:

      My country tis of thee, Zachariah has more pride in his left knee than most people do in their entire bodies. His only goal is to reclaim the country that the virus took from him, which is a tall enough order for a lifetime. He is loud but not obnoxious or idiotic. Zachariah is still intelligent, though his more boisterous mannerisms tend to get in the way of his subtle smarts. The man would do anything for his fellow soldier, and prides himself on being a part of the well running community known as Graceland.

      Bio:

      Born and raised in the outer limits of Washington D.C. to two career politicians, Zachariah was born with the natural urge to rebel against the man. However, being so close to the central pride of his country only brought out the patriot in him, and soon the young teen was engaging in debates at school and becoming more engaged in his parent’s work. A shame he really only began to show interest when the world was starting to end.

      Zachariah was a junior in high school, his mind more focused on midterms and college than survival and zombies. He had his heart set on studying politics and his parents had put a divide on where he should go to college after he graduated. The virus solved all his problems, and brought out a kind of comraderie with his fellow neighbors. Frustrated by the events, the young teen rallied his neighborhood in an all out effort to escape their populated D.C. neighborhood as soon as possible. It was a decent plan, and many survived. Call it dumb luck, or some sort of political speech gone rogue, Zachariah wasn’t able to pull off any sort of motivational spirit again once he saw the real world, not for many years.

      He volunteered to lead the first expeditions at Graceland and has been leading them ever since. It’s brought out some of his fighting spirit, and he’s learned to become quite an effective leader.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST
 
Last edited by a moderator:




4900.jpg

Mona "Momo" Jablonski
Interactions: Bandits




Momo grinned lightly as she watched Ren and Denni devolve into a little side conversation of their own. She could literally see the waves of nerves and anxiety leaking from her friend, obviously ecstatic to trade words with Ren. Well, an initial glance wouldn't give off that impression, but she was familiar enough with the man to pick tell tale signs. She also took note of everyone else adopting a social air about them and, for the briefest moment, a pang of something bitter coursed through her chest.

They were so lively. So confidently morose and comfortable with one another. Despite their varying degrees of companionship, each member was able to hurdle a barrier that she couldn't. Talking to strangers. Why couldn't she ever master such a thing? It seemed so simple and god given; the ability to utter a combination of syllables and sounds with various inflections of the voice. Message to receiver. Vise versa. More and more until a bond formed.

And yet, Momo had only done so with Denni and Ren, and the latter likely addressed her out of pity...

Oh dear. She was falling down a pathetic spiral, wasn't she? Now wasn't the time for that, nor would it ever be. It was unladylike.

After of while of letting everyone's voices soar over her head, she noticed a gaggle of unfamiliar faces.

Ransacking their supply cart.

"O-oh dear..." Throat clenching in on itself, she jumped into the routine like muscle memory and slid behind Denni as a makeshift shield. There was guilt. Of course there was. She never cared for how much she relied on Denni and made him feel obligated to handle all of their combative endeavors, but Momo knew where her strengths resided. Fighting, let alone confrontation, was not one of them. Ren was also guided behind Denni and something about the motion doubled her shame. This... was so unbecoming of her. She joined this group to help. To lend her skills in times of need. This was a time of need and yet, all she did was cower like some wounded little lamb. But what could she do? Nothing; unless these bandits were interested in chatting plants and literature with her while the others snuck the cart off for themselves...

Wait... Yes. That seemed viable. And risky. A-and terrifying. All wrapped into one.

But Momo would much rather avoid a fight rather than jump headlong into one. It was worth a try, at the very least.

Shaking from head to toe, she rummaged through her bag and retracted a single jar full of black berries. They were ripe and one glance from even the dullest of minds could tell that they promised a juicy, flavorful bite. Gods... She worked so hard to find and pluck these. They were such a valuable find, but she had two more jars leftover. This was a sacrifice worth making. "W... w-wait... please," she stuttered while stepping around Denni and towards the bandits. Her wide eyes brimmed with plea. "We don't wish... t-to squabble or any of the sort. So... h-have this as a peace offering. B-black berries. And refrain from h-harming us." She twisted off the top and tilted it towards them, a silent signal to take the offering. At this point, they could walk off with the cart if they wanted to--she just prayed the berries would pose as extra incentive to avoid injury on both sides. "Please," she urged once more.


 

Arriving onto the scene of literal daylight robbery at the back of the group Cerys could sense the tension running through both groups. Shoulders were being squared, weapons unholstered. She could feel the same familiar urges welling up inside of herself too. Mari’s attempt at diplomacy had been… very Mari and not overly helpful. Mona’s offer of fruit was just bizarre. The whole scene was a powder keg and one misinterpreted look or snapping branch would be enough of a spark to ignite it.

The best case scenario if that happened was that probably half the group would have to be dragged back to Graceland while the Doc earned his rations. For the sake of their mission, the best option was to just walk away. The problem was, they couldn’t really do that. Graceland needed the goods. They had been bought with the fruits of the sweat and toil and while maybe the community could survive the loss, it would make everything uncomfortably tight. Either way though, Cerys had a feeling that she shouldn’t lurk at the back any longer. If the doc earned his bread by patching people up she earned hers by standing in harm's way so that the only person needing patching up was her.

With her rifle slung over her shoulder in a decidedly non-threatening way, Cerys started to shuffle through the group, pausing only to hand the dark skinned singer from last night the replica bb gun from her hip and whisper in the woman’s ear what they had just been handed. Cerys had spotted back at the fort that the woman hadn't been visibly carrying a gun; while genrally she was fine with someone she barely knew not having a gun, right now they needed to look dangerous.

“Take a third of it as a finders fee and do one. How does that sound?” Stepping to the front of group Cerys lifted her rifle off her shoulder, taking care to keep the barrel pointed at the ground and not the bandits. No need to give them a reason to panic. “There are people coming to collect that and they’ll be less inclined to be nice than I am.”

Candy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Not only did Mari provoke the bandits, the hostility resonating from her group was suffocating! It also didn't help that Cerys gave her a bb gun. A few hours in and we’re already in trouble. Ugh, why did I even bother to help? Oh, right... My boyfriend.

With a loud sigh, the black-haired singer took the bb gun given to her before focusing her attention back to the bandits. Taking a third of the finder’s fee isn’t bad. Though it would be better if her group will just let the bandits have it. After all, her group really doesn’t need another cart to lug around. It will only slow us down.

“I suggest you take the entire thing, sugar.” Candy suddenly piped up to the bandit in an extremely sweet voice, a seductive smile on her lips. “The cart you’ve found I mean. And let us be on our merry way. You don’t want us to be late for our appointment, do you?” A simple flutter of her long eyelashes along with lowly leaning into her horse give the bandits a little show of her bosom, Candy hope it's enough to end this little encounter.

The leader of the bandit blinked in surprise at Candy’s forwardness, looking to be at a loss for words for a few seconds before one of the others nudged his side. Mari struggled not to physically roll her eyes, instead keeping one hand on Huffle’s bridle. If this situation went sideways, it’d be a pain to chase after a spooked horse.

“Well, ah…” He began, shaking his head with a grin. “That’s a mighty fine offer. But what would stop us from just killing you all and taking what you have as well?”

Candy clicked her tongue out of annoyance. Why are men so hard headed these days? It was obvious that her patience was starting to wear thin though before she can give them a piece of her mind, Mari swooped in and handled the situation. Sort of.

“You really want to risk your men’s lives for more than that cart?” Mari placed her bat lazily on her shoulder, appearing to relax while in reality her muscles coiled underneath of her jacket. She certainly didn’t want to risk casualties over this dispute, but wasn’t about to find herself unprepared. “By the time you’d finish with us, assuming that you manage to actually kill us, the rest of our people would probably be here to recover our supplies. So if you’re smart, you’ll let us pass.”

There was a murmur within the small group of bandits, unease clearly on their faces.

“Any of you ever been shot?” Cerys eyed each of the bandits up and down trying to work out who might break. “Hurts like nothing else. Guy who shot me was kinda surprised when I ripped his balls off and shoved them down his damned throat.”

In the silence that followed, the Welsh woman’s eyes settled on the leader as her left trigger finger moved slowly but decisively towards the trigger of her gun.

“You’ve had a gawp at her cha-chas.” A tattooed elbow shifted slightly towards Candy. “You’ve been offered some fruit. Take what you going to take already and fucking piss off.”

If they weren’t in a grave situation, Candy would have giggled at Cerys’ term of her breasts. It's been a long time since she heard that term and boy does she want to laugh. She simply shook her head to regain her composure before staring directly at the so-called leader of the bandit group. Her sickly sweet smile still painted her lips though her amber eyes were telling a completely different story. She was enraged. They already wasted enough time with these fools. Besides, the longer they negotiate with them, the colder the kidnappers’ tracks become.

"You heard my girls." Candy's sugary voice was dripping with hidden anger and malice. "We're done playing nice. Take the fucking cart or my group will blow your brains out."​

A Collaboration with @Jinx & @DANAsaur
 
H O M E


Chapter 1: Country Roads



  • The bandits seemed overwhelmed for a moment at the barrage of threats, offers and compromises that were thrown their way. A few began scratching their heads and murmuring amongst themselves, inching a bit closer to the tipped over cart in case things came to a fight. Mari took note of this and moved closer to their own cart. Huffle was unfortunately in the line of fire if this came to a fight.

    “So we’ve got some woman showing her ‘cha-cha’s’ throwin’ around threats and we’ve got someone offerin’ us...berries.” The leader spoke slowly, his sharky grin reappearing. His eyes darted to the jar that Momo held, the amusement on his face slipping away. “Poisoned berries, if I’m seein’ those correctly. Nightshade, little lady?”

    Mari froze, slowly turning to look at Momo. Had she really tried to poison the bandits? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she supposed it was smart. But they had no idea the level of intelligence that these bandits had. Unfortunately for them, it seemed like they were able to identify poisonous berries at the very least. The leader seemed to play with the shotgun in his hands, shaking it open and looking at the bullets inside. One of Mari’s hands tightened around the neck of her bat while the other prepared to shove Huffle away from the conflict if it arose.

    “She must have grabbed the wrong berries.” Mari reasoned calmly, meeting Mika’s eye as he began to edge closer to Ren. There was a bow in his hands, an arrow already nocked but aimed at the ground. “It was an honest mistake.”

    “I personally believe that everything people do is intentional, whether they know it or not.” The man shrugged, snapping the shotgun shut again and lazily holding it against his hip. “So I think, as an apology, you all should hand over that cart and horse that you’ve got with you. Then you can be on your merry way.”

    Mari sighed, shaking her head. They wouldn’t make it a day without their supplies. The best bet would be to run at this point, she supposed. If she could grab Huffle and get him to turn around...her eyes counted each weapon that the bandits held. The leader held a gun, but he seemed to be the only one out of the seven. The only other ranged weapon seemed to be a bow that was clutched tightly in the hands of the furthest bandit from her.

    “There has to be some agreement that we can-” Mari began, but was cut off as a sharp twang filled the air and an arrow zipped past her cheek to drive itself into the tree behind her. Mika responded immediately with an arrow of his own, except his arrow hit its mark in the bandit’s shoulder. Mari yanked Huffle around as the bandits began to advance, slapping its flank and sending it back into the forest the way the group had come.

    Once their supplies were on their way to some sort of safety, Mari swung around just in time to throw herself to the side as the leader of the bandits aimed in her direction and fired. She rolled back to her feet and brought up her bat in time to block the blunt board that was on its way to smash into the side of her head. Mari shoved the bandit backwards and inhaled deeply.

    So it began.
  • Instructions: Our first fight begins! There are six bandits remaining and one is injured. If you need any more information of the bandits positions/weapons, just ask in the chat or reach to any GMs. Again, feel free to collab for this section!

 
Dr. Benjamin Crane
Once he saw the first arrow splitting through the air, Benjamin moved as quickly as he was able to take cover behind the nearest tree, dragging Kent with him and forcing him to his knees. He'd be of no use to the group if he had a bolt through his head. Or worse. If one shot his cannisters. Benjamin didn't know a lot about chemistry, but he had enough common sense to know that all that pressure on his back mixed with a stray bullet was a recipe for disaster.

Benjamin whipped the Winchester around his frame and poked the barrel around the trunk of the tree, releasing the safety and pulling the trigger in one swift motion. He was grateful he'd had the foresight to load his weapon before setting out. His shot hit the mark, taking out one of the male bandits with a bullet to his temple. The doctor was too busy loading the next round to see if he hit where he'd been aiming. He just had to hit something.

He hadn't picked a great spot to keep his ammunition. There was more, deeper in his pack, but just a few stray bullets in his pocket. Benjamin swore as he reached deep into his pants to retrieve a round before popping it into the chamber. Grounding himself, he readied the second shot.

The bandits had practically dispersed, finding places of their own to hide behind cover, making it impossible to get a good shot like that again. Benjamin took a hesitant step beyond the safety of the tree and was met with a poorly shot arrow whizzing by his face. He turned the corner once more to find one of the bandits hurdling the safety of the makeshift cart barricade and heading straight for Momo and Ren.

Benjamin took aim, but... it was too close. He pulled away and shot the open air. They were right there. Just on the other side of the path. But, it was an impossible task. Not the way he was. Phantom pain gripped his leg.

"Ren!"
 
Kent Murphy
Bandit Showdown
Morning
Kent couldn't help but smirk and roll his eyes as the farmer offered the bandits some berries. It was cute. In a naive 'did you really just offer them berries sorta way.' They did look like good, juicy berries. He'd have to get one after this was done with.
His smirk widen into a grin as Candy and Cerys started to take over the discussion. He had to respect the tattoo'd woman's feisty attitude. Even he stirred uncomfortably when she mentioned ripping a guys balls off after being shot, the smile disappearing from his face as he glanced towards Cerys. If that was true she was a crazy, bad-ass bitch.

As the leader of the bandits started talking, he could tell by the grin on his face things weren't going to go the way they'd like. At the mention of poisonous berries, the Irishman's eyes widened in surprise. That was a neat trick the farmer was trying to pull. He probably shouldn't try to eat the berries after this little scrap then.

A mixture of being slightly tipsy, distracted at the thought of berries and unfamiliar with the sound of a firing bowstring made Kent react late to the fight. It took Benjamin grabbing him and dragging him towards a tree to finally connect with what was happening. Reaching the tree and being pushed to a knee, Kent reached around the back of his bag and slipped off his mask as he tried to read the battle.

A gunshot took out one of the more distant bandits as a splatter of blood spewed from his head. "Nice shot." He remarked to the doctor before slipping the mask on and heading closer towards the fight. The one with a bow was too far away, Mari was too close to one of the closer ones. One was across the pathway. A branch snapped to his right, just out of view from the sight of his goggles. Stepping back too late, one of the bandits swung something at him. Stumbling, Kent took the blow and nearly doubled over as he felt the bandits bat hit him in the rib cage. Pulling the trigger to his flamethrower, he luckily didn't have to aim as a torrent of fire hit the bandit directly in the torso. A sudden burst of heat warmed up the cool air.

Letting his finger off the trigger a little later than normal, he let the flames consume his attacker. As the man caught flame, he dropped to the floor and started to roll on the ground in an attempt to put it out. Out of anger, Kent sent a kick towards the mans head, but almost immediately regretted it after pain shot up his side. Gripping his side, he knelt down beside a tree for cover.​
 

Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne




Candy clicked her tongue out of annoyance. Why are men so difficult these days? A part of her was disappointed that her charm didn't work and for a moment, she can't help but re-evaluate herself. Am I wearing the wrong bra? or the wrong top? One glance at herself, she knew she did nothing wrong. Black lace and low cut top. Just what I planned. Wait. Is it perhaps my attitude? I was certain I was being sweet. So what's wrong? What did I-,

The black-haired temptress didn't have the chance to continue her thoughts as an arrow zipped through the air.

Candy didn't hesitate to move. She pulled the reins of her horse and ran for cover. Arrows and bullets whizzed through the air while Candy found shelter behind a tree.

"Breathe" she reminded herself in an attempt o calm her rapidly beating heart. She had been in a situation like this before. Thus, she needs to keep her cool and clear her mind or else she'll be hit or worse, die.

Usually, Candy would have fought in close if not hand to hand combat. Though with someone long-range and shooting arrows, she knew that's not going to happen.

Or is it?

As if luck was on her side, one of the bandits who got a peek of her cha-chas came running towards past her tree. Not wasting any opportunity, the black-haired female grabbed the man's feet causing him to lose momentum. She then pinned him down by straddling his waist. "Should have taken the cart when you still had the chance."

With one swift movement, Candy pulled her knife and stabbed him.

The bandit struggled to get free though thanks to years of experience, Candy's not the kind to easily let someone go. She grabbed onto him and transferred most of her body weight to the hilt of the knife until the man underneath her spat blood and eventually, stopped moving.

Breathing heavily, Candy rolled away from the dead body.

"At least he got one last look of my boobs." Candy muttered with a laugh after realizing that her shirt's neckline has been pulled down further. "I definitely need a new shirt."


 

R
E
N


An arrow whizzed through the air. Another followed. And without further ado, chaos erupted in the small clearing.

It was nothing he’d ever seen before. Ren hesitated, involuntarily paralyzed by the crack of gunfire. The sound was nothing new to him. But the consequential violence was; it felt jarringly wrong to watch the bandit's body hit the ground, one more corpse to mar the forest grounds. Ren stared, unable to shake the grisly image. It was all-too familiar, and he didn't understand why. He didn't understand why until he saw the blood sprouting from the man's temple. A bullet wound to the head. Ren's eyes widened.

Red bloomed across her chin. Her eyes stared ahead, dull and lifeless.

“Ren!”

The teen whipped around. Doc’s warning was not a moment too late; hurtling towards him was one of the bandits wielding a particularly impressive blade. Ren went instantly to pull out his pistol, but the man was upon them before he could so much as open his pack. The teen’s eyes widened.

Adrenaline. Fear. Panic. It all came together into one fluid, half-cocked motion: Momo, who was still near him, was pushed out of the way, and Ren came forward, the bandit bearing down on him with murderous intent.

The man’s hand shot out towards him, and Ren immediately threw his pack between them, gasping as the blade cut into woven material and beef jerky. The grungy bandit swore and went to pull the knife out, but his eyes widened in surprise as, without warning, Ren’s arms locked around his own. There was a violent tug of war; though Ren’s desperation lent him strength, the bandit was far stronger than him, and as the blade began to come loose, the panicked teen sank his teeth into the man’s hand. The bandit jolted back with a yelp.

“Why you--!”

The bandit’s hand lashed out. Ren moved, but not fast enough; the teen felt the wind knocked out of him as the man’s punch connected, and he stumbled back, reeling.
 


Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, Grim Smiles.

Almira had silently watched the verbal exchange. Feeling there was little she could do to sway the outcome, but still determined to seek a solution anyway, the part-Egyptian had wracked her brains for a logical solution. It had come, but far too slow and too late. The situation deteriorated and spiraled out of control with a pair of whizzing arrows breaking the stand-off as if they were Native Americans forced into parts of an over-hyped cowboy movie.

Darting to the side, she scooped up a loose stone with her free hand. Not one of her personal bullets, but serviceable and fitting jaggedly into Almira's palm. It'll be an awkward shot, she thought. But even if it missed, so long as it kept that shot gunner's head behind a tree for another moment, she wouldn't complain. Despite the growing chaos, swearing, and yells, Almira's face hadn't twitched since the bandit debate over caravan rights began. It meshed with the oddly civilized thought, a graceful curve of the lips that portrayed a calm amusement. As if the flying projectiles was merely some friendly sport of insults. As ever, the truth was more complicated and a pale light lingered in inky wells of her eyes.

But as far as Almira was concerned, the truth could shove it as her eyes danced about the now battlefield. Adrenaline slowed time as she took it all in. The Doc downed one in a crimson puff with Kent turning another into a bonfire. Candy and Mari were equally engaged, but both seemed to have their situations, if not outright in hand, at least not on the backfoot. It was Ren who caught her eyes. Boy still in the open and desperate against his attacker, despite the bite.

Forgoing safety and the enemy gunner, she charged. The bandit, still intent on the lad, didn't notice her until it was too late. Careening into the man, she only had enough time to shout, "Ren! Trees!" before it began.

As two, they plowed into the ground. She on top and him landing hard. A glint of silver caught her eye. The knife. The man was as tough as he looked for, despite the crash in the dirt, a vicious, bloody hand caught her face while his left danced for the blade. But Almira had the rock. Her shoulder shot with pain as her left hand smacked away the bandit's bloody one. His eyes went wide. Then once. Twice. Thrice, Almira struck down upon the man's open skull. Frozen fury turn his wide eyes to empty glass. Almira's own pale-lit ink never wavered. Nor did her expression, save to shout to Ren. Immediately, she dove to the dirt to place the corpse between her and the gunner but knowing that only heaven above would protect her from his counter spray of pellets if he simply decided to target her. Prayer for salvation, prayer for distraction found its way into her mind as the dirt rushed up the meet her.
 
H O M E


Chapter 1: Country Roads



  • The tension snapped like the bowstring that had loosed an arrow at the group and in an instant the world around Cerys erupted into chaos. For the briefest of moments, she and the leader of the bandits were an oasis of stillness in the tempest as they both waited for each other to make a slip. It was Cerys who moved first.

    Closing the gap between herself and her foe, the Welshwoman switched her grip on her rifle. There was no room to fire it so she swung it like a club at the leaders ribs. It would have been a sweet, painful blow if the man hadn’t managed to see it coming and catch the butt of the rifle. Before she could get a better grip on her gun Cerys suddenly felt a hand close around her throat. She had to fight every instinct in her body to stop herself letting go of the rifle barrel entirely, instead using just one hand to try and prize the man’s fingers from her neck while winding her other arm through the shoulder strap of her gun.

    “Not so mouthy now bitch!”

    Cerys could see the tendons in the man’s arm jump and twitch as they squeezed and could already feel her lungs starting to burn. Giving up on breaking what seemed to be a cast iron grip the Welsh woman refocused her attention and hands on regaining control of her gun. If she could do that, then this was over. The only slight problem with this plan was every passing second without air sapped the strength from her arms and made it harder to focus on anything. It would be so much easier for her to just embrace the darkness gathering at the edge of her vision. To just let herself slip away like a wave returning to the ocean. But she couldn’t. To not fight until the very end would be a betrayal of everything that mattered to her. Screaming almost silently, Cerys kept trying to force her gun from her would be killer’s grip.

    Mari was surprised with how well the fight was going. Well, she was surprised how well it was going for the rest of the group. Cerys, however, seemed to have a bit more trouble. Mari abandoned her standoff with one of the bandits and instead sprinted to her friend’s side. Shoving herself between Cerys and the man, Mari planted a foot on his chest and shoved him backwards. The man’s grip on Cerys rifle slipped away, sending him tumbling to the ground. Mari gave him no opportunity to recover and brought down her modified bat on the man’s chest. If the brunt force of the blow didn’t puncture his lungs, the knives in her bat certainly did.

    “Here, you’re a better shot than me.” Mari scooped up the fallen leader’s shotgun and tossed it in Cerys’ direction. She didn’t spare her too long of a glance before she began hurried towards the two remaining bandits. “Be more careful.”

    “Thanks.” The word wheezed out of Cerys throat as her chest rocketed up and down to suck in the air she so desperately needed. It was a good thing that most of the bandits seemed to be on the ground because the redhead knew she was in no shape to fight anyone at this moment and wouldn’t be until her legs stopped shaking. Unfortunately, just because she could barely stand up didn’t mean that the rest of the group were not in danger. Sure there were only a few bandits still standing but all it would take was an instance of bad luck and some of her people would end up bleeding on the floor too. It was time to end this.

    Limping over to where the leader had fallen under Mari’s assault, Cerys aimed the shotgun at its former owners head. There had been plenty of gunfire already but hopefully the full throated bark of the large bore would be enough to get the attention of the remaining bandits. If they were lucky seeing their former leaders head turned into mush on the floor would be enough to convince them to stop.

    Pulling back on the action, Cerys took just a second to enjoy the fact that she was about to blow the head off the man that would have killed her before pushing forwards on the forend. It didn’t budge an inch. The gun was jammed. With an irritated growl Cerys tried to wiggle the action free without success. A was smirk spreading across the dying man’s face at her plight; she fixed that with a couple of swift kicks to the man’s temple before turning and heading for the nearest of the still standing bandits. If she couldn’t end this all in one go she’d just have to suck it up and help end it faster one shithead at a time.


  • Instructions:

 




4900.jpg

Mona "Momo" Jablonski
Interactions: Bandits




Everything wrong that could’ve happened absolutely did.

Momo barely had a chance to react to the discord exploding around her until one of the bandits descended on her and Ren. Oh God… O-oh God. Fear seized her by the gut and chest, pumped cement into her legs, and ripped words from her tongue.

Move.

She had to move--

Until a shove from Ren did it for her.

She yelped and toppled over, her jelly legs unable to do much even after the realization struck. Instinct demanded her to get up and help Ren, to do something and be useful for once, but the fear held fast. Shakily, she made a move to scramble forward… only to go the opposite direction, the bandit’s back blocking her view of Ren as they fought.

Wrong way. Wrong way. Wrong way. Wrong way she couldn’t just sit there like a bumbling worm and do nothing!

Breathing heavy and labored with panic, Momo desperately opened her bag and traded out the jar of berries for the only weapon she had. Pruners. The clippers were long and finely sharpened, as she liked to keep her tools in top condition by any means necessary. Just as the woman staggered to her feet, another jumped into the fray like a lioness fabricated out of thin air.

The woman she spoke with last night. Almira.

Thank God--everything would be fine… well, until it wasn’t again and another bandit aimed his gun at Almira. O-oh dear. Oh Lord. Momo couldn’t handle this. The shaking doubled. Then tripled. Followed by the heat flooding her face and building behind her eyes. Blinking it away, she gave pause when Cerys laid waste to the man, knocking him unconscious with swift kicks to the temple. Lucky. Everywhere she looked, she kept getting lucky. With a swift sweep of the area, she came to realize that only two bandits were left.

Maybe… Maybe she could still be useful. Just maybe. Blinking away the wetness in her eyes, she maneuvered behind one of the last standing hostiles, swallowed back bile, and brought the pruners down with a strained cry.

The sickening sound of metal piercing flesh.

The bandit howled as Momo ripped the pruners out of his thigh. His attention switched to the wound, which was steadily leaking through the gaps of his fingers, before snarling furiously at Momo. “You bitch!”

Momo stumbled back. That was it. She had nothing left in her, no more options that would lead her to an unscathed fate. If only that berry ploy had worked, they could’ve avoided this mayhem to begin with. Sucking in a sharp breath, she fell onto her haunches again and crossed both arms overhead, slamming her eyes shut in preparation for a world of pain.

But it was fruitless. The bandit bulldozed her over with vicious impact, slamming the air out of her lungs and rendering her yelp of pain breathless. Bruises. They were bound to show up on her torso later, but it was by the grace of the gods that she hadn't broken or fractured anything. Not yet. His grimy paw slammed the back of her skull into dirt, tauntingly smearing her cheek until she swore iron would start skimming the back of her tongue. "Shouldn't have done that," he snarled.

A whimper gurgled in the back of Momo's throat, pathetic, small, perhaps building with the onset of panic. But that was unladylike--but she was terrified. Terrified of the injuries Ren and Denni could possibly acquire. Would acquire, if she kept sinking into the ground under the bandit's weight. "P-ple..." Thin fingers curled around the man's wrist, then arched into frantic clawing, but his grip was like steel. "Please..."

Please don't make me do this.

But she did.

The realization for the bandit was delayed, until a choked hiccup jumped out of him and his eyes widened. Blood rolling down his chin, he stared down at the pruners buried into his abdomen, shaking profusely in Momo's free hand. "Y-you... fucking--" He collapsed on top of her, eliciting another clipped yell from the woman that actually resounded this time around.

"O-oh God! Oh my God!" Swallowing back an intense wave of nausea, Momo slapped and pushed at the corpse until it finally rolled off of her like an overgrown sack of rocks. Slowly, she sat up, cradling the bloody pruners close to her while trying to steady her breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Don't vomit. Exhale. Calm. Be a lady. Inhale. E-ex... Exha...

A sob escaped her. Then another. Followed by tears welling in her eyes, but she still moved. Keeping still and weeping like a newborn was unbecoming and left her as nothing more than a sitting duck among the chaos. She dragged her sleeve across her face, wincing as the scrapes on her cheek angrily throbbed in protest. Christ... How in Sam Hell was she still alive? Let alone functioning?

Momo overlooked her musings. Now definitely wasn't the right time to get lost in them.


 
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Dr. Benjamin Crane
The bandits were dropping like flies compared to his allies, which was certainly not a bad thing. Kent had set one ablaze, horrible burns scarred his body beyond recognition as his skin quite literally melted away with the aid of whatever fuel had served to ignite the fire. Benjamin tried to ignore the sickly sweet scent of burnt flesh just a few feet from where he stood. Candy had stabbed someone to death not ten feet away. The violence wasn't something he expected from such a pretty face.

Benjamin took aim. He watched one of the last of the bandits charge for Ren but was too late to shoot. His stomach dropped as the knife cut through his bag like it was made of paper. The good doctor was too hesitant to pull the trigger when he didn't have a clear shot of his target, especially with Ren in the way. He pulled his rifle away and started to move across the road with no regard for his safety. There were only a few bandits left. But, not more than two steps from the cover of the tree and Almira had charged the one wielding the knife. They scuffled, and she very brutishly beat the man to death with a rock.

Cerys put a man's life to an end with nothing more than her boot. Momo with a pair of shears. All but one man remained.

There was no one in his way.

Benjamin lifted his rifle like a bat, holding the barrel with both fists. The bandit saw Benjamin approaching and panicked. His comrades, all dead, were his only support and now a crazed man wielding a rifle the entirely wrong way had his sights set on him. He rushed Benjamin with the intent to disarm him and instead met the rifle head on. The stock smacked him square in the nose. Immediately he was seeing stars with his ass in the dirt. Benjamin stood over him with some hesitation.

He didn't actually want to kill the man, but the law of the new world left him little choice. Benjamin repositioned his rifle and prepared to shoot.

"I'll leave the fuckin' cart! Alright?" The bandit held his arms up defensively, and Benjamin gave pause. His shoulders relaxed momentarily and in that brief respite the bandit took his opportunity to attempt to yank the standing man to the ground. Benjamin fell forward, and the bandit lurched behind him, and in his arms he held a slim, awkward piece of material.

"Son of a-" Benjamin saw the dirt coming a moment too late as he felt his prosthetic disconnect from his knee. The rifle slipped from his hand and he toppled face first onto the ground. Of all the things, for someone to pull his own leg from his body, he was rightfully ashamed of the reaction it'd cause.

"What the- what the hell?"

There it was. The understandable confusion from holding a crafted human limb. The doctor whirled around on his hands and good knee just in time to see Dennis smash the poor bastard's face with a hammer. Thank god for that. The prosthetic fell to the ground, and the bandit with it. Benjamin sighed with a hint of disappointment. They were all dead. The group was safe.

Now someone just had to find the damned horse.

He fell back into the dirt and drew both of his hands over his eyes. He could feel the muck mingling with his dark hair and chafing against his scar, but he didn't care. What the hell had Mari gotten them into? Not even a day out of Graceland and they'd already had to kill five people over lost supplies. He remembered when he'd had to make a damned promise, do no harm to others. Those were the good days. Where had they gone? Who decided that the laws and morals of the old world needed to be discarded in the new?

It didn't matter. The bandits were dead, and they were alive. And that'd just have to do.

"Can someone give an old man a hand?" Benjamin cut through the silence. He murmured, after, "This is so fucking embarrassing."
 
Kent Murphy
Bandit Showdown ~ Aftermath
Morning

@Lillian Gray
As the chaos of the battle and adrenaline began wearing off, Kent slipped the mask and helmet off his body and took a deep breath of fresh air. He took a look around as all the individual fights started to quiet down. Looked like everyone managed to hold their own. With a look that seemed to be a mixture of surprise and satisfaction, he chuckled and slowly used the tree to stand back up. He started walking towards the now charred bandit on the ground, digging into his pockets dug in his pocket and slipping out a folded knife. Opening it up, he leaned down and stabbed it through the mans eye, piercing his brain. Just so he doesn't turn. He thought quietly to himself before feeling the familiar pain in his side again.

Holding his side he looked around at the others. He spotted the farmer, Momo, first. Sitting beside a corpse sobbing. Kent shook his head and sighed. He was impressed she got a kill, but breaking down right after wasn't a good trait to be having out here past the walls.
Next he saw Candy, standing bloodied with her cha-cha's more exposed that not. Part of him wanted to whistle, but he figured it wasn't the best time.
Finally he spotted Benjamin, on the ground beside a corpse. "Can someone give an old man a hand?" He bent down and grabbed the leg and tossing it on the ground beside the doctor.
"Looks like you need a leg, not a hand."
He said to the older man, with a smirk and somewhat joking tone as he extended a hand down to the man. "Nice shootin' though." As the doctor took his hand, Kent carefully pulled him up, which made him groan and grip his side. "You wouldn't happen to have a painkiller on you. One of them got a good hit on me."
 

The fighting ended as suddenly as it had started. Where once there had been seven bandit thugs, now there were as many lifeless bodies on the ground. More importantly none of them had started the day in Graceland. It was a small miracle. One they really didn’t have any right to be enjoying considering how everything had gone down. Still that was why they were called miracles right?

Changing direction, Cerys hobbled over to the supplies the bandits had been trying to abscond with and sat down heavily on them and tried to catch her breath. Around her, the rest of the party seemed to be reaching the moment of relief and realization they had survived pretty much unscathed for themselves. Most of them seemed to be dealing with it well. Some weren't. Touching her neck gingerly made Cerys wince, she was going to have a helluva bruise and speaking was going to be a pain in the arse for a few days. Unfortunately, she also knew there was no rest for the wicked.

“Alright, is everyone pretty much ok?” Looking from face to face, the Welsh woman held each person’s gaze for a moment, asking the same question with her eyes. “Well if you are hurt, talk to Doc. After that, a couple of you need to go find the horse while the rest of us shake these fuckwits down, pick up the supplies and clear the road.”​

 


Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, Among the Cheery

I am alive. The thought wasn’t a surprise. A mere statement of a continued existence that, no matter how many close calls, could hardly be considered a shock. Prayer, luck, and a hell of a body seemed to continue to do some sort of trick. One would break one day, another would run out, but the first remained strong to the end. Almira stood up as the sounds of battle died out. Listlessly, she tossed her rock to the side and, in a mere moment, the pale like faded from her eyes, the cheery smile seemed less horrific, yet blood marred the image. Splattered up her arm and good shoulder and speckling across her face as if she had just had an unfortunate encounter with a very aggressive paint ball gunner. The one that decided that putting welts on the opponent’s gun arm was entertaining and would put the shooter out of action for the next battle.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied to Cerys. The cheer in which she had greeted Mari never seemed to have left. As if Cerys had just interrupted to ask how she, and everyone else was doing. It was a conversation she fully intended to continue. That was, however, until she took full stock of the situation. Of those in need, Momo seemed to need the immediate most. After all, Almira’s skill in medical attention was basic, at best. So, fitting each glove to the proper owner, Almira strode calmly over Momo. Crouching down to her level, in arm’s reach but not crowding, the tan skinned woman called out to her new acquaintance.

“Momo? Momo? Hey now, it’s me, Almira. Almira the Alley Cat. Keep here. Keep with me. Just listen to me babble, ok? You can hang on to me at any moment. Just grab on, whenever you’re ready,” she softly soothed and then, casting around for a subject, began again, “you know the stars, Momo? Ah, course you do. This dumb Alley is not the brightest. Anyway, before the world coated itself in big old cities, the stars shone as bright, eternal beacons for our ancestors. But the lights of the cities became too sharp, and we lost sight of our stars. Only the brightest still to be seen. You had to go for miles and miles away from any place to see them proper again. But as the city lights went out, one by one, so too did our stars come back. One by one. As if we had to lose our towers to find our stars again. And stars will stay, long after you and long after me. So, they will always be there to guide you home again, just as they guided our sailing and wandering ancestors time out of mind. If you ever get lost, you can find your way back again. Find your stars, Momo, and stay with us a goodly while longer.”
 
Mona "Momo" Jablonski | Interactions: Almira @Verran & Bandit Corpses


Momo hadn't noticed the voice. Not at first, simply because she banished the possibility of anyone other than Denni or Ren approaching her. And for what reason aside from business and survival? They had no use for a sniveling grown woman, crimson streaks smeared in tandem with tears upon her faces, cheek in the process swelling, standing there like a shell-shocked numbskull with a bloody pruner dangling from her grasp. Who had need for such a useless moron?

No other than Almira. All Momo could do was stiffen up at the sight of the woman, images of her horrifically beating the bandit's skull in with a rock flashing through her mind. Bits and pieces and chunks of a skull and brain matter and blood, splattering mud and sun-bleached grass and detritus like a deadly shower. So much blood. Just from a single body. How quickly did the warmth flee from that man's body? Or from the one she'd stabbed mere seconds ago? What was his final thought? The final picture in his head? The final emotion roaring in his heart? Were they as brutal as he seemed or of a far more gentle nature like...

Be a lady. Proper ladies have no right to dwell on regrets because proper ladies don't commit mistakes. They never admit their existence unless proven pertinent. Do I make myself clear--

As Almira grew close, Momo couldn't help but take an instinctual step back. Guilt flourished as a result. "I-I..." I didn't mean to insult you. But she said nothing more and the strange woman apparently didn't need Momo's help to carry conversation. The stars. Navigation. An inky canvas that no artist but the hand of a higher being could paint. Like an idiot, she couldn't help the way her gaze snapped skywards then back down to Almira, the caution burning clearly in her eyes.

She wiped at her face once more and was relieved to have rid it of most of the mess this time around. Her whisper was broken and raspy, and she didn't quite have the confidence to lock eyes with Almira as she spoke. "Stars are... balls of gas. Helium, hydrogen a-and the like, held together by it's own g-gravity..." She couldn't grasp the sentiment nor purpose behind this topic, but she was grateful for the opportunity to take her mind elsewhere. If only for a moment.

She stood up, shakily wiping off the blood from her pruners onto her jeans. She picked up the gist of Cerys's orders and with a dry gulp, she looked at the collection of bodies. "I will... I-I will scavenge for supplies. The bodies." There was no need in trying to pump confidence into her voice, as her eyes were already stinging with a second wave. She would cry. But she would work. She gently touched her cheek. "This can be tended to later... Um, thank you..." She could've done better, but hopefully Almira wouldn't take her dismissal of the woman's medical assistance as an offense.

Rummaging through the bodies was... beyond unpleasant. Unpleasant nowhere near covered the degree of disgust broiling in her gut. Her very soul. Not disgusted by the fact that she was touching a corpse, but by how familiar she was with the sight. How she wished beyond everything that she wasn't. If Momo could find a knife, just one... then she could put them to good use, an idea already toiling in her frazzled mind--

That... Wait. This didn't seem authentic at all. What in the name of... A prop? They had the audacity? Unbelievable. As if finding one wasn't bad enough, she found three more corpses holding the same thing. Fake knives. She... She couldn't possibly grasp what their objectives were for carrying around props, but she definitely slipped one into her bag. One never knew when it could strangely come in handy. Luckily, further searching lead her to what she initially wanted: two real knives, one of normal quality and the other in fantastic condition, with a sheath to boot.

Thank the gods.

She sheathed the normal knife and wrapped an old ratty cloth around the better one, then stowed those away as well. She could "modify" them at a later date. As far as moving the bodies were concerned... She had no muscle. None. Denni could attest to this (in asshole fashion, at that), but she would try, at the very least. Groaning under her breath, Momo seized one body by their ankles and tried to drag him aside off the dirt path...

She wasn't very successful.
 
H O M E

Chapter 1: Country Roads


  • Mari could say much as she looked over the recovering group. Nobody had died. She supposed that made this a moderate success. While she would have liked to continue on for a few more hours, clearly they needed a break. She secured her bat to her bag once more and dropped it on the ground near where Cerys sat.

    “Clear out the bodies. This is a decent enough place to make camp for the night.” Mari looked at the group that worked on looting the bandit corpses. She crouched by Cerys, lips pressed together in concern as she looked at the bruises forming on her neck. “You should talk to Doc. I was…”

    What? Mari sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that her heart had clenched to a painful point when she’d seen that Cerys was in trouble. Nothing would come about admitting that she was worried. She blew air through her lips and stood once more, hands on her hip.

    “I’m going to find the horse.” She muttered, nudging her bag and turning away. Her hands twisted her hair back into a knot on the top of her head, returning her focus on the rest of the group. They had made it through, but some looked like it was by the skin of their teeth.

    Words of wisdom. Something inspiring. Her face twisted in concentration for a moment. Mika looked up from the body that he was dragging to the side, mouthing ‘are you about to vomit’ at her. She scowled and shot him a rude gesture before she inhaled deeply.

    “This isn’t going to be easy.” Her voice began soft, yet firm, but slowly grew in volume. “These bandits are probably the least threatening thing we’ll come across. If you don’t have the stomach for this, we aren’t too far to turn back now.”

    A soft sigh left her lips as she turned towards where Huffle had run off to.

    “There isn’t anything to be ashamed about if you go back.” She added once she reached the treeline. “Mihn would never want anyone to die for him.”

    Out of words, she didn’t say anything more before she disappeared into the trees to find Huffle.

    “I guess, I’ll start the fire.” Mika scratched his head awkwardly and began to dig through his bag. “Mari will be back with the rest of the supplies but we can start to get comfortable.”
  • Instructions: Welcome back, everyone! This will be a little bit of time to relax and chat before we move on in our adventure.
 
Dr. Benjamin Crane

Benjamin did his best to slip the prosthetic bag over his knee. He didn't have the luxury of time or inaction on his side, so it only needed to fit just enough to allow him some mobility. His work had only just begun-- and what a sorry sight they were. On the first day no less, the group had managed to have a run in with bandits. What kind of luck did they have if they couldn't even get out the gates with one day behind them? Granted, they had won the day, but the true colors were beginning to shine among the group.

Mari and her brother. At least Mika had a good head on his shoulders. He was trying to start a fire a good distance from the road. That was smart. What wasn't smart? Sleeping in the vicinity of the recently deceased. They were practically offering up a five course meal to any undead lurking in the area, and that didn't sit well with Benjamin. He kept his rifle loaded as he moved towards Cerys.

And her? He was more concerned about the bruises, faint as they were, ringed around her neck. It looked like she had been strangled during the commotion and he intended to start with her. Kent was also on his patient list. That bad had hit him hard, and he'd be lucky if he didn't break any ribs. Benjamin cursed under his breath, what a mess they were in. On the first day!

"Cerys, c'mere." He closed the distance between them and tentatively reached out towards her shoulders. "May I?"

Saying no wasn't really an answer he was allowing her to give, though he didn't touch her skin. She was too fiery, and he didn't want to break an arm over some misunderstanding. Benjamin simply looked with his one good eye, doing what he could do determine just how bad it was before ever letting his hand fall to her shoulder. He had others to see still. It didn't look as bad as he thought it would.

"Don't play soldier now, did someone try to strangle you?" He asked, an educated guess. "If they damaged anything you've nothing to gain by talking any. Don't care what you have to do to communicate, but don't talk much."

He still hadn't so much as touched her.

"Can I touch you?" He asked, a professional mannerism in his tone. "I just want to see how bad it is."
 

“Kock yourse-” The doctor’s instructions, having been processed half a second too slowly stilled Cerys’ tongue and she nodded instead before tipping her head back so she was staring at the sky. Denying Benji his craft was more trouble than it was worth, mainly because Cerys was pretty sure that if he had to, the man would break a person’s leg so he could treat another ailment of theirs.

Just at a glance, Benjamin already knew he didn’t want to touch Cerys’ throat. Both because he was certain it was goin. g to hurt her, and because he was still uncertain if she would throttle him for it. His fingers didn’t touch her skin as they hovered over both sides of her neck, inspecting for… well he hadn’t seen someone with a broken windpipe in a while. He motioned for Cerys to lower her face once more and peered into each of her eyes. Benjamin didn’t have much light to confirm, but he thought he saw some red speckling. But maybe they were all tired.

“I want to wait a bit, you come tell me if anything starts to swell up. Try not to talk too much.” Benjamin reaffirmed his gut diagnosis. “Nothing is broken, just bruised, but I don’t want to touch your neck to find out. If you need to say something just… punch once for yes, twice for no.” He smiled softly.

For a moment the soldier’s eyes met the Doctor’s, and then slowly and quiet a lot more gently than she was capable of, Cerys thumped Benji on the hip. She respected the man enough to follow his advice, but he could still be an insufferable arse at times. Well so could she. Point made, the Welsh woman stood up and following the doctors orders silently staked to the edge of the clearing. It would be better if someone was keeping a watch for bandits or the undead and she didn’t really want to look at the face of the man who had nearly sent her to the place part of her wanted reach so dearly. That way led to too much that she wanted to avoid.

Benjamin exhaled with relief, grateful she hadn’t actually punched him for giving his medical advice. He smiled softly as she stalked away. At least she was listening to his good word. So, he turned, and limped back onto the path in search of his next patient.​

A collaboration with @Lillian Gray
 
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It was six years ago when Ren had first learned of the phenomenon known as a hurricane. It was nothing to worry about in Graceland, but out there in the ocean, where the icy blue of sea met white sand beaches, hurricanes were quick to come. It was a mass of swirling and devastating winds. His teacher had shone him a salvaged picture from a textbook. Like a massive spiral, its long-reaching tendrils could reach miles of territory at one time. There no escape once a hurricane struck; only the eye of the storm - the small, insular middle - was safe, and only if you stayed within.

That’s where their travels lied that evening. Within the eye of the storm. Through the deadly quiet that had fallen over the makeshift camp, Ren felt the weight of imminent danger settling upon his shoulders. Yes, they had peace for the night. And maybe for tomorrow...and the day after that…

But the storm lay in wait all the while. And Mihn would be there, alive. Waiting for them.

“Mihn would never want anyone to die for him.”

Maybe so. But would Mihn turn back if he was here, even now?

No. No, he didn’t think so.

The only sound heard to Ren was that of his tent as he unwrapped it from its pack. He’d made an unsettling transition for any who’d been watching: almost immediately after the attack, he had set himself to making camp some distance away from the bodies. Mari’s admonition had gone with little note. Not that he was trying to ignore her, no. It was just that, well…

A flash of blood. Flies hanging listlessly about her as she stared out vacantly./

It was something to set his mind on. He didn’t want to dwell on things, and what good was he to the others now, anyways? Best that he just got things ready for Doc and him - whenever the man was ready to rest. When Ren was finished setting up their area, absentmindedly searching for his adoptive father.

He found the man attending to Cerys. She had a nasty bruise encircling her neck, and Ren was relieved to see she needed no more than a quick once-over. He waited, until Doc was apparently satisfied, and followed as the man stepped away. Ren approached then, his voice hesitant and low.

“Dad.”

His expression was solemn, though worry shone in his eyes.

“I set the tent up for us, by the treeline.” He paused, hesitating before adding, “For when you’re ready to rest.”
 

Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne




Blowing the hair out of her face, the temptress named Candy concluded the fight was over upon seeing the bandits' dead bodies. She had wished that they had avoided the altercation though one can only dream. The important thing right now is that she was alive and unscathed.

She soon made her way to the group just in time to hear Mari's speech. It dampened the mood a little though she knew it was necessary. After all, things could only go worse from here on out.

At the mention of fire, Candy shivered. Her torn up shirt gave her little to no warmth! She knew she could just change into her spare shirt though she wanted to try her luck. Would someone in their group be willing to let her borrow one? It is time to put that question to the test.

The black-haired female look around. Not far was Doc, Cerys, and Ren.

Immediately, Candy crossed her arms across her chest to somewhat make herself look decent. Being exposed usually doesn't bother her though remembering that there's a child among their midst made her feel timid if not shy. Besides, her makeshift necklace was also showing. Can't let them know they have something they can steal from me.

Her first target would have been the doctor though seeing him talking to Ren made her decide against it. She figured they needed to have their quality time since one of them could have died today. Thus, she focused her attention on Cerys.

"Hey." She greeted the bruised woman, a faint smile gracing her features as she sat down next to her. "You alright? That's some nasty bruise you got."

"Want me to kiss it goodbye?"
she joked around in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. "Though in return, let me borrow a shirt. As you can see, mine's ruined."



 
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