Alright, I've cleaned up your sheets and given you all basic inventory items.
Any objections, speak now or forever hold your pieces.
Type: Hunter
Brains 1
Body 0
Guts -1
Grit 2
Wielding: Varmint Rifle (Two hands, loud, ignores protection, 2 damage, 3 load)
~"Pick up a rifle and you change instantly from a subject to a citizen."
Everett's trusty 22. rifle! Good for shooting anything vaguely edible and rodent-like flying or crawling in his general area at the time. Wished he had something a bit stronger against the rotters, but it'll do in a squeeze.
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
~"A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child."
An old surplus Military jacket. Doesn't smell too bad, and awesome pockets.
Inventory
Large Knife (Small, Ignores Protection, 2 Damage, 1 load)
~"A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen."
A classic bowie blade, Everett carries it for all situations and all needs. It rarely leaves his side.
Dufflebag (1 load, gives +10 load points)
~"If I'm traveling, I'll pack socks in my bag-really cute furry ones."
Carries Everetts collection of essential supplies-ammuntion, food, water, hunting equipment and a few issues of Jugs & Guns he couldn't bear to part with.
=Summary=
Hunting Rifle (Wielded)
Heavy Jacket (Worn)
Large Knife
2xSupplies
Dufflebag
Load 8/18
Signature Move
-Hunter: +1 to rolling for Hunt&Forage
Optional Move(s)
-Track: In a natural or wilderness environment you can track a quarry aslong as there as there is a discernible trail
Advanced Move(s)
Background
Everett was one of those generic live-in-the-woods dudes you see in books or movies. You know, lives in a shack in the woods, doesn't like company too much, may or may not be a cannibal/love books/plot to overthrow the government/etcetra etcetra.
Look
Everett is about 5'6", has pale skin, and has much of his semi-visible skin covered in thick dark hair. He mostly wears boots, blue jeans or cargo pants, and a old military surplus jacket. Hey, pockets are good.
XP
Type: Runner
Brains 0
Body +2
Guts +1
Grit -1
Wielding: Golf Club (Light, Close, 3 damage, 3 Load)
~"Do your best, one shot at a time and then move on. Remember that golf is just a game."
Bernice found that her wrist flick technique has quite in handy when making chip shots off Rotter heads.
Wearing: Clothing
~"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."
Polo shirts, pedal pushers and sneakers were officially in fashion when the apocalypse hit. Which means they are now in fashion FOREVER.
Inventory:
Flashlight (Small, 1 load)
~"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."
Bernice isn't afraid of the dark-she's afraid of what's in it. I'm sure that was a movie tagline.
=Summary=
~Golf Club (Wielded)
~Flashlight
~3xSupplies
6/10 Load
Signature Move
-Quick- +1 to Body when making a run for it.
Optional Move(s)
-Stick With Me: If you roll a +12 when you run for it, you can bring along another survivor with you, and they do not need to make a roll for themselves.
Advanced Move(s)
Background
Growing up in Pontiac, Michigan, Bernice spent most of her early childhood in poverty. However, throughout all of this, there was one thing that kept her dreaming for more. Tennis. Bernice always wanted to become the next Serena or Venus Williams, and throughout elementary middle, and high school, that never changed. Eventually, Bernice received a tennis scholarship to Spelman College, but during the freshman orientation, the zombie apocalypse hit.
Look:
Bernice is an African-American woman, who stands at about 5'6. While not fat, she still carries some baby fat in her thighs, and hips. She has her hair in a curly ponytail, and she usually wears polo shirts, denim pedal pushers, and sneakers.
XP
Survivor Type: Shooter
Look: A youthful-looking man, even with the rough stubble covering his face. His hair and eyes are light brown, as is the aforementioned stubble. He wears a slightly-too large bomber jacket, often leaving it unzipped when it is warm out revealing a bright American-flag bandanna tied around his neck with his name "Holiday" written straight up. Under that is a simple white shirt. He wears a pair of cargo pants, held up by a police-issue gunbelt.
11/11 Fleshwounds remaining
Status: Healthy
Experience: 0
Stats:
Brains +1
Body -1
Grit +2
Guts +0
Moves
1. Shooter
2. Head Shot
Wielding: Pistol (Small, Near, Loud, Automatic, Ignores Protection, 2 damage, 1 load)
~"I have a very strict gun control policy: if there's a gun around, I want to be in control of it."
A dependable Glock 22, standard police issue, Luke has been carrying this ever since his academy days-reliable in all situations, dependable, and deadly-the stopping power of a 45. round in a versatile 9mm package.
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
~"A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child."
A slightly-too large bomber jacket, with a bright American-flag bandanna tied around his neck with his name "Holiday" written straight up. Under that is a simple white shirt. He wears a pair of cargo pants, held up by a police-issue gunbelt.
Inventory:
Small Knife (Small, Hand, Ignores Protection, 1 damage, 1 load)
~"I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I do know how to count."
This little flick blade is better for opening tin-cans than attacking anything, but a survivor uses whatever is at hand. And Luke is most certainly a survivor.
=Summary=
~Pistol (Wielded)
~Heavy Jacket (Worn)
~Small Knife
~1xSupplies
4/7 Load
(Super-duper long) Bio: Luke had always wanted to become a Law Officer, following in his father and older brother's footsteps. Even from a young age, he had always dreamed of joining a SWAT team in particular. He wasn't as athletic as the rest of his family, but made up for it with sheer determination, intelligence, and pragmatism. Luke could always be found going to the range with his family, reading books, or generally studying dutifully. He graduated high school and entered the academy with no problem, and was well on the road to spreading Law and Order to the world.
Then his dream was stolen from him. He was nearly finished with the academy when society broke down. Knowing there was nothing he could do without help or authority, he quickly made his way to his brother. Together, they formed a group dedicated to protecting and serving whatever sane remnants of society there was, along with his brother's buddies. A decent sized group of experienced police officers was quite capable of taking care of itself for some time. This is when Luke finally put all his skills to good use. He was proficient enough with the available weapons to take down Rotters with little trouble, especially with his brother and other allies by his side. It was his idea to wear "Dog Tags", bananas identifying the wearer at a distance, so they can be picked out from the mass of bodies assaulting the compound if it came down to it. Seeing as he and his brother shared the same last name, he volunteered to wear his upside-down, so they could tell each other apart.
Then one routine day, even this was stolen from him. They weren't expecting anything big that day, and had just gotten a group of new (starving) survivors. Most of the experienced officers where off collecting supplies for them, most where in rags and were almost unarmed on top of having empty stomachs. Luke and his brother were left to hold the fort while they were gone. They always made a great team, and Luke took the duty of helping the new survivors adjust to the situation while explaining their new jobs and duties to them. His brother watched the gate. While Luke was performing a demonstration on firearms safety, he heard gunshots coming from outside. This was nothing odd, of course, so he continued as if nothing had happened. But they became more and more frequent, to the point it sounded like a war was being fought outside the door. Luke got worried, said something hollow to calm down the survivors, and began rushing to the gate with a rifle at the ready. It was too late. He heard his brother give off an uncharacteristic scream of terror. By the time he got there, his brother was gone. The gate had been breached, there was no time to even look for his dog-tag. Luke did what he could to buy time and rushed back to the survivors.
Hardening his heart, he determined that his brother's fighting had attracted a horde. Perhaps his group simply grew too large, perhaps they left too many scents and tracks, perhaps they where just unlucky, but this horde had to have been gathering itself for some time. Luke blamed himself, deciding that it had been one of his own policies or plans that had inadvertently gathered so many in once place. Inadvertently killing his brother, destroying his home, and maybe even killing him and everything he cares about. Even if they had just switched positions, maybe things would be different.
Once back with the survivors, he immediately barked orders. He separated them into small groups, based on friend and family considerations along with what was most likely to survive. He quickly rationed out the supplies and gave the evacuation order, telling them to go to separate destinations to avoid making themselves large targets. Finally, he ordered one of the survivors who has been here since the beginning to set fire to the building. This was determined as a per-planed signal, easy to see and understand from any part of the city: The base is overrun. Evacuate.
After giving off orders as fast as he possibly could, Luke prepared for his job. Distraction. They where coming, but he could hold them off for some time. He prepared a boom-box with some rotting meat, running back out toward the gate to use himself as Rotter bait. This way, he could avenge his brother while atoning for this whole mess. He set up in a relatively safe position, counting on the traps to stall them long enough to give him time for at least this, and blasted the music. He fired off the verity of weapons he had brought, further attracting the horde to himself. He started stalling-somehow managing over ten minutes- when he started running out of ammunition and batteries. Knowing he couldn't hold them off-or put a dent in them-with melee weaponry, he decided to run using a per-planned escape route, attracting as many Rotters with him as he could. Carefully, he fled the city with his walking-dead entourage. He had never expected to survive being the distraction, and is still mystified as to how he did it. Perhaps all his good luck finally caught up with him. He found himself running further and faster than he could before (chocking it up to having a horde chasing him), and eventually lost them in the countryside.
Briefly, he looks down at his dog-tag, thinking about burning it like the building. Instead, he chose to honor the brother who gave his life serving others, and the memory of the group, by keeping it. He turned it right side up, like his brother always had it, and began walking in a random direction, simply wandering and surviving since then....
Survivor Type: The Hero
Look: Standing at 6 foot 6 Max has an attention getting look, with a beard that would impress a dwarf and plenty of muscle to back it up.
16/16 Fleshwounds remaining
Status: Healthy
Experience: 0
Stats:
Brains -1
Body 0
Guts +2
Grit +1
Moves
1. Hero: Adds his guts +1 to Save the day rolls.
2. Inspiring: When rolling 12+ on a basic move he chooses an ally in sight, they take +1 forward.
Wielding: Axe (Two hands, close, armor piercing, 3 damage, 3 load)
~"I knew there was an old axe down cellar; that is all I knew"
A weapon for a true American Hero, Max Power cuts down zombies like Washington cut down the Mango Tree, during the Panamanian-American war.
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
~"A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child."
An iconic leather jacket with a bitchin' American eagle on the back. Hopefully that Zombie biker he put to rest to claim it. is still riding free in Heaven.
Inventory
Short Sword (Light, close, ignores protection, 3 damage, 2 load)
~"A sword never killed anybody; it is a tool in the killer's hand."
What the Hell do they call this in Japan? A Tango? A Tantan? Whatever. It's sort a really big knife that he knows the samurai (Those are like Knights from Japan) use. When Captain America here has to cut some throats all quiet like, he uses this. It's really quite lethal at close range.
=Summary=
~Axe (wielded)
~Heavy Jacket (Worn)
~Short Sword
=
6/12 Load[/i]
Bio: He's fiercely patriotic and the zombie apocalypse only made him more so, getting incredibly angry when others show behavior that is, by the definition he himself admits is wrong, Commie like, such as robbery, torture, and cutting people off in traffic. That said he's willing to forgive it if the person has been forced to do so through circumstances beyond their control. He's actually a very pleasant person even if he sometimes sounds a bit like Liberty Prime in human form. (He's a bit of a loon from trauma suffered before the apocalypse when he was in the military, but he means well.)
Survivor Type: The Lifesaver
Look: A shorter girl of about 5’4”, with short black hair that goes partially over one eye. She wears thin glasses with black rims. She has the sort of face that one can’t help but see as kind. She seems to be about 19.
Experience: 0
Stats:
Brains: +2
Body: +1
Guts: 0
Grit: -1
Moves
1. Lifesaver
2. Resuscitate
3.
Wielding: Steel Pipe (Two hands, Close, Ignores Protection, 3 damage, 3 load)
~"An excellent man, like precious metal, is in every way invariable; A villain, like the beams of a balance, is always varying, upwards and downwards."
A brutish and ugly weapon in Claire's young hands, she feels faintly ridiculous whenever she has to brandish it-like she's an actress low budget horror movie, probably the one who gets eaten first. Still, she knows how to use it.
Wearing: Clothing
~"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."
Claire's trendy sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt are nearly about to fall off her body-these may have cost her mother a few hundred bucks at La Prem, but they're not very useful in the afterworld she has found herself in. She wishes she had something a bit tougher to wear.
Inventory
3xMorphine (Heals 3 fleshwounds, 0 Load)
~"People fear death, even more than pain. It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend."
Precious supplies in these times-Claire knew exactly where to find them in the hospital she and her uncle looted. Carried in several syringes, they can help her treat wounds or perform surgery if she has to. She knows they are also very useful in trading with other survivors of a certain addictive bent-a good amount of people could do with some pain relief, and not exactly the medical kind.
=Summary=
~Lead Pipe (wielded)
~3xMorphine
~3xSupplies
=
5/9 Load[/i]
Bio: Claire is the archetypical nerd. Intelligent, likes reading, low social skills, and shy. Her mother is a doctor, so it's no surprise she's been aspiring to the same. She had recently gained entry to a very good college. It was just a week before the start of college that the end began. She had been visiting her uncle- her mom's brother-, Everett Owen. With him living in the middle of the woods, it wasn't until they returned to civilization that they knew the dead were walking.
Claire is not one would call prepared for the apocalypse. Frankly, she'd have died long ago if it wasn't for her uncle. She barely knows how to use a gun, and isn't particularly inclined to do so, and she isn't really brave. But she knows how to help people. She'd been studying medicine before she actually got into med school, mostly with her dad, and she knows how to apply it.
Type: Scout
Brains: 2
Body: 0
Guts: -1
Grit: 1
Fleshwounds: 10 (9+1)
Infection: 3
Fear: 3
Wielding: Hatchet (Light, Close, Ignores Protection, 3 damage, 2 load)
~"Nobody ever forgets where he buried the hatchet."
Chuck found this axe in the same site as he did his TNT, and if the crowbar can't lever his way through he tends to chop it instead. It's also his go-to weapon when things go FUBAR, dependable and deadly-if a bit messy.
Wearing: Clothing
~"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."
Chuck's fading military fatigues provide little but protect for modesty and a somewhat poetical reminder of the forgotten pageantry of a long lost age. At least the boots are still good. No holes.
Inventory:
2xTNT Stick (Small, Blast, 4 damage, 1 load)
~"Wit is an explosion of the compound spirit."
Chuck looted these from the a construction site. Admittedly, he is somewhat nervous carrying them around, but if needed he has no doubt they could save his life if used wisely. At the very least, he doesn't have to let the Rotters take him alive...these are a civilian explosive, and not military grade-so the blast is fairly contained in a small area. These don't require matches or chemical ignition, just an electrical charge-Chuck rigged a wrist watch to the devices so he can activate them with ease.
Crowbar (Light, Close, 2 damage, 2 load)
~"Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world."
Chuck's best friend in these dark days, he took it from the twitching hands of a bandit who had been very close to killing and robbing him. The crowbar can get him into any place that doesn't want to be entered, and crush a human skull like a pop can-he has found it's a good weapon to use when he is going dark (i.e, sneaking about), because spilling blood and loud noises attracts Rotters.
Two-Way Radio (Light, 1 load)
~"Speak clearly, if you speak at all; carve every word before you let it fall.."
Chuck's old military radio is still serviceable, even if he only mostly gets lunatics and static these days. There's really not much difference in them..sometimes the silence in between is worse, though.
Backpack (1 load, gives +10 Load points)
~"You can't just carry everyone else's hopes and fears around in your backpack and expect to stand up straight."
Chuck's original surplus military tactical backpack, a godsend for carrying heavy loads over miles and miles. Much better than the plastic shopping bags most other people have to use.
=Summary=
~Hatchet (wielded)
~2xTNT
~Crowbar
~Two way radio
~4xSupplies
~Backpack
=
12/18 Load[/i]
Ties:
Signature Move: Scout - Roll Body (Brains?) +1 when sneaking.
Optional moves(s): Hide - Staying still and quiet while in the dark or behind cover, enemies don't notice you until you move.
Advanced move(s):
Background:
Chuck was an army private, out on a training exercise in the forest when the base got hit. The radio sputtered to life, a freaked sergeant shouting something about the dead overrunning the fences. They thought it was just some wise ass trying to get kicked out, but then new voices joined in. So many people screaming with fear, shooting at something. One or two times the voices were cut short, followed by low growling noises, then some wet crunches.
It finally hit them it was real when God Himself, Commander Kerroway, demanded backup. Nobody liked the fat ass, but he was the CO, so they packed up their gear and headed back to the base. Quick and quiet, just like they were taught.
When they got back, the base was gone. Oh it was still there, but the Rotters... they were eating their buddies. Little pockets of resistance still held out, the muzzle flash and staccato beat of machine gun fire drawing the dead like moths to a flame. There were too many of them, and Chuck said as much to their sergeant. He didn't like that. He was in charge, he said, then ordered Chuck to stay back at the edge of the forest, secure their escape route. He'd call when they needed Chuck to make some space for them. The moron was all about the chain-of-command, as though that would help them now.
Chuck was a good little soldier back then. He didn't like it, but he also didn't know that this was the beginning of the end... so he waited for them, spitting distance from the hole they made in the fence.
He waited some more, watching the Rotters mill about, the little drumbeats of gunfire becoming less frequent by the minute.
More waiting. It was getting dark. He clicked the radio a few times, not wanting to risk revealing his squad's position by talking. No reply.
He didn't know what to do from there. If the whole team got wiped out, what could he do on his own? So he stayed put. Waited there for two days, clicking the radio, and eventually asking them where they were. Silence.
After that, he knew there was nothing left for him there. He picked up his pack, and went back into the forest, trying to find a way to survive this nightmare...
Appearance:
Chuck is 5' 7", sporting dark, shaggy hair that sticks out all over the place, and a short beard he somehow manages to maintain after the apocalypse. He has dark eyes, chubby but weathered cheeks and a bulb-shaped nose.
He wears his tatty army uniform and boots, but has removed his rank insignia.
Edit: Remember to add Chucks radio!
Poll
7 (77.8%)
Author
Topic: The Reign of Rot (Zombie Apocalypse RPG=7/7 Players) Risen from the Dead (Read 16612 times)