PENUMBRA - An Afterlife Story [World Info, Sign-Ups, OOC Discussion]

  • So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
Not open for further replies.
I am a mere mortal.

No no no, my little one.
You can do bettur.
:D <3
Name: Jethro Thomas
Age at Time of Death: 35
Days Dead: 28

Appearance in Life: Standing at 5 foot 7 inches tall Jethro was the spitting image of the redneck stereotype. Dirty blonde hair cut short and a good layer of stubble covered his lower face. Usually adorned in a dirty white t-shirt jeans and a baseball cap, Jethro's beer gut was unmistakeable, and renowned amongst his friends at the trailer park. HIs clothing and skin is usually spotted with grease stains from working on his pick-up truck.

Manifestation in Death: The difference between alive Jethro, and dead Jethro, is vast. The only recognizable similarity is that he retained his general body shape, height, and his beer gut. The skin over his entire body is charred and melted in places. His right eye is covered by a melted bit of his forehead. His genetalia have become so disfigured as to be a charred bump between his legs. The only clothing he wears is the bits of what he wore when he died that were fused into his skin. His hands ar missing various chunks and fingers as well. Other then that he is a fairly disfigured mess of a man. Horrible to look upon I assure you.

Like any good stereotypical redneck, Jethro was about as rascist as they come. If you weren't pale you weren't worthy of being called human. In fact this very mentality is what got him placed in jail on a number of occasions. But that will be explained below in his life story area. Jethro always had to be the best. He was a one upper. If someone told a story he always had a better one. Wether it was fact of fiction didn't really matter, he was a pathological liar in either case. So you could never really tell if it was true or not. His friends thought he was the best though and that was all that mattered to him.

Cause of Death: So the story goes like this. As we have already discussed, Jethro was a one-upper, and a rascist. Both of these facts play into his death. So let us begin. Approximately two weeks before his death a colored family moved in down the road from one of his friends, Billy. Well that night Billy went out and burned one of the colored family's trees to the ground leaving a very rascist note upon their door. Few days later Billy, Jethro, and the gang are sitting around the grill sharing stories. Billy tells that one and everyone gets a good laugh out of it. Jethro however, doesn't have a good story to top Billy's so he gets upset. He spends a week plotting his actions, and he finally makes his move. He snuck into their home late at night while they were sleeping. He turned on their gas stove and snuck upstairs with his trusty shotgun. Opening the door to the mother and father's room he tiptoed to the edge of their bed silently. Lifting the barrel he aimed at their heads and with a single pull of the trigger, shot them both in their sleep. The children woke at the sound and rushed out of their rooms to see Jethro weilding his shotgun walk out of their parents room. So like any scared child, they ran down stairs with jethro in hot pursuit. After a minute of chasing them he finally cornered them in the living room. Just like their parents he lifted his shotgun and pulled the trigger. However, what Jethro had not taken into account, was that the living room, was right next to the kitchen, with no door between them. The ignition of the powder in his shotgun not only shot off the buckshot within, but also became the ignotion to a chain reaction explosion right in his very hands. His hands received the blunt of the explosion with his body soon catching fire after. He burned to death in that very house with the family he had murdered.

In Life:
Jethro, was a poor kid growing up, he didn't receive a lot of education so he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. Growing up he learned everything he could about trucks and how to fix them, so when he became of age to leave the house, he found a job at a local mechanics shop. He spent most of his off time, drinking or mudding in his own truck. He had been in and out of jail on a number of occaisions, usually for a drunk in public or a recism related incrimination. His life was simple, so not much to explain here.

In Death: Jethro hates being dead, but he hates being in this limbo even more. His anger levels have been pretty much maxed out since he arrived and few can tolerate his presence for very long because of it. He has become an open asshole to just about anyand everyone he comes into contact with here. The one thing keeping him from simply passing into the realm of the actually dead, is that he thinks his death was unjust. That he should not have died with that family. He was doing a service to the world in his eyes and he deserved to live because of it. That is his goal, to get his life back and rejoin his friends with one hell of a story to tell them now.

Haunt: Jethro hangs out around his garage. His truck inside is now falling apart and he spends his time with a set of rusty tools trying to fix the one thing he loved in life.
Name: Joshua Clyde Linwood
Age at Time of Death: 18
Days Dead: 7

Appearance in Life:
Joshua is thoroughly average in many respects. He's not tall or short at 5'11'', and he gets just enough exercise to maintain a wiry frame. His hair is black in a cut typical of a teen his age. The boy is a bit pale and his vision is just bad enough to require glasses. He chose a wire-framed pair. He dresses plainly in dark colors and jeans most every day, and his default expression is a thoughtful one.

Manifestation in Death: From the elbow down, Joshua's left arm is swollen and useless. Huge purple splotches stretch all the way up and down the limb, concentrated particularly around the two sets of chewed-in fang marks that show where he was bitten. Both arms and the left side of his face are painted with jagged scratches. Behind his foggy glasses, there is nothing; he is faceless. His eyes are gone, but he can see. He doesn't have a mouth, either, but he hasn't tried to speak…

Personality: Joshua is, essentially, a kind human being. He's polite to strangers, helps others when he can, and can tell the difference between right and wrong. He usually errs on the side of right, but there are moments when he is tempted not to turn the other cheek, and his frustration manifests unpredictably. He's less awkward around people he feels friendly with, but no one ever really relied on him, and vice versa.

Cause of Death: They'd been walking home from school. They always had, ever since they were children, though they'd both long since stopped enjoying it. The script was always the same. Richard did nothing but pick at him about his low-key social life and unglamorous looks and hobbies, mocking him more with every step they took. They'd just been crossing the bridge over the river when he'd started nagging him about his grades. Joshua was a B kind of guy, not an A++, and he'd never be on the same level as his brother.

Joshua ignored him. He couldn't exactly disagree. He did, however, have to protest when Richard grabbed his binder from his hands. He didn't need his Calculus notes with that attitude, Richard said. He obviously didn't care about improving. He'd never amounted to anything in his life, and he was never going to change. Then he'd dropped his binder in the river over the bridge, and Joshua had jumped after it. Normally he had a better sense of self-preservation, but Richard had gone too far that day, or maybe he'd just had enough of the teasing and needed to do something to prove himself.

He did a poor job of it. The river water was cold and choppy and rough enough to make swimming towards his waterlogged schoolwork a major hazard all on its own. Richard was yelling at him again, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. He'd only just grabbed the binder when the current threw him into the branches of a felled tree resting on the bank. Joshua panicked, scratching up his arms and his face as the water whipped the branches across his skin, but it was only when he felt something puncture his forearm deep enough for stitches that he knew he had true reason to worry.

He hadn't heard the snake coming, but he knew exactly which it was: a cottonmouth. They were the only kind of water snakes around. He knew what the poison did to people, knew that he had to lie still and wait for help because the venom was going to crawl up his veins faster if he struggled, knew that he had to close his eyes and just trust that Richard had still been watching. But because he was desperate- because he was weak- he screamed for his brother, ripped uselessly at the branches he was tangled in, cried out when the snake bit him a second time.

Joshua gave up when the pain spiked and spiraled out of his control. He was faint from it, sweating buckets, and he couldn't move his brutalized, bleeding arm. His whole body tingled unnervingly. The noise his heart made as it hammered against his ribcage drowned out all his thoughts. There was nothing more he could do. He'd started to care less, anyway. He was stuck there, suspended in the icy water, with venom coursing through his veins. He could barely keep up his grip on the binder.

The last waking thing he noticed was that Richard was still yelling when his heart stopped beating.

In Life: Joshua lived in the same house in the same part of North Carolina until the day he died. In the same way, he always lived in his brother's shadow. Everything Joshua was, his older brother Richard was, too, and he'd already done it better long before Joshua even thought to. Stellar grades? Girls? Popularity? Richard had them all, and he made damn well sure that Joshua never got the runoff. He never let him forget it, either, whether they were back home with their oblivious mother and father or in the cafeteria at school. He was someone to hate and admire, and Joshua resented that he could never struggle out of his grasp.

In Death: Joshua is more than slightly bitter about his death. He's angry at himself for his powerlessness, angrier at his brother for his cruelty, and aghast that he died for nothing more than his math homework. He doesn't know what he can do in his current state, but he feels the need to do something, and his rage is building by the day.

Haunt: Canal:

On the days when he could get away from his family, Joshua would hole himself up in the canal about two miles from his house. He didn't mind walking there; he was used to trekking long distances on foot. It was enclosed, snug enough to feel like a safe hiding place, but still open enough for him to breathe. This was where he'd learned to swim, and he still sat by the water sometimes. He'd stay there for hours; no one was there to stop him. The restaurant had long been defunct. On his worst days, he'd force the door open, sitting in the middle of the floor. It was empty and lonely, smelled a little off on hot days, and the dust got in his eyes and nose, but he still preferred it to his house.
His Haunt isn't quite the same. He can't get the door open every time he tries. The lock only gets really workable at night. Bricks have been thrown out of the walls, and he has to jump over debris on the walkway to get to the water's edge, and when he puts his hand in, he can't see where it goes.
Name: Richard Price

Age at death: 29

Days dead: 15

Appearance in Life: about 5'9, smooth caramel skin, wearing custom military clothing, with black hair and sunglasses.

Manifestation In Death:

His mask resembles much of whats left of his face. Beneth the glasses and his jaw-bone bandanna, is a bloody skull and a punctured eye.

Cause of Death:

Richard's death was a rather unexpected event, he was doing recon for a missing Spec-Ops team and ended up captured by enemy lines. At the time he was almost in a daze before death. He awoke at the very moment he saw them standing over him. His killers removed his glasses and mask and burned his face to the very skull. They then covered his face back up with his items and shot him in his right eye. During his deployment, he was listening to Avenge Sevenfold's "Gunslinger"


He was always a team player when he was in service but was always a cold blooded killer. If he was given a chance to be make an ally he'd go in for any opening, but keep his eyes open for traitors. While he was living he always kept a smile after battles and never felt diminished of moral.

In life:

Richard was a happy father of two kids, one boy and one girl. When ever he was away in battle the thoughts of his family kept him around on his sane side. He'd always be looking for a new way to protect his family and would never leave them helpless. Richard also had a small obsession with guns and explosives that still breathes even in death.

In Death:

he feels enraged and vengeful against the ones who killed him. Due to his eternal love for his family he can hear the cries of his children and wife, begging for him to return, the screams of his wife pleading for his arms to be around her again, and remembers the sound of bullet penetrating his head. He was burried with his favorite ACR w/ ACOG and a trusty bowie knife on the day of his funeral, As well killed with the same weapon's in his posession. Richard never speaks to random people or those he does not trust. When his Umbra is near he'll tightly grab his weapon and give a slight grunt. he's tried to fight the crreature before, but delivers no damage to fatly kill or wound it. He finds it annoying that his gun never runs out of ammo or works during the night time.


He haunts the very graveyard he was burried in, he would spend hours on hours starring at his grave. Richard goes to this place whenever he feels the need to blow off steam. If he leaves to this place during the night time he keeps himself hidden from his Umbra.

Richard finds himself drawn to the Graveyard he was burried in, but spends his time wondering all over the wrecked city.

If i should change anything please inform me :3

Frei, you're approved.

Ceddy and Tenchi-Roku, I look forward to your complete profiles.
Ice, your man and my woman.
They would make some hot kids.
-giggles at the skeletons.-
Ice/Tenchi-Roku, your character is approved!

But not for the production of horribly disfigured skelechildren. >:/
There... I'm done... now Im going to sleep.. I have work in a couple hours...
I am ice/Tenchi and
-holds a thumbs up-
and i approve Staci's messege
Ceddy is approved. We have our six! SPECIAL BONUS IN THE FIRST POST.

I will try to get the IC thread up tomorrow. It will not be sooner than tomorrow.
Yes ma'am, youda boss

-sexy epic pose-

I'm seriously tempted by this, but I'm struggling for a concept and am not sure if I'll have the time for another RP at the moment.

Should inspiration strike and my schedule clear, however, you better fucking believe I'm getting involved. Cos this has got 'epic' written all over it.
Grumps, I hope you find time! You definitely have a spot waiting for you.

If you need help kicking around concepts, feel free to bounce ideas my way. I'd be happy to assist.

And fuck it, I don't care if this means I'm maybe in too many games; I want in on this.

- - -

Name: Julian 'Jules' Denton
Age at Time of Death: 21
Days Dead: 5

Appearance in Life:
Starkly thin almost to the point of being emaciated, Jules would always attempt to hide the fact by wearing several layers of baggy clothing. His hair was long and unkempt, kept in a mismanaged dreadlock style. His face was thin and stretched, much like the rest of his body, his eyes often possessing a fairly desperate quality.

Manifestation in Death:
In death, Jules' form displays both that which killed him and that which was slowly killing him from the inside. His body is nothing more than bones with a thin layer of skin stretched across them to attempt to disguise the horror of it all, his face scraped away by the sands until nothing but his skull remains. His dreadlocks have lost their colour, pale husks floating in the wind. A strange substance bubbles up from within his form no matter what Jules tries to do in order to stop it, frequently running from his mouth and down his front.

Personality: Before he met her, Jules likely would never had manifested as a ghost; he had given up almost entirely, viewing himself as nothing more than another junkie who's addiction was going to kill him slowly if something else didn't first. All he cared about was getting the next fix.

And then she entered his life.

Learning that someone actually cared about him changed Jules on a fundamental level. He became a much more dedicated person and tried to fight against his addiction, hoping to kick it one day. His opinion of himself remains pretty low, the result of a lifetime of neglect and a bad upbringing, but he's prepared to go to great lengths for the woman he loves.

Including staying behind after death, hoping for the chance to speak to her one final time.

Cause of Death: "Choose life.

"Choose a shitty upbringing and the joys of the American social-care system. Choose bad grades, worse friends and causing bother at a young age. Choose petty crime and spending your afternoons sitting on street corners wondering what the fuck you're doing.

"Choose drugs.

"Choose spending what money you have on crack rather than eating. Choose your last memory being covered in spiders before waking up in a police cell wondering how the hell you got there. Choose crack dens, junkies-for-roommates and squatting when you can't find a place to live. Choose breaking into homes and stealing TVs just to fund your next fix.

"Choose falling in love, even when you thought it was impossible for someone like you.

"Choose trying to clean your fucking act up because you know it will make her happy. Choose wishing you could afford rehab whilst going cold turkey. Choose the sweats, the shivers, the shits and all manner of other unpleasantness as your body attempts to kick the itch. Choose not being tough enough to handle it. Choose sneaking little hits when she's not around, your life slowly spiralling back down into the pit she tried to pull you out of. Choose having to see the look on her face when she finally finds out you're a fuck-up and always will be. Choose desperately trying to get the money you need to get help so you don't lose the one thing in your life that means something.

"Choose borrowing money from the wrong fucking people.

"Choose waking up with a bag over your head. Choose finding your ass in the middle of the Mojave Desert, with some rather dangerous men politely asking for their money back. Choose desperately pleading for your life and staring into their pitiless faces. Choose watching the SUV drive off, leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere with no hope of rescue.

"Choose a slow, painful death in the middle of the desert, dehydration and starvation wasting your body away. Choose choking your last amongst the sand, the last words escaping from your dry, parched lips her name before you quietly shuffle off this mortal coil, just another junkie fuck who was too fucking stupid to live."

In Life: In fairness, Jules never really had much of a chance to begin with.

Born to a dysfunctional family that fell apart shortly after his fifth birthday, he was raised in various foster homes. School did little for him, serving only to link him with other bored and like-minded young men who wanted nothing more than to steal or break things.

The drugs entered the scene when he was about thirteen.

It was just soft shit at first; some weed every now and again, that sort of thing. It wasn't long, though, before boredom and the urge to find something to take away the monotony of daily life drove him to seek harder substances to abuse. By the time he was seventeen Jules was a full-blown crackhead, a junkie, a no-good little fuck-up with no direction, no future and no goals other than finding the funds for his next rock.

This downward spiral continued for several years; Jules became involved in various thefts to held fund his addiction and fell in with a crowd of potheads, junkies and psychos. He suspected he'd be dead or in prison within a few years, and the fact didn't bother him overly.

That was when she entered his life.

It wasn't love at first sight or anything stupidly cheesy like that; Jules met her at a mutual friend's party and they became friends. She made him feel like maybe he wasn't as big of a piece of shit as he'd always thought, and obviously she saw something him too (though to this day Jules is not sure what). As their relationship grew, Jules struggled to bring his addiction, which had threatened to consume him utterly until he met her, under control and even kick it if he had the willpower.

He didn't.

Despite trying so very hard, Jules found turning away from his addiction impossible. Not wanting to disappoint her as they grew intimate, however, he disguised his addiction for the first time in his life, playing it down as much as possible and attempting to hide how much he was still dependant on the drug.

When she found out, however, she was heartbroken. And it ate Jules up inside even more than the drugs were. Desperate to finally be free of his addiction he made the rash decision to borrow money from some dangerous types so that he might be able to afford therapy and rehab. Initially it went well.

Then the debt-collectors arrived.

Broke and with no means of income, Jules was unable to pay the loan-sharks back and was left to die alone in the Mojave Desert from exposure and dehydration.

In Death: Jules always knew he was going to die young; hell, he predicted it around the time he was nineteen. When she arrived on-scene, though, it all changed. Suddenly he had a reason to want to be better, to maybe make something of himself. His untimely death, however, has prevented that, but Jules still seeks a way to at least apologise to her, to tell her how sorry he is and how much he loved her for actually giving a shit about him.

Above all else he seeks to evade his Umbra, who represents all the dark, twisted and fucked-up aspects of Jules' psyche, all the horrible things about himself that he never wanted to admit.

Haunt: Jules' most common Haunt is an old dilapidated house inexplicably surrounded by a small area of sand in the inner-city area of Potter's Field. The inside looks like its suffered the effects of a bomb going off in its centre; peeling walls, destroyed furniture. It's a hovel, a shithole, and bears a strong resemblance to many of the places Jules stayed during his downward spiral. Sand fills the interior, despite the fact that you won't find much sand anywhere else in the city.


- - -

This is still very much a work in progress; bear with me.

I'd also be interested in creating Jules' Umbra; I'm thinking the personification of his drug addiction combined with mobster-like characteristics and a pinch of "OH GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT" thrown in for good measure.
Oh wow. You've come up with a really good concept! I'll see if I can hopefully find the time to make a profile and join the game :D
Awful lot of skull faces in here.

CAUSE OF DEATH OF JULES IS APPROVED. Also, hey, someone actually bit for making their own Umbra! I like those ideas for it, too. You want to roleplay as it as well, or leave that up to me?
Sadly my Horror art folder was a bit sparse on 'stickly-thin dudes who look like they've rotted away, both inside and out'; that image was the best I could find. Hell, maybe we could make that a theme amongst the ghosts of Potter's Field; skeletal faces of various descriptions.

Or I could find a better image for him and stop being a lazy prick.

I'm debating between playing the Umbra myself or having you play it; either way, would you be up for working with me on the creation/playing of the Umbra?
Why yes! Yes, I am.

Also, I'll see if I can help you out with Jules the Ghost art.
Oh. My. Bahamas.
I feel intimidated by all the AMAZING NESS pouring out from the seams of these characters around me.
Save my soul.
-crawls over to staci and gives a friendly shove-
Oh quit your cryin ;P
We bout to do this thang
Not open for further replies.