Ten Years After The World Ended.

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by moon, Jan 25, 2014.

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  1. ****PLEASENO OOC comments in the IC thread. When you jump in, jump in with your post right away. There is NO NEED for a CS in IC. However, if you want, you can post it on the OOC thread although it really is not necessary. It would be better if the background story is told in the RP – that is, if you even reveal a backstory. Remember, these are dangerous times!****

    Updates will be posted as the RP goes. Make sure to check the OOC thread for these Updates.

    OOC link:
    https://www.iwakuroleplay.com/threads/ooc-ten-years-after-the-world-ended.40430/

    ----------------
    Unfinished Letter

    Pretty sure it’s January.

    Been 6 years since the world ended.
    And wer still here. Jess said we’d make it as far as a safe place – wherver da fuck that is.
    Well, just me and Kylie now. For like almost – ah shit, I dunno. Lost Jess in year 2 I think. So hard to keep track of days. Pointless. But I pick up shit loads of paper when I see them and write like theres no tomorow coz there might be no tomorow you know? Kylie’s here starin up at at the sky like we’re on sum picnic date or sumthin. I wish.

    I mean sure I like her, tho Jess -------- yeaaaaah I’m blabring again. That how you spell that?
    Like someone cares. As if it matters. Stoopid fuckin txtspk. And was so proud of bein all L33t before. Still blabring agin. Anyways. Dunno who y’all are but the world is a pretty fucked up POS by now. But I’m still here and I’ve asked Kylie to scatter the journals of the GREAT GREGORY MARSH --- yeah that’s me. So yeah, just so I can leave my mark and maybe help.

    Been movin from place to place since D-day and its pretty much hell. Worse maybe. The husks are still out there and they give me the creeps. The smell alone – and they just won’t fuckin die already. And you have to kill them which isn’t easy if – well, if there family. And friends. Just dunno what to think anymore. Like the rebels out there. Filthy terrorists. Just blowin things up and stirring up shit.

    But okay there not all bad. Met one and dude shared his meal with us. Probly felt sorry for a bunch of kids. Anyways. They think the WHO – like the world health organization - is behind the plague. But the WHO discovered vaccines for it you know? So rebel dudes probly paranoid. But yeah. He says the WHO kidnaps people and experiments on them so they can have a cure. Like a pill, you know? Told us to stay away from the military too and the ones in the city. As if. They don’t even step outside those walls. Fuckin cowards. And there no better! Heard in one town that rebels blew up a convoy to another city. And there was kids man! Seriously, who does this sorta shit? Kylie didn’t eat for days.
    Even when we had food. And Jess –

    Hard to trust strangers. DO NOT TRUST STRANGERS. Never know if there gonna sell you out you know? Seen all sorts of shit and we know people disappear. And they don’t ever return. My advice is to move around. And be careful.

    I want a burger. I know, random thingy. Just – last wish? Yeah, a burger.

    I’m writing this coz I wanna be remembered. Don’t wanna be one of those husks. Took down that fuckin husk but not before it got me. Yeah, can’t walk anymore.

    But I took it down. One less husk.

    And Kylie?

    Kylie I want to tell you for the longest time. I know


    ------------
    “Before Greg died he said I should be grateful because I get to live.
    If he only knew.
    Death would have been kinder.
    He was the lucky one.”


    Kylie McArthur
    --------------------

    We are survivors. Desperately clinging to life and fervently hoping for some form of salvation.
    Ten years after the world ended - a rebellion slowly gains ground. Rumors abound. There's a rumor about the World Health Organization engineering the plague that wiped off half of humanity. Another says rebels care for nothing but the destruction of the few remaining cities protected by the WHO. There's another, told in hushed voices, that anyone believed to be an insurgent - or those who sympathized with the rebellion - disappear.
    People have been disappearing and there is unrest everywhere. As a precaution, the WHO strengthened their bases, building walls around a few cities and protecting them from possible terrorist attacks. The rest of the survivors are locked out of the city walls, unprotected from the husks that roam the land.
    And the husks are a grim reminder of the day everything went to hell. The high-pitched moaning... the horrible, rotting smell. They're the closest things to zombies, but they haven't died yet. They live with the plague, their skin covered in sores, their hair falling in clumps.
    We are SURVIVORS left to our own devices. Will we die human? Or will we become husks?

    Or will we be able to rebuild and survive?

    ----------

    SURVIVOR TYPES & BASES:

    *Scavengers- Nomadic. People who move around a lot often looking to trade.

    *Townies- People who settle in a town. May have grown up in town or may have decided to settle in a particular town after the 'apocalypse'. They trade with other people (mostly scavengers) who come to town. Most are distrustful of outsiders.

    *City-dwellers- The privileged few who live in walled cities that were protected by the WHO. Only those with the clearance to leave are allowed outside the walls. Most don't bother about what happens 'outside' the walls. Most believe they deserve to be saved. They are tracked using bracelets. City dwellers can be civilians or military.

    *** City dwellers are the only ones with access to credits. Credits act as currency in the cities. The credits are in the bracelets that city dwellers wear. Townies and Scavengers trade/barter with each other.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    ENTRIES - (Where your character/s can start)

    **Towns -Towns have rundown houses and minimal security. They have rudimentary barriers. The townies have managed to make it somewhat habitable. Attacks still happen, but not from the husks. Attacks are often carried out by outsiders wanting to gain access to resources the towns have. Bandits, hunters, slavers are a problem.

    **Cities -The cities have all the comforts of life before the virus spread. It has electricity, running water, transportation, and HEAVY security.

    **Wastes -Abandoned areas - ruined cities/towns - farmlands/forests. Anything that is not a city or a town. The wastes are dangerous and some are still swarming with the husks. The wastes are rich in resources - despite the name. There are animals you can hunt and wild fruits/herbs you can gather and other items you can use - weapons, tools, etc.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    FACTIONS

    ***Rebels -Survivors that formed a rebellion. Their HQ is at <............>. They believe that the WHO was behind all the atrocities happening in the world. They don't believe that they are about protecting the survivors. Their main agenda is to bring down the WHO and expose it for what they believe it is: an elitist group who are set on performing atrocious experiments on people as long as it "ADVANCES HUMANITY". Most rebels are in hiding or stay disguised.

    ***Believers- Survivors who believe that the WHO is on humanity's side and is working hard to rid the world of the plague.

    ***Neutrals -Survivors who don't take sides or believe that both are right / wrong. They may believe that rebels are simply terrorists and believers are mindless puppets. To them, surviving is the primary goal. They just want to rebuild their lives.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Since there are RUMORS flying around - your character/s can go with what your character/s believe. Create your own rumor or base it off someone else's - how you've come across the rumor doesn't matter. It's JUST A RUMOR after all. (Or is it?)

    Now...a few things:

    ·Scavengers and townies can't start in cities. You can lurk outside, but you can't be inside a city. You MAY have access LATER on (depending on how the RP goes).

    ·City-dwellers must start inside the walls of a city. You may either escape or have clearance to leave. Depends on your allegiances.

    ·You can pick any faction. You can also switch factions- depending on how you develop your character. But please make it believable. Your beliefs will depend on what you know, what you've heard, what you've experienced. You may play a BELIEVER outright, but deep inside, you're a REBEL at heart. Or it can be the other way around. Or you can just not care. Let the world go to hell. You just want a slice of peace. You're out for yourself and you don't give a damn. It's up to you.

    NOTES:

    1 - There is no GOOD or BAD faction. There are lots of GRAY areas.

    2 - You can pretend to be one faction for show - but another in truth. You need to guarantee your safety after all.

    3 - Being a rebel doesn't mean you're good because you want what's best for the people. It also doesn't mean you're bad because you go against the WHO and perform 'terrorist' attacks.

    4 - Being a Believer doesn't necessarily mean you're an elitist jerk. You CAN be though. You might think that everyone else deserves the hell they're going through. Or you can honestly believe that the WHO is doing something good because they're protecting people from rebels and is working hard to find a cure.

    5 - Scavengers aren't just nomads. Or are they? They might have another agenda. Or they may just be nomads. Or they may be slavers. Or they may just be nomads. Or...

    So...

    6 - TRUST is an ISSUE. That lovely townie you met in an inn might sell you out in exchange for firearms. Think it's safe to accept that drink that stranger is offering? What if it's drugged?

    7 - It is TRUE that people are disappearing. If you voice your dissent and you disappear - are you taken by the REBELS because they want you to join their cause or are you silenced by the BELIEVERS?

    8 - Players may abduct or hurt other players. BUT - You have to find a perfect opportunity to carry out an abduction AND you have to have a believable reason for the abduction. Are you a rebel and you're abducting another 'potential' member of the rebellion? Taking him or her blindfolded to your headquarters? While we're saying you may, it doesn't mean you have to. If you don't have reason and it won't be in character, then don't do it. This is just to throw in a more realistic (and fun!) element in the RP. This is done to move the RP forward. That being said...

    9- DO NOT MURDER EVERYONE YOU SEE!!! You do this and we won't have anything to RP!

    10 · You MAY be captured. Do you think you'd know your captors? Will you be SURE of their identity?

    BE CAREFUL.
    THERE IS SAFETY IN NUMBERS.
    THERE ARE TRAITORS EVERYWHERE.
    ______________________

    NO ONE-LINERS!!!
    This is not CHAT RP - Please post at least a paragraph. Also, though it's possible for you to jump in at anywhere with a new character, please read the post concerning the area you're starting in, especially if they've already been created. Jackson, for example, has an existing layout. Please respect that. You may add to the world, of course, and our maps will eventually reflect that.


    ---------Updates will be posted the OOC link - So make sure to check the OOC.


    ________________________
    Remember:
    Iwaku general Rules apply. No godmodding. No bullying Rpers. Etc.

    ALSO:
    You do NOT have to add journal entries in your post. By all means if you WANT to then you may but it is not a must. Just wanted to let everyone know.
     
    #1 moon, Jan 25, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 28, 2014
  2. The world used to not always be like this or that's what I remember. There was ice cream cones on a boardwalk with the sun above and the ocean below. It was wind blowing around you, trying to push you in every direction at once. It was your toes digging into a sandy beach. You could always hear children's laughter in the background and see them running around playing. I've read books where the author talked about people falling in love. Where people form friendships or relationships. A perfect place that no one tries to remember. Any mind left functioning knows the world is filled with nothing but pain now. Maybe once there was trust, compassionship, and love. That isn't our world anymore.

    That world never existed to me. To me it has always been a selfish place where love is unheard of and people are unpredictable. Once before, people were lucky to find love but they polluted and corrupted it. Just like everything else. It got sick. I've seen it and in the end, people wined and complained, screamed it wasn't fair or right. Most took it for granted.

    I'm Emma Rose. The world isn't safe. Trust is hard to come by and maybe you shouldn't trust anyone. I don't. For ten years I have done what I was told to do. Run, don't look back, don't help anyone, and never never trust any one. There is no one left. It's us and them now. My 'us' now is my wolf and I. My them is everyone and everything else.

    *************************************

    Emma Rose ran across the field towards the woods. Her legs groaned in protest at first. Her muscles ached when she began to push them to continue but they soon warm up. Her back was the worse problem right now though. The backpack was heavier than what she was used to but it didn't stop her. Instead, she gripped the handles tighter until her hands hurt and couldn't stand it. She pushed herself to run until she reached the forest.

    She ran deep into the woods in the same direction, different path, but the same destination. The branches whipped passed her in the thickness of the woods. As the forest cleared, she sees him smiling and calm. He doesn't run and jump, but waits to see if she brought anything with her. He has seen them before. He knows how bad it can get. Together they have seen people be overtaken by them. Usually, women and children.

    "Max." Emma Rose whispered, out of breath.

    Emma and Max don't give each other a warm greeting like they wanted. Instead, she grabbed her shot gun and turned around. The Wolf sauntered over to watch the forest as she walks backwards. Then, they both sat behind a tree and waited a few minutes.

    After she climbed a tree to look to see if anything followed her and satisfied with he findings, she made he descent back to the ground. She hugged her timber wolf for a few minutes. He licked her face and put his big paw around her. She wrapped her own arms around him back. She hugged him so much when he was little and one day he hugged back and done so ever since.

    "Ready?" She asked him before lifting the bag and placing it back in place on her back before carefully continuing on. Max ran ahead to scout in front. He would stay close by but out of sight to help keep an eye on their surroundings. If she kept up a good pace, it'd be a day's walk to her cabin.

    Emma Rose had left her warm, cozy cabin four days ago. The reason was, she need to stock up on some canned foods and supplies. There was a farmhouse about a day's walk from her cabin that she once and a while went to. So, after hiding away what little food and supplies she had left away, she locked up the cabin and headed out.

    Now, she was a couple hours from what she considered home, the cabin, with a backpack full enough to where she was still able to run without it being a problem. It was heavy, which meant it had been a long time since she went to the farmhouse. Her muscles weren't used to the weight. But she didn't complain. It was worth it.

    She spent her time walking back thinking but her guard was still up in place. She had a watchful eye on her surroundings. Moving quietly and softly wasn't a problem for her either. Since she was little her father would send her to survival camps, taking her hunting and camping. He was one of those crazy people, survivalist, always prepared and saying the ende was coming. Emma had believed him to be insane and wish she had a normal dad like the other kids. But when everyone started getting sick and everything, she wished she hadn't said those mean things to him.
     
    #2 moon, Jan 25, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 25, 2014
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  3. Journal entry: 1

    My name is David haidz. I live in the city and have enough credits to get by. I have a military contract so I'm allowed to leave the walls from time to time. I've seen the outside world....I still can't believe the world used to be full of live and advancing technology, and now we have reached what looks to be the end of everything.

    The WHO is said to be working on the cure, but at this point would it really matter. The world has gone to shit and those who are left spend their days scavenging around for the bare minimal means to survive. There are also rumors that WHO is planning to harness the virus that ended our world. But what is there left to destroy? Anyway neither of those can be 100% proven but I have seen them taking humans into their facilities, seemingly against their will.

    I've been stockpiling weapons and ammo in a small town, doesn't look like anyone else has verbs here yet. Even if they have, they wouldn't find anything. As for now, I'm training in the protection of our gaurded city, but I don't know how gaurded it'll be for long

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    David ran through the trees jumping from one branch to the next. He had spent years training and becoming more agile than he had ever been. His rifle strapped to his back and combat knife on his his hip; his usual weapon selections.

    He jumped to a branch then stopped dead in his tracks, he saw a boy who looked to be around the same age as him coming out of a farmhouse. He looked further west and saw what looked like a girl running with a wolf. Now that's something you don't see every day
     
  4. The sky had turned into a depressing shade of yellow by the time he had woken up from his nap. He yawned as he felt for his weapons, taking comfort in the feel of the sheathed kitchen knife hanging from his belt and the weight of the sniper rifle lying across his lap. The branch he was on was sturdy, wide enough to accommodate his frame with more than enough room for the sack of supplies he had amassed while traipsing across the wastes. It was also pretty high off the ground, which meant it was safer than the more comfortable pile of leaves that was right underneath him. He always used a harness to secure him in place whenever he rested on tree branches. It would be such a tragedy to survive this long only to meet his end from falling over in his sleep.

    Grabbing the pickaxe he had pried off from the fingers of a dead stranger — a very useful find — he made his way down the tree, the sack on his back feeling like a ton of bricks. His muscles felt like lead and the hunger in his belly gnawed at him. It had been two days since he had eaten a full meal, surviving mostly on the wild berries that grew in the ruined landscape. Nature had been quick to stake her claim, the once sprawling metropolises were now covered in vines and moss, while the rest lay in ruins, a grave reminder of man's propensity toward destruction.

    Slinging the sack over his shoulder, he made his way out of the woods, wondering how far away he was from the next town. He had a few useful things to trade and was looking forward to a hot bowl of soup. A nice bowl of ramen and a tender, juicy steak, he thought, allowing himself a few moments to fantasize about how things used to be. He remembered something he had watched in a movie - back when the world had movie theaters, and weekends were spent in malls and parks. The last thing he had watched had been an apocalyptic film of zombies. The world had pretty much been obsessed with a zombie apocalypse right before the zombie apocalypse. What a cruel joke.

    Of course these things weren't zombies. They were still alive, after all — if that could even be called living.

    Pausing for a break, he brushed the sweat off his eyebrows. His hair stuck to his face and and he mentally made a note to cut it as soon as he reached the next town. The heat was sweltering now and he prayed that night come quickly.

    As he walked further, a building came into view. It looked to be some sort of shack — he couldn't tell from this distance. He wanted for it to be empty so he could rest in its shade. Turning in a circle, he located a tree - high enough for him to scout the area before making his presence known. He headed in that direction just as a loud crack rang in the air. The sound was far enough, but it made him tense nonetheless.

    Someone was shooting.
     
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  5. Two hours later Emma was sitting in front of a fire, in her cabin, with her legs pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her knees as she let herself get lost in the flames staring at them. Max sat pressed up against her, almost curled up. Flashes filled her head, ones she didn't care to remember.

    Her father dragging her along the road. Vehicles on the highway with people in them. Her father didn't think they had time to get out. He had waited for this day to happen for too long. And it had finally happened.
    "Em, we gotta get to higher ground and away from these people. Now." His hand gripping hers tightened as he pulled her along.
    "Daddy maybe we should go back to grans house and stay there." Her small voice low in the chaos around them.
    "No. We have to run. Run, Em." He said, dragging her up a grassy hill.
    Her little legs hurt and she wanted to stop. But he had made her run and work out a lot all the time. It was late and she was tired. Bad thoughts of him crossed her mind.

    Emma heard a noise, which snapped her out of her memory of when she'd been nine years old. Her head jerk up and tilted to the side as she listened for the sound to come again. She glanced at Max and noticed his ears up, indicating he heard it too. A second later another soft tap. Her feet aches in protest as her instincts kick in and she stands. Watching Max, she stood still and stayed quiet. His hackles raise and he makes no sound. A survival instinct he picked up. He never announces himself with a bark or growl like a dog does. Instead, slinking into the shadows to wait for his prey to make a move.

    Slowly, he creeps to the old cabin's door. Emma picked up her rifle with the scope and silencer that she had stolen off a military guy that she had killed. Then, creeps along low, like Max. They sat waiting for any more noises or movement. If anything is here, it followed the smoke from her fire. It was a stupid mistake to risk, making a fire in the first place. But she had anyway. Now, she has to deal with the consequences her actions had caused. Her fingers grip the rifle as she sit listening, waiting for the next sound. Suddenly, she hears it. A sound.

    The sound at the door is worse than anything she has ever heard. It was worse than hearing women being dragged into trucks as their children cried on the side of the road, abandoned. Worse than the listening husks attcking people. And even worse than the sound clothing makes as greedy fingers rip and tear it.

    It's a knock.
    A soft, simple, even frighten knock. As if the person is scared but has no choice but to knock.

    That pathetic little knock was the most frightening thing Emma ever encounter. It might as well have been one of those husks clawing at the door. It didn't matter. She'd been found. It hurt her stomach like before she found the cabin.

    She looked at Max, seeing he seemed just as confused as her at the knock at the cabin door. The cabin where she found him outside crying, scared of everything like her. The cabin they hide in and hoped to be left alone and not found. For years they had went wihout being found. Until now.

    She stood, frozen to the spot with her hands trembling. They had been found. As Max silently slipped into the dark closet, she breathed slowly as she slided against the door. She watches his yellow eyes. It relaxed her with the way they wait, focussed and calm. Nodding once, he crouches lower, getting ready.

    She put one hand on the door knob as she positioned her gun. With her finger on the trigger, she forced her hand not to shake as she placed a foot behind the door, to keep whoever it was from kicking the door in. Then, she silently opened the door a crack.

    Through the tiny crack she could barely make out two eyes of a teenager, no younger than a couple years than her.
     
    #5 moon, Jan 28, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 28, 2014
    • Like Like x 1
  6. David sat perched on a high branch listening out against the silence for any signs of anyone being near him, but the loud unmistakable crack of a gun shot rang through the air making him tense. The sound wasn't close which gave him some comfort but not much.

    After hearing the shot he heard something else that made him pull his rifle off of his back and silently put a bullet in the chamber. There were footsteps beneath him. He looked around for the source then he saw it. A man moving toward the tree. David knew he was invisible at the moment but once this person started climbing he would be spotted.

    David took aim with his rifle, his crosshairs pointed right where the man's heart would be. He could take the shot and kill him now, he didn't know this guy and he couldn't trust that the man wouldn't try and kill him. Fuck it, David would give him a fair chance to live or die depending on his actions. "Hello there" said David letting the man see where he was "you don't attack me and I won't kill you" David kept his sights on the man's heart and his finger on the trigger.
     
  7. Shit. Shit.

    He froze as he heard the voice, and just moments later, saw someone emerge from the tree he had been planning to climb.

    Everyone's taking to the trees.

    He looked up at the figure, saw the rifle aimed at him. The bullet would find his heart faster than he could throw his knife. He chuckled at that thought as he held up one hand while the other held fast to his sack of supplies, as if to make sure it didn't get stolen. Not that it would do him any good if the man pulled the trigger. The world's gone to hell and we're still killing each other.

    "Just seeking shelter," he said. "Was gonna take that tree, but you beat me to it."

    He stood still. The ball was in the other man's court.

    Ah, a ball. I haven't played ball in years.

    He was pretty sure the stranger was younger. Probably just as old as he had been when the plague started. He may have more experience, but the wastes had a way of fucking with you. Out here, safety is an illusion. No matter how much firepower you had, or how skilled you were, there was always something, or someone that can get you.

    He waited and hoped that whoever was shooting was still far behind.
     
  8. David put his rifle on his back and held a hand out to help the man. "Sorry, just a little on edge lately. I'm running a little low on trust" he knew he was taking a risk but he didn't feel threatened. Besides, not everyone was out to kill him.

    "What's your name?" He asked looking down at the man. He looked slightly older than David. He helped the man up in the tree then looked around to make sure no one else was around whoever let off those shots were far, but they could be moving this way.

    "This whole world has gone to shit and it took us with it. Seems you can't go anywhere unarmed. If the husks don't kills us off, we'll end up killing each other "
     
    #8 xxDarkest_Assassinxx, Jan 28, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 28, 2014
  9. He watched the outstretched hand like it was the strangest thing in the world. His eyes focused on the bracelet wrapped around the man's wrist.

    City boy. Shit.

    He debated on whether he should take it or not, but ignoring the offer right now might prove to be unwise. If there was anything he had learned, it was that there's safety in numbers. Allies were scarcer than good equipment, and loyalty...

    The rifle was no longer aimed at him. He had the advantage now.

    That's just stupid, kid. There's so much you need to learn.

    It took him only a moment to decide. There was no point in killing this kid. And he had been traveling alone for so long. He craved human company. It would be good for his sanity.

    "Ben," he said, the name sounding foreign to his ears. He grabbed the offered hand and clasped it. "What's yours?"
     
    #9 Xan, Jan 28, 2014
    Last edited: Jan 28, 2014
  10. "David" he said looking down at Ben. He had his opposite hand out of Ben's view, tightly wrapped around his knife. If Bed had done anything that even looked hostile, David planned to drop onto him plunging the knife into his chest. He had done it before and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

    He didn't trust Ben but he knee that their chances were greater if they worked together. It was a roll of the dice. "I saw a few people over near the farmhouse. One inside one outside, they don't look hostile but then again you never know." David aimed his rifle toward the farmhouse looking through his scope. He saw a man standing outside the door. David had a hard time processing what he did next. He just...knocked....as if he were visiting a friend on the weekend. This guys was either really bold or really stupid. Probably both, though David could say the same for himself
     
  11. He propped himself up on the tree. The branch was narrower than the one he had been napping on earlier. His supplies — though necessary for survival — were a hindrance at times. There was nowhere to lay the sack down; he had to bear the weight of it on his back.

    Resting his palm on the trunk of the tree for support, he looked over at the structure that had piqued his curiosity. A cabin, huh? He glanced at the kid — at David. He was probably as wary as he was and yet he had offered to share his space. Brave. He didn’t know if he’d do the same. He hated to think that he wouldn’t. Pushing down the sudden antipathy he felt, he focused on his surroundings and mentally did a run through of the situation.

    He was stuck up a tree with a city boy who was armed.
    There was a cabin up ahead. With people. Possibly non-hostiles.
    Someone was shooting.

    More than anything, it was the shooting that kept him on edge. The people by the cabin posed no immediate threat, and while David may still prove to be dangerous, he was right here with him. Close quarters lessened the element of surprise.

    It was why he preferred to keep the trees. Visibility left you at a disadvantage and roaming out in the open meant you could be hit by a sniper’s bullet anytime. The trees, however, offered nothing else but a modicum of security. Tools didn’t grow on trees, and — with the exception of a few fruit bearing ones — they offered little sustenance. An outsider had to brave the wastes to survive.

    “Any other signs of life out here?” he asked. “Other than the ones over there, I mean,” he gestured toward the cabin. Perhaps David had a companion and the person was shooting. He frowned. He hadn’t come across any wild animals and that was troublesome. Ammo was hard to come by; people didn’t just go around shooting aimlessly. Out here, there were three reasons to shoot.

    To kill husks.
    To slay animals.
    To hunt people.
     
    #11 Xan, Jan 28, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 2, 2014
  12. David felt very anxious having Ben behind him while he was looking at the farmhouse. That's how you got shot or stabbed from behind. This world had taken a mental toll on him. In his eyes, if you weren't helping then you were an enemy and you deserved to die. Before the world ended, he couldn't have imagined killing anything. But now, he had killed people and husks without hesitation. There was those who fought to survive and there are the dead. David sure as hell wasn't ready to die.

    He lowered his rifle and turned back to Ben. "Not that I've seen, but I don't doubt that there may be others hidden out somewhere" he quickly began to climb up to the highest possible point of the tree. He scanned the surrounding area with his rifle. Once he was satisfied with the knowledge that no one was here yet, he went back to Ben. "There's no one around, I think it's safe enough to move".

    He dropped down from the tree with his rifle ready. He looked around once again. "Should we check out the farm house or move on?" He asked waiting for Ben
     
  13. He glanced back at where came from, still concerned about the shot he heard. It would probably be best to move forward. The two of them had the upper hand at the moment since they had the cabin in their sight. He lifted his own rifle and looked through the scope, keeping David in his peripheral vision. He wondered what a city boy was doing outside in the wastes. Weren't the cities comfortable enough? They had food and water. They didn't have to live like beasts.

    He frowned as he peered through the scope once more. The figure outside...

    “Is he just…knocking?” he said in disbelief.

    Fucking idiot!

    The figure wasn’t even on his guard. Who stands outside the door like a pizza delivery guy waiting for payment?
     
    #13 Xan, Jan 28, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 2, 2014
  14. David moved next to Ben looking at the figure through his scope. He thought about how easily he could drop the person standing at the door. No...that wouldn't be right, the person wasn't doing anything that called for David to kill him. But it was pretty stupid of him to just stand there off guard. Not everyone still had a conscience.

    David's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the loud crack of gun fire....closer this time, less than a mile out. David looked around with his rifle but didn't find anyone. "Come on lets get the hell out of here." He said as he began moving toward the farmhouse, his rifle scanning his surrounding and his finger on the trigger. He kept Ben in his peripheral vision. He didn't want to catch a bullet or knife in his back.

    "This kid is going to get himself killed" he said to Ben as he trained his rifle in the direction of the figure. This kid must be out of his mind, this wasn't a fucking vacation. This was the apocalypse.
     
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  15. Bruce Dalton
    Outskirts of Rhodesville

    "Eh... The business has been bad lately" Bruce thought as the wrist of his right hand turned turned the accelerator to full throttle while he rode his motor cart passing through the outskirts of Rhodesville Town. With his brown eyes firmly on the street he could not forget the destruction caused in that village. As promised to the priest of the last village one week earlier, Bruce had visited this village today. He was carrying along with other few things 300 rounds of M39 Enhanced Marksman Rifle for the residents security group. Call it cruelty of fate, when he had reached the village was empty and dead. The doors of the shacks were broken, thatches burnt, crude gardens and lawns mauled and crumpled as if by some demonic force. Following the stench of rotten flesh blood he soon reached to the village market where the dead bodies of villagers , men, women and children alike were left to dry under the sun. "Damn bandits... What a waste", he had heard himself uttering. He had not been much of a fan of God in the last couple of years. Putting an entire population of 30 villagers was hard work even Bruce Dalton. He chose rather to recite a few Buddhist hymns in honor of the dead before riding to Rhodesville.
    "Now you are dead, you have left your body and entered the bardo of death. You cannot return; do not attempt to go back; go forward. Today such and such will happen. There will be appearances, vivid lights, sounds. Do not fear. They cannot harm you. They are projections of your mind. See them for what they are and go towards the bright light. Merge with the bright light; it is your enlightened mind".

    Life in this wretched world was not easy as a scavenger specially if one had an option to stay behind the safety of the guard walls of cities controlled by WHO. However for a person like Bruce, city life was easy and boring. Also for a man like Bruce who had lost his friends and family in the plague, there was not much left in the city to care about. This made him the correct person for the job.

    In the last 3 years as a scavenger, Bruce sure has made his market with loyal customers. Loyal being just a relative term as words like loyalty and friendship didn't mean much. He dealt in best of the liquors, arms, ammunition, books and other odd items required for leading a luxurious life. There were plenty of other scavengers doing business but none were like Bruce. Scavengers who were envious of him often claimed behind his back that he was a military smuggler because no one else could ever acquire the goods that Bruce used to sell. However Bruce never used to give much thought to these rumors or accusations. After all, his business was booming and his time was too precious to waste on such low lives.​
     
    literati threw 6-faced die for: Total: 1 $dice
    #15 literati, Jan 31, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 1, 2014
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  16. Jackson

    The town of Jackson, located roughly 19 miles northwest of Rhodesville, was founded early on by a group of survivors led by a man named Stanley Jackson. Named in Stanley's honor following his tragic death during the first stint occupying the spot that would one day expand to become a relative boomtown, Jackson serves as the areas largest rest stop, trading hub and watering hole. With two manually powered water spigots, two corresponding fields for local crop production, a large, full service market, a saloon, leasable land and land up for sale, Jackson has seen an ever increasing growth in all sectors since it's establishment nearly 8 years ago, with no indication of slowing down. The towns population is currently 163, though numbers fluctuate often due to temporary renters, with the number of people dwelling on property of their own and in permanent structures sitting much lower.

    While it is true that Jackson has its own source of food and water, that alone has never been enough to sustain it; the town, since it's early days, has forged a strong symbiosis with the surrounding communities and regular traders of the area, exporting and importing goods in large quantities and in a relatively organized fashion.

    Though there is, as of yet, no formal government in Jackson, one man, Matt Phelan, took the reigns from Stanley Jackson upon his death and has yet to let them go. He set up shop in the only preexisting structure, a farmhouse, quickly turning it into a whorehouse, bar and gambling den, creating the most lucrative and well known business for over 40 miles. Phelan decided early on that, to ensure the survival of his town, he would create a hub for trade so invaluable, so well set up, such a monopoly that anyone attempting to attack or destroy the town would be essentially shooting themselves in the foot, excluding themselves from the best hope of survival, even comfort, for miles and miles in all directions.

    Phelan of course knew of the Who from the get go, with the Rebels cropping up shortly after. He had hoped they would both just fall away; perhaps the Who would simply run out of funds and/or initiative, like the rest of the worlds governmental entities had seemed to, or maybe they and the Rebels would simply take each other out. But now, after years of building and growth, and even with all its amazing triumphs over adversity, Jackson is but a speck on the map, while Who cities, and the organization in general, only continue to strengthen and expand. And though the rebels have never posed a direct threat to the town, the fact that they too are an ever growing force means the larger conflict is far from over.

    It would seem Matt's dream of running an operation free from outside governance may be in jeopardy; the town of Jackson, and particularly, Matt Phelan, is at a crossroads. As the Rebels are not in a position or of a disposition to overtly help Jackson, he can either directly side with the Who, perhaps seeking annexation, or, more boldly, seek political recognition as a sovereign state. Both are risky propositions, ones he had hoped to be able to negotiate with more leverage, but time is running out.
    Jackson.png
     
    #16 GonzoB., Jan 31, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 2, 2014
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  17. Joe Malcolm
    Unknown Area

    With a look around, eyes could see far and wide expanses of hills and drylands, gritty fields worthless for agriculture or any sort of life. Beyond the few occasional tufts of weeds that persistently stuck out of the earth, most anything could easily die here with a lack of water that hung in the environment like the Reaper upon your shoulder. Arid, festering winds whipped at Joe's face, the man squinting the whole time with a face contorted in grimacing protest. Traces of rotted blood and flesh occasionally assaulted the senses as a grim reminder of the husks that patrolled and dotted this wasteland with promises of death and decay.

    Really, no other setting for the apocalypse could be more fitting than this one, Joe lamented for the hundredth time. He just wished he didn't have to live with it constantly. Eight years was a bloody long time to have an apocalypse, and you never really got accustomed to it. Sure, one could deal with the circumstances, even try and get used to it as he did, but the whole thing just felt (and smelled) unnatural. In hindsight, that's probably why a lot of people feared an apocalypse in which they would still be alive in. Still, one would've thought that, considering the day and age prior, everyone could have just picked up the pieces and started right back up where they left off.

    But either they didn't, or they did on a different goddamn continent. Any form of civilization that still remained in this day and age was about the equivalent of an Old West boomtown. At least they still had gas; well, some of them did, most of the gas was just off of other cars along the many ruined freeways still left. Gas and bullets, that's all Joe needed, with the first for his old Harley-Davidson chopper and the other for his S&W Model 625; the crowbar didn't need ammo. Both old, beaten and on the verge of the end of their respective lives, despite how well Joe had worked to keep them up to par in this hell-on-earth.

    It was easier back when he actually had the rest of the Hell's Bells with him. God, how long had it been; almost 3 years since he had been with that chopper crew, and Joe was getting really, absolutely, undeniably lonesome. What did they used to say... misery loves company? Yeah, that sounded about right. With at least some of the crew they could put their heads together for some of the bigger problems on their bikes, but now he had none of that. No company, no jokes, no nights beside a fire with someone able to share old memories with.

    No real home, neither, nor family or treasures or mementos. Just him, a crowbar, a revolver, and a motorcycle. They might have been special, named before and treasured, but not right now. They were just things, inanimate objects that never returned your pleasantries, tools that eventually broke down and became useless. It was a damn shame.

    It was in that moment that against the vaguely muffled rattle and roar of the chopper's engines came a sputtering and grunting. A glance down at the 'cycle was filled with a depressed form of shock and concern, on mitigated slightly by the appearance of the fuel gauge at almost literally empty. No use running on fumes, Joe concluded glumly, and drifted down to 7 kph to pull off to the side of the cracked and battered freeway. Kicking up a flurry of arid dust as he shut down the motorcycle with a last puff of exhaust, popped out a kickstand and got off. His ears rung painfully with the absence of the chopper's huge growl long since deteriorating his hearing, his legs with stiff and his whole body still vibrating from the ride on the ferocious, ancient engine. All minor pains before, but now ultimately amplified in this lonely wasteland on the brink of absolute death and despair.

    The apocalypse sucks, Joe decided. Really, really sucks. "Well, ain't this a long road to hoe," the biker said to nobody really in particular, having decided he was getting a bit more socially insane that normal, "Looks like we're hoofing it from here."
     
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  18. With the Model 625 in a pocket and the crowbar sung inside the back of his leather vest (torn from a jacket), Joe was about to act upon his earlier statement. Whacking his head to get the sound of his motorcycle out of his ears, he rescinded his actions when he realized the noise was getting louder, in fact. It was even a different brand of motorcycle, he could barely tell; every cycle just had it's own type of motor noise. Looking back down the road he came from, Joe tried to discern where the vehicle was and who might be riding it.

    Eventually the noise roared into view, revealing itself to, indeed, be another man on a motorcycle. As the other character drew closer, he turned to glance at Joe's situation before drawing over to the side of the road, where Joe's own cycle was. The other rider seemed to be a bit tall and scrawny, about a couple of inches taller than Joe happened to be. Blond hair topped the rider's head, some strands of it drooping over gray-rimmed oval glasses. A coach gun seemed to be slung onto the back of his belt, with a partially sawed off at the muzzle. The man, on closer inspection, looked relatively young for what he was doing, almost no older than 20.

    That was no reason to be off guard, however, given that he did still have the shotgun and the functioning bike. The other person was a stark contrast to Joe as a whole, given the biker's own 30-ish year old looks with a thick goatee and sideburns, but a bald scalp. The tattered jeans and heavily-stained white shirt under the leather jacket ripped into a sleeveless vest did well to illustrate Joe's involvement in a biker gang, even if it was largely dead or worse at this point.

    "You want something, boy-o?" Joe inquired in a gravelly voice. One hand waved to dismiss the rising mist of dust rearing from the other biker's brakes on the dirt. The other hand lay at his side to grip at the revolver still loaded there, prepared to draw at a sign of hostility.
     
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  19. Bruce Dalton
    Rhodesville Township

    Bruce was visiting this town for one his of extra-ordinary businesses. Bruce had made up his mind to dig up some information about the recent disappearance of people. Word was out in the streets that WHO was behind disappearance of people, however no one really knew the truth. Parking his cart near the shabby structure roughly located near the middle of the township, he walked towards the door of the only bar in the town. "Wild West", he uttered the name as his eyes gazed at the worn out board hanging diagonally on the wall over the entrance. Placing his right palm on the old wooden door that has seen better days, he pushed it inside making his way to the diny place.

    Most of the tables were empty at that hour. On one of the rickety old circular table on the extreme right, there was an old frail guy with locks of matted long hair siitting with a bottle of cheap country liquor.On the other side there was a group of 5 mean looking young men of average built lauging over mugs of beer. In his front was the serving table with a bulky bald man tending to the customers. His entrance made the young men's head turn clearing turning their loud laughter into hushy whispers. Clearly his presence was not being liked by some of them. But Bruce decided not to give much thought to that. Distrust towards outsiders was a the law of the land.

    Bruce walked straight to the serving table, with the rickety wooden placks under his dusty ranger shoes groaning while bearing his weight and made him self comfortable on an wooden tool opposite to the bartender.

    "One glass of water, please..." he looked at the bald man.
     
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  20. Jackob Evans
    1 mile from Jackson



    You never really appreciate something till it's gone. As a kid his father had always said that to Jakob. He still remembered the sound of his voice, stern and rough, the voice of a hard man. As a teen Jakob had clashed with his father more times than he could remember. His father had been a hardcore survivalist and as a young boy he had gone with his father nearly every weekend into the deep woods. The harsh lessons his father would give him, and when he failed them he'd been punished with no food or only a thin blanket. But now, now he wished he had learned more.

    He had been 17 when it started, still just a kid. A kid who thought he was tough, a kid who thought that he was all grown up and could take of himself. Truth be told if he could go back into the past he'd probably punch his younger self out right then and there. The first year had been tough, but his dad pulled him through it. He was always there whenever Jakob got into some sort of trouble. Not anymore though. His father had died soon after the first year was up, and from then on he'd had to take care of himself.

    He was a solitary sight, about 5"11 tall with short brown hair blue eyes and a scraggly beard. Jakob walked silently with a duffel bag strapped across his back, machete at his waist. Of course he had more weapons than that, always be prepared another of his father's lessons. A small hunting knife in his boot and a serrated knife hidden in his bag also helped him feel a bit more comfortable. Of course he had a Glock-17 holstered in a chest holster underneath his brown worn jacket as well as a good 8 spare clips 17 rounds in each magazine stuffed in the duffel bag. He disliked guns in general but Jakob understood it was necessary. He had even developed the habit of cleaning every night before going to sleep. Weapons weren't the only thing he was carrying, he also had a supply of food water and some blankets to ward of the night cold. Other than that he had other basic survival gear such as flint and steel as well as some small collapsible cooking dishes.

    Snapping himself back to the present he swore under his breath. 'Dammit Jakob' he chided himself 'you know better than to daydream while traveling down a road'. He had been trekking through the wilderness when he had chanced upon the road. He had followed it for a bit until he had seen a sign.

    It was green and had once had a street name or highway exit printed on it but now it had the words JACKSON 1 MILE scrawled on it. "A town maybe? Could be dangerous...' he speculated for a moment 'It may be a trap by some gang or other group... might as well check it out'. Moving off to the side so that he was no longer on the road Jakob continued on. If it appeared to be dangerous he could always avoid it, and if it were a town with decent people some human company would be nice.
     
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