The air is so much cleaner, now.
There aren't enough people left to dirty it up again. The great machines of society have stopped, the grand mechanisms of industry and economy coming to a shuddering halt. Nature is slowly inching back from the brink-even now, the great Whales are beginning to repopulate the seas...the Timber Wolves howl and prey once more in the hills of places once known as 'Wisconsin' and 'Minnesota'...the former United States is becoming the wild, dangerous, untamed place it was once, and perhaps always was-and now, it will be again. The Rotters don't care about animals. One of those odd things. They usually ignore them, though Rotter Animals are not unheard of...
This probably matters little to the subjects of our story-a small band of tempest tossed men and women who have survived, despite all that has been thrown against them until now. Most of them can't remember a time when they ever felt safe. There had always been the War. Tarrak vessels, shaped like the blades they were named for, streaking from the sky...sowing death and destruction...Tarraks Ground Troops-looking so much like us-dropping down in the millions...their massive war machines still little the world, like so many crushed metal insects...one wonders if the victory was worth the cost. Or if we truly did win, or merely enter another phase of the invasion...
...
It is a time for prayers...for the wanderers of the former United States of America, are following a star.
Chuck's radio, usually so silent these days, recently came to life as they sat around the campfire, swapping stories and enjoying their meager supplies. A desperate message has been repeating, over and over.
{...Pellie Island...come to Stone Beach...we have food, shelter...evacuation...to a safe place...we have...the cure...come to Stone Beach...via Gunman point...stay off the water...pirates...raiders...dead things in the water...come to Stone Beach...we are the DEQ, and we are here to help...}
The group huddles around a tattered county map, huddling in their shanty camp-sheltered under the still standing
East Point bridge.http://www-personal.umich.edu/~aleskiw/maps/images/PI2005.jpg ((OOC: You guys start in square 7B))
...three weeks of dangerous travel on foot, at best. Maybe for nothing...maybe for everything...
A can of beans is warmed over a tiny fire. A sewing needle tightens another pair of already worn boots. Decisions have to be made. Time is pressing.
...
Eleven people gather around a fire for the discussion. There was a few more the week before...and even more, the week before that...
It seems no matter where you go, you are being picked off one-by-one. The agreement is that a permanent shelter is needed-a place to secure, to fortify against the coming winter months. This place could be exactly what you are looking for...or merely the place where your journey ends.
...
The Old Man is the first to speak.
"...The Government leveled most of the bridges we've seen. Why are these still standing? Maybe this DEQ is a government agency...maybe, they left this place intact for a reason." He says, warming his hands by the fire, and snatching occasional looks at Claire-as if she might vanish into thin air if he looks away too long.
Millie merely laughs.
"Any, maybe they decided this place was a lost cause and saved their bombs for more useful targets. Like us. We know the government is just as afraid of the militias as the rotters...too bad the President got himself eaten, or I'd never vote for him again."The Fisherman merely grunts.
"Whatever we do we're doing." He mutters.
Carolin pipes up last, enthusiastic as ever.
"Strangely, I have to agree with Strong, here. We need to decide fast. We can't stay under this bridge forever-we're running out of food. I for one wonder why anyone would be dumb enough to broadcast their location to everyone like that...they must be more afraid of rotters than humans. While I can question the logic, it's the way things should be, right? We should pull together, rather than fighting one another for the scraps.""Said, oh, everybody from the beginning of time. People are mean-people were mean before, and no ones mood has been improved quite some time.""..also, Name is Trond, American girl..."Turay skulks at the edge of the firelight-a pathetic spectacle, one he no doubt does to invoke pity.
...
As usual, the conversation seems to leave gaps for the more hardened survivors-Everett the Hunter, Bernice the Runner, Luke the Shooter, Max the self proclaimed Hero, Claire the Lifesaver and Chuck the Scout-all semi mocking titles given by Millie, true, but all decisions generally center on them...
((Btw, it's perfectly fine to not take the opportunity. I can freeform another adventure easily.))
Name: Uncle Mcdouglas
Type: Companion
Bio: Just call him 'Doug', thanks-he's a retired cop, turned TV AD salesmen, turned retired salesman, turned post-apocalyptic survivor. He's an old man and weary-lost his own parents, wife, daughters and sons during the fall-but, is fiercely dedicated to protecting the last of his living family...which he considers the present group. He is a more than passable shot with a gun, despite his infirmities-possessed of an cast-iron, stubborn will, he can still stop the tremors in his old hands when anyone is danger...Doug once jumped on a grenade for his squad (it was a dud), so it's no surprise he harbors the same mindset in regards to his own people.
Personality:
Knowledgeable
Businesslike
Bland
Moves
1. No country for Old Men (As Shooter skill, activates 50% of the time. Activates 100% of the time and double bonus, when directly protecting wounded team members from attacking enemies.)
2. Against the Dying of the Light (Doug can intervene as a free action to intercept and take any blow that would otherwise strike a team, if he is in range of them.)
5/5 Fleshwounds
Wielding: Revolver
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
Relations: None
Name: Millie D.
Type: Companion
Bio: Claiming to be a former stand-up comedian, Millie was doing her act to a bar full of corpses when the group found her. She promptly claimed the crowd was getting a little stiff, and decided to take five...by following them, relentlessly. Her sense of humor has kept the sharp edges from cutting so very badly, however...
Personality:
Forthright
Sarcastic
Plodding
Moves
1. For tomorrow we die (Millie's presence is generally positive, if acutely annoying-laughter is an antidote to terror. While she is in your party and active, the FEAR threshold is set to 4, for both your characters and other NPC allies.)
5/5 Fleshwounds
Wielding: Tire Iron
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
Relations: None
Name: Trond
Type: Companion
Bio: A former fisherman (if believed), Trond claims to have been marooned here when his fishing vessel capsized off the coast of 'your united of states America'-his English is passable, but not great, and it pegs him as vaguely Slavic. Of course, if his story if true he must have walked clear across the entire country by now...a quiet man by nature, but a hard worker, he has found his place in the group by doing anything that needs doing and backing up whatever decisions are made with force. A quiet source of 'morale', he is often calm and collected...when crossed, however, he can become quite vindictive. Beneath his seemingly placid shell lies a font of rage that has, until now, been directed outwards.
Personality:
Insightful
Placid
Venomous
Moves
1. Tøffing (Trond gains double the normal fleshwounds of a normal follower)
10/10 Fleshwounds
Wielding: Axe
Wearing: Heavy Jacket (Protection, 1 Load)
Relations: None
Name: Turay Z.
Type: Follower
Bio: A nasally new York accent leading the way, Turay will claim he was a 'master hacker' for the 'CIA' before the fall, if you ask him about his past-but, the truth most of you have to come believe was that he was a techie shut in-living in the glow of a computer screen rather than the real world, which has now come smashing into focus. His numerous personal faults mask a rather brilliant analytical mind, in truth, though he rarely puts it to use without a boot in his ass. He has been tagging along with the group for a few weeks, uninvited-both avoiding human contact as much as he can, and desperately desiring it. The group has discussed driving him off, but up till now no one has the heart to turn away such a pathetic specimen.
Personality:
Idiosyncratic/A peculiar man to be sure, Turay often follows an internal 'code' of a sorts-often having to do with taking certain actions a certain number of times on certain dates only he knows. He grows agitated if someone 'breaks' the rules, but only he knows them. Asking him to explain them is perhaps the only time you can get him to seem cheerful, but he rarely makes sense to anyone but himself.
Fatalistic/Not unlike C3PO, he's always the first to declare that the group is doomed-depressing part being he's usually half right. He has, in many ways, resigned himself (and all of you) to death-now, or later. It's going to happen...
Sedentary/Never moving unless something is chasing him, Turay at best ambles along, and is happiest when sitting down or sleeping. He requires a deal of finesse to get him to do anything of substance at all.
Treacherous/Turay has something of a dishonest streak-it would be funny, if it weren't so sad. He often 'steals' food that has been placed out for him, and denies having taken it if asked. He will hoard things he has found, but give them up with the merest suggestion of a threat. He looks at the women the 'wrong way'. He doesn't really trust anyone, not even himself. This trait could become much worse if he is not straightened somehow.
Moves
1. Human Computer (Turay can solve incredibly complex mental problems ...if he's properly motivated to do so.)
3/3 Fleshwounds
Wielding: None
Wearing: Clothes
Relations: None
Name: Carolin
Type: Follower
Bio: Not Caroline. Leave out the E! A young woman even younger than Claire, she was found by the party hanging upside down from a tree-her leg caught in some sort of mantrap set by no doubt terrible people. She followed afterwards, proving herself to be a stubborn survivor...if now so much an actual 'follower'-it's not that she doesn't listen to what is being told to her, she just prefer for it to be properly argued. She will often take the 'Devil's Advocate' position of any argument-just for the sake of having one. She claims her mother was a successful lawyer, and a lifetime of dinnertime debates has kept her mind sharp and prepared to question everything-her own skills would have led her to become a teacher of languages, she says, but things changed...now she travels with you, usually trying to stay out of the way-Carolin is too young and small of build to put up much of a real fight, and she knows it.
Personality:
Challenging
Moves
1. Multilingual (Carolin is proficient in several languages, both written and spoken-she has helped Trond a good deal to smooth out his English.)
3/3 Fleshwounds
Wielding: Stick
Wearing: Clothes
Relations: None
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.
Author
Topic: Reign of Rot Rebooted (Day 1/Fear of whats next) (Read 8508 times)