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Thread: Desolé

  1. #1
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    Desolé

    Desolate. Desolate. Desolate. Desolate. Desolate. Staring out at the cold, shadow wasteland of demolished buildings and the frozen ghosts of our transgressions that linger among them, I knew that there was not a better word in our lost language to better describe the fears of our present. I'm not a linguist, but before the world ended, I studied a little French. "Je suis desolé" means that I am sorry, or that I am full of regrets.

    Desolé. Desolate.

    Our endless nightmare seems full of our regrets, of the lives that we have lost, of the things we will never become, the sorrow-tainted glory of our past fades in the everlasting night of our present. We are shaped into monsters, born of our regrets.

    Je suis desolé.

    I am sorry to use metaphors so close to home. To describe ourselves as monsters is to limit our own humanity; to define ourselves by our loss is to live forever in absence. I do not want to live forever. I do not want to live forever in absence.

    ---

    Three weeks ago, I left the city, and took a car and drove as fast as I could to Iowa. The roads were a mess, but I chose one of those new fancy Hummers, taking just a brief moment to hotwire it. I drove fast so the ravaged monstrosities couldn’t chase me. It’s not that I can’t deal with the occasional one or two, but even with all my inhuman strength, I don’t particularly want to take the chance of fighting off a group of them.

    I reached Iowa in only two days, even though I often had to skirt the highway collisions and stop at gas stations considering the Hummer soaked up gas like a fat kid with a slurpee. I killed 26 of them on the way, as I couldn’t avoid being ambushed at the gas stations. I didn’t run into any of my kind, or survivors.

    I didn’t mean to end up in the farm lands of Iowa, but that’s when I ran out of gas. I hadn’t the foresight to stock an extra gas can. Being ambushed by those creatures did little to help my memory.

    When I ran out of gas, I just walked.

    I was tired from not having eaten in these three days and the last time I had a meal, it was only a small child, barely slaking my thirst. I didn’t even have the heart to drain it

    Walking along the dirt roads gave me a lot of time to think, so I thought about everything. Mostly, I thought what my life was only 6 weeks ago. 6 goddamn weeks. One day I was mostly concerned with my next meal, usually some dainty woman who wouldn’t fight back and tasted the way she smelled. The next, I was fleeing these same women, turned into flesh-eating freaks by the virus.

    I had always thought I was the freak, living my life on the outskirts of society, constantly masquerading as something beneath me, someone human. I never thought that I would be freed of my pretensions in such a horrific manner. I never thought that humans could be degraded even farther.

    They came at me on the road. The remnants of farmers, lost in the fields, seeking their prey. I slew them with a bat that I picked up at a gas station. It’s not ideal, but firearms are hard to come by and in my condition, I’m not too terrified of close quarters with these awful fellows.

    I didn’t get far that evening, so I returned to the car where I had been sleeping, sealing up the windows to hide from the Iowan sun during the days. The nuclear winter that had set in over New York had yet to reach this far into the country.

    The next morning, I found what I thought was an abandoned farm house, when I was first accosted by survivors. I expected to find them here at some point. Farmers are tough. There were three of these formidable creatures, brandishing shotguns, grim looks on their bearded faces. I knew they didn’t have many shells left. Fending off the monsters at night required certain dexterity and lots of bullets.

    I looked around the farm as they asked me questions.

    “How did you get here?”

    I ignored them, figuring they wouldn’t shoot me. There were bodies that had been burned in the bathtubs before they could resurrect. Children by the looks of them. These farmers weren’t messing around. Other than that, the farm looked fairly pristine, as if they had people looking after it. It also looked particularly defensible, as it seemed the farmers had taken the time to board up the windows.

    I asked if I might be able to buy one of the shotguns and in turn, I was asked,

    “Are you alone? Are you infected?”

    I held up my hands. No scratches. Nothing. Still they offered me no shotgun. At which point, I figured I could either bite them and move on, or I could just ask to leave. I figured the latter was somewhat more polite. Instead, they cried. Three grown men with heavy set brows broke down and cried.

    The first, who I dubbed Amos in my mind, said something about not having seen a fellow man in weeks. The other, who I was sure was a Brad, wept something about burying his wife. Clint was the quietest, only sobbing slowly about his son, who I assumed was the wreckage in the bathtub.

    So, I felt bad for them. I stayed the night when they offered me some stew. I declined the soup, staring hungrily at their jugulars instead, but when they looked at me with suspicion, I spooned it into my mouth as if I enjoyed it.

    When night fell, I slew a few of the beasts as they came through the door, saving them their precious ammunition. Their looks of wonder quickly turned into savage cries of fear. For a long moment, I considered explaining them my situation, but I just didn’t have the heart for it, to reason with men who have lost the will to comprehend their world. I bowed and vanished into the night. I didn’t belong with these men. I was much more like the monsters out there.

    ---

    Call me Uriel, as I have been named by the Almighty. I am one of the mighty, the great acclaimed Archangels, suffering the plight of man to smite evil. I am God’s flame.

    And my job has suddenly gotten much more damn difficult.

    ---

    The next time I saw the farmers, they greeted me with surprise, almost glee. I had found a little survivor’s shelter where I had been secretly feeding upon the inhabitants, most of which were gruff ex-military men. Certainly not my type, but I haven’t able to afford to be choosy.

    Amos was the happiest. He grabbed me in a bear hug, shot gun still in hand, threatening to break my immortal bones. Bradley and Clint gave me toothy smiles and asked how I had been.

    I said that I was fine, unwilling to tell them that I had starved for the entirety of a week before finding the camp out in the fields of nowhere. I was fortunate to spot the enclave of survivors, for they kept quiet at nights, only daring to be more than ghosts during the day. I spotted their signal fires, hoping attract other survivors. Still, the smoke had the unfortunate side effect of drawing the misshapen horrors.

    It was Clint who first asked my name. “Alice,” I answered, in a gruff voice, hoping to instill the feminine name with my masculine demeanor. “It’s short for Alastair.” They smiled, but they didn’t mock me. I smiled back for once, glad to be among friends.

    I took a rifle during the night, doing my best among them, fighting the urge to be outside, releasing my rage in the demolition of monster faces. When sun rose, we slept uneasily, a sentry with always an eye on the field. When we woke in the late afternoon, we took to the chores, mending our barbed wire fences, restocking our supplies, mostly fuel. We had corn aplenty in this late autumn. Of course, I now had meals aplenty, taking care not to kill, but merely stun my prey.

    For almost half a week, I didn’t make any mistakes, chumming it up with these bastards, and bastards they were. They treated the few women that had made it like slaves, the children like work-beasts. The apocalypse brought out the worst in people, it seemed. Though they took their jobs of defending the establishment very seriously, these were still weak-minded savages, out to only save their own skill.

    But that day, I couldn’t contain my own savagery any longer, and when one of the beasts managed to elude the shotguns and the rifles, I took to him with my bare hands, tearing him apart before he even had a chance to think about biting me. Clint trained his gun on me suddenly, a look of terror rising from familiarity in his eyes.

    What are you, he demanded. I considered a demonstration, but a showing of my fangs would perhaps have been counterproductive to the crowd. Instead, I just declared that he wasn’t going to be able to kill me with his gun. I had hoped that would be persuasive enough to make him put it down. Instead, I got shot in the back. I turned to face Bradley with a magnum in his hand grinning sheepishly, as if saying, I had to try it.

    I looked down, to find that the bullet had zipped clean through my left side. I croaked that he was going to need to improve his shot. By then, I had attracted the attention of the entire town and as I groaned in pain, my wound healed in front of the survivors.

    It was Amos who defused the tension, clapping me on the back, calling me a savior. He said it so loud that even I believed it. As he took me through the confused crowd, he told me quietly that he knew what I was, but that it didn’t matter. So long as I was willing to keep saving their lives.

    I looked at him in the darkness, his earnest smile somehow grievous and pitiful. I nodded. Of course, I would. Of course, I would.

    ---

    - Uriel

    I never thought that I would see such a thing. Civilization brought to its knees. Never have I doubted the Almighty, but this – this fills me with fear. The flood was bad, but the flood was never invested such devilry, nor such blatant abuse of the dead.

    Certainly, this is the time of revelations, but new orders haven’t been issued, and as far as I know, I must obey my original instincts, follow in my solemnly-treaded path of righteousness.

    I was once ordered to never slay a man, but these undead creatures are not men and I burn them away with a single sweep of my hands. I started in Florida, eliminating the entirety of Miami with a great holy explosion, disintegrating these ghosts with one fell swoop. Certainly there may have been other casualties, but I hadn’t seen a survivor for weeks.

    Still, this task drained me, left me tired, so I skirted most of the major cities as I made my way to Atlanta, promising to come back for Orlando, Tallahassee, the Keys. It was in Atlanta that I heard word of survivors making their way to the Great Plains, escaping from the major cities to fend small, fortified establishments, seeking their salvation in this hell. I put my ear to the earth and heard the whispers of men of creatures that had survived the terrors, leading these establishments, bearing a certain brand of might that led these downtrodden creatures of lost civilization to worship them.

    False worship! I had to see for myself. I reserved my judgment of Atlanta and moved west, treading lightly on the wind.

    ---

    [GMs Notes]

    As per usual, I’m back with a post-apocalyptic thread. Most of this should be obvious, but I’ll summarize for those who prefer to read by bullet point:

    A. The world ended with a virus. Zombies galore. Civilization disbanded. I’m actually not too experienced with zombie fiction, so I’m mainly drawing inspiration from the movie 28 Days Later, which in my experience is a really great zombie movie.

    B. New York was nuked in a last-ditch effort to contain the virus. It had began in New York, but obviously, the nuke did little contain the disaster.

    C. Certain people/creatures are immune, but even then, they’re not immune to being eaten. It’s difficult to tell who is immune and who isn’t. The transformation is nearly instantaneous. Still, the survivors have banded together in remote areas to fend themselves.

    D. Vampires are immune. And certain other people, like vampires, have risen within these tiny populations, asserting their control. But everything hinges on survival. Their control hinges upon the likelihood of their survival. And people adapt to circumstances real fast. I’m also drawing upon S. King’s The Stand, a great novel by any standard. Nothing leads to human (and other) change better than the end of the world. There are people with “Heroes” like qualities, and even vampires are quickly adapting.

    E. Uriel. Maybe he’s a real archangel. All I know (and therefore all you know) is that he certainly has the abilities of one. But he has the ability to nuke a city all by himself. Miami is but a massive sinkhole. Those who encounter him, I suggest, should preach their piety.

    F. Alice. He’s just your typical average vampire in very unaverage circumstances. He’s got a good heart. Vampires that I write about are of the Anne Rice variety. He’s a young vampire, haven’t even lived out the extent of his suggested lifetime. But he’s changing.

    ---

    [GM’s notes, pt II]

    What I want from my players:

    A. First person viewpoint. We rarely do that here on these boards. Give it a shot. Just try it. It’s not that hard. It’s like writing a diary. It’ll get a little more complex as characters begin to interact, but it’s not impossible. Plus, it’ll be hella exciting.

    A1. In a first person narrative three major levels of awareness: what you know as a participant in a large story, what your character knows, and what that character wants to talk about. Make sure you know which is which, when writing.

    A2. Don’t describe yourself. This is a major difference between first and third. In third person, you have the time and opportunity to describe how beautiful your character’s hair is, or every article of clothes they’re wearing. In first person writing, you have to realize 99% of people out there aren’t fascinated with these details, and therefore rarely talk about these details, regardless of audience. Similarly, unless your character is the OCD type, with a very acute perception, they’re not going to notice the details of everything.

    B. Get into it. That’s really the fun of first person. It’s a lot easier to imagine these things. Get into the head of the character. BE them. Feel something when you’re writing. Have that feeling in the morning where you wake up and you’re not sure if you’re you, or if the nightmare is still going on around you.

    C. Your own interesting plot. I have one currently: Angel chases Vampire in post apocalyptic world. It’s a very easy one but it’s certainly not all inclusive. There are an infinite amount of character options out there. I’d prefer NOT to see the usual. Some sort of ex-military type, who just real pissed that the world got shot to ****. I’m going to give you a few ideas to work with:

    C1. I have one that I’m reserving for myself: The Senator. He pushed the decision to nuke New York. And when it failed and D.C. got infested with these buggers, he went a little nuts with regret. Lucky enough to survive, he now has to deal with his very, very significant failure.

    C2. A man that the zombies don’t even dare to touch. An ability to palaver with the dead. A unwitting necromancer, only now learning his powers.

    C3. An old vampiress, pissed that civilization got shot to crap, because damnit, she was pretty damn happy in her luxury hotel, with her billions of dollars. And now what? There’s these violent creatures who keep trying to get up in her business, and nothing to freakin’ eat.

    See? Maybe I’m just insane, but the possibilities are endless.

    D. Setting. Start anywhere. I have a guy in Florida and another in freakin’ Iowa. Iowa. I’ve never been to Iowa. I hear it’s pretty boring. The United States is just one blank canvas. My only warning is that it is a little difficult to interact if you’re across either ocean, but even then, I’m not saying it’s impossible.

    E. No OOC. If you can’t post, don’t post. If you want to discuss something, email me: the lunaticren at gmail dot com. Without the spaces. I have gChat and AIM. Otherwise, you can banter elsewhere. But if you’re worried that something isn’t going to work, just write it first, post it and see for yourself. If you don’t get complaints, then it works.

  2. #2
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    - Alice

    I found myself awake during the day for the first time a week ago. All vampires can stay awake during the day if necessary, but we’re less than admirably sentient during the day. Imagine your work-day, sleep-deprived and incoherent. Now imagine you can’t drink coffee, or take caffeine pills, or even soda. That’s what we’re like during the day.

    But I didn’t feel that. Perhaps it was the onset of winter, and the waning sun, but it worried me. I’d never felt this before in the last 12 years that I’ve been a monster. The winds of change were upon me, and they chilled me to the bone.

    For three consecutive nights, we didn’t see a single monster, and then at the end of the week, they came en-masse and we suffered brutal casualties. Amos suffered only a cut, but we sacrificed him with a quick decapitation, unwilling to risk it. It was a shame. He had made friends, had a good singing voice. We found out that he played the guitar, so we found him one on a raid. He sang in the mornings, playing slow tunes that were simultaneously cheerful and melancholic.

    Bradley and Clint weren’t the same afterwards. They ditched the shotguns they had carried for so long, both opting for longer range rifles. I decided to carry both, slinging them on my back. They didn’t suit me, but they gave me comfort, the feel of hard steel upon my skinny back.

    There was something strange the more recent attacks, as if the creatures were out in the night, grouping together, making their movements almost as if they were sentient creatures. Perhaps they were changing too. Certainly their tactics were different.

    Though it no longer bothered me, I still slept mostly during the days. I didn’t get tired or as quickly as any of the men, but I still needed a boost every so often. Still, sleep didn’t give me the rest for which I hoped. Instead, I dreamt over and over, the vision of a light coming from the southwest, while I stand at the foot of a great, ancient tower, the door of which I slam and tear at with all my monstrous strength, hoping to escape the light. I wake, with a fading view of the great door still steadfastly closed and the light nearly upon me.

    I take it out upon the men, of course. I’m a terrible leader, even as they look up to me, idly gaze upon my face as if I were some sort of hero to them. I want to tell them the full truth, that I’m no hero, no leader. My courage is merely brutal survival instinct backed by the strength of my corrupt blood.

    I think about running away, but I imagine the empty lands out there and they scare me worse than the betrayed hopes of these sorry people. So, I face the shining light. Come on. I dare you, I scream at it in my dreams, bravado dying upon my lips as consciousness returns.

  3. #3
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    OOC: I tried being a zombie... just didn't work... lol

    IC:

    They say death is like passing from darkness to the light. The first time I died, I just felt like I went to sleep. You know, just not there. Then I woke up and found the world quite different. Sort of like being on LSD and dreaming about reality as a man reincarnated as a sock in a washing machine. Not that I was a druggie wash out in Richmond. I liked counting money well enough that I chose not to partake of employment eradicating substances. Okay, I admit that I had tried a few things before I knew any better. I can tell you now though that death is not passing from darkness to light. Rather, I see it very much the opposite, because the world just doesn't get any better when you wake back up.

    It took a week for the shotgun hole to heal. Thankfully enough I looked and smelled enough like death the mumbling nincompoops didn't try to eat me. Not having a stomach at the time, I felt it was a moot thing to try eating. Though when it did come back, so did the hunger. At least I knew it worked.

    The closest I got to guns before the virus spread through the country was the looters trying to get cash in vain a day or so before it hit Richmond. One day, I got shot. I woke up with a toe tag and a very empty morgue, except for the things walking everywhere inside of it. The aforementioned LSD effect was really trippy at the time, but made me enough of a mumbling nincompoop they didn't take me for normal and so didn't eat me. For that, I thank my situation. However, it also led to the loss of my stomach by shotgun. Next, was the stab to the chest. Finally, I was pushed off of a building onto some exposed and twisted rebar. Talk about pain, try wiggling yourself off of six foot high twisted rebar.

    From the smell of things, I was there a while on that one. Maggots were starting to eat me alive. Or rather, dead. All in a week's time, I'd died on four separate occasions. I don't think, oddly enough, that I was infected until I had died. Sort of like criminals who became criminals after being forced to spend years with criminals in prison for a crime they didn't commit.

    After some time, though, my stomach did return and it was very very hungry. Upon finding the only thing to eat, which was other humans, I found myself no better off than the horrid creatures for which I am constantly mistaken for. A grotesque thing, rest assured, but quite possibly the only way to keep going. It grows on you after a while, unfortunately. At least I'm starting to understand the Silence of the Lambs a little more intimately. Until I'm a little more healed, it looks like I'm stuck in Richmond.

  4. #4
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    Tacca Chantrieri

    I'm known as Tacca Chantrieri, one of a select few of Hunters. Fitting name, or so I've always thought. The black 'Bat flower'. It is not my real name, not my identity nor the true name my soul recognise me by, but even so it is the name I use. No one truly knows my real name, unless they knew me before I was reborn into this world, but even so they would all be dead by now.

    I came with one of the many boats that travelled from Africa. The journey was rough, or so I've been told. I don't remember much of it. They say I was one of the lucky few to survive the harsh journey. Luck. Right. Luck to be brought in front of your new Master wearing nothing more than an illfitting dress and chains. Nothing I remember though or think of really. So many years have passed in between, and the years before I was brought back to life was just as the first couple of years of a newborn babe. Nothing you remember when you are older. I dream of it sometimes though, or at least I think it is real memories, but perhaps they are nothing more than dreams.

    The darkness came quickly this night as I was following the soft scent of my target. I'm a Hunter, made by another Hunter. I met him when I was around 22, or so he told me. I vaguely remember him to be a close friend to my Master, but mind, he was never my true Master. Leon is my true Master, even after his death. Leon made me into what I am today. His real name he never revealed to me, but as I he went under an alias, Tacca Leontopetaloides. It is thanks to him I'm feared by others since it is well known that if a Hunter knows thy real name you can be hunted down. Sometimes it takes time and sometimes I fail, but I am good at what I do. That is why I'm on this dark road that seems to lead to nowhere. Kansas, what a joke. Why does anyone tries to hide in Kansas of all places. His name is Ted, the one I'm tracking. A man that crossed the wrong woman, my employee. What he did hasn't been revealed to me. I need not to know. All I need to know is his name. Ted Dokes.

    Well Ted, here I come.

  5. #5
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    [GMs Notes]

    There is something that I wanted to mention and that is Theme. This is an idea, that I realize is a little new to RPing in general, and certainly difficult to employ in a roleplaying setting, but I would not mention it if I thought our players were incapable.

    As with both of my characters, you should see a transformation, not only in terms of what they are, but also in terms of thinking process, and personality. I expect you all to call me out if you think what I am trying to portray is either inaccurate, improbable, or unlikely, but the theme here is that people adapt to their circumstances.

    Besides, there is nothing that could possibly require more evaluation than an apocalypse and all the horrors associated with it. Maybe this theme doesn’t pertain to your characters, but it would be of great benefit to me if you at least took the time and energy to realize that. Stay true to your characters. They do not have to change to fit a theme, but nevertheless the theme is something that I would appreciate if everyone thought about as they continued.

    ---

    - Uriel

    The fourth day of my journey, I paused to take rest in Birmingham, seeking asylum in the daylight, when I was confronted by survivors. Old man, they called me, when I refused to tell them my name. They were a caravan of soldiers crowded in automobiles that looked more like war vehicles. Among them were some women and children.

    A kind one, who called himself Owen, offered me a ride. For a moment, I smiled at them, marveling that providence would suggest that a shepherd should be lead by his sheep. Owen seemed to be a leader, he bore a long range rifle and was the only one among them to wear a uniform. We spoke for a few brief moments as he made his judgments of me. Ultimately, I accepted. I was weary of using my abilities to travel by wind. In the winter, even archangels suffer from the colder winds. Alabama was certainly possessed of a warmer clime, but I saw no reason to not take this offer.

    They did as I would’ve done if I were nothing but man, traveling by day, monitoring their watches carefully for sunset. They plotted their distances carefully by map, marking their opportunities to stock up on gas, and food. Before the sunsets, they would inevitably find a small defensible building, use the vehicles as an outer ring of defense, and take up their vigil.

    That first night, the sheep set up in a small town, aptly named Littleton. They cleared out a convenience store, taking any food they could and placing the heavy displays against the shattered glass windows and barring the back entrance. It left them no way out, but even if they had to escape into the night, they would’ve been slaughtered by these agents of evil. I stood watch over the women in children, huddled in a back supply closet. They did not ask me for my aid, believing me incapable for my appearance. Nevertheless, they entrusted me with a small caliber pistol as it would be of assistance. I passed it onto a teenage girl who would be far more comforted with the feel of a weapon in her hand, Angela, she called herself.

    Through the night, as we waited out the gunfire and horrendous screams, she spoke softly to me, asking me for guidance. I was not a priest. I was not accustomed to confessions, but I had no way to cease her soft, endless babbling.

    She spoke about the dog who disappeared first. Rudolph was his name, a silly Labrador retriever, a gift received on a Christmas day and was thus named after the most prominent of Santa’s reindeer. I briefly shudder, thinking of the commercialization of Christ’s birth. She asks me why I shudder and I murmur that I’m cold, to which she responds by leaning closer to me.

    Rudolph was six years old, she had him since she was 11. A trusted, well-trained companion that never left home without a leash. So, his disappearance was a great travesty to the family, leaving her in tears, her father desperate to solve her problems.

    It was most evident that the virus had spread as far as Alabama when her father didn’t come after one more desperate night of searching for the dog. She was left with her mother, and her younger sister, Deborah. An absolute sweetheart, Angela said of her sister. I already knew that the story wasn’t going to end well when a quick survey of the survivors told me that there were no younger girls than Angela among them.

    They made their move that morning, hoping to travel down to Mexico, only desperately thinking of ways to escape the country. However that night, they met with resistance at the border. Patrol guards were scanning people on both sides, placing screaming, desperate people into quarantine. The virus wasn’t airborne, but people concealed scratches, cuts, anything that might lead to an infection. A direct bite by one of the creatures lead to an instantaneous transformation, from man to devil within moments. She used more technical terms, but I understood that a cut was like a curse, taking days to run its course. The border patrol were rigorously careful, putting those with the slightest noticeable paper cut into quarantine. Of course, their rigorous measures meant that their precious quarantine filled up in a matter of days, not weeks as they had prepared for.

    Angela smiled sadly. It was their luck that their quarantine broke the moment that they got there. Even those who weren’t infected were quarantined with those who were and plexiglass cages that might’ve contained a few of the infected, couldn’t hold dozens of the raving monsters.

    A scared Deborah had accidentally wrestled out of their mother’s grip and only stood a few moments screaming out her lungs before she was torn to shreds. Their mother had lost it then, beating upon one of the monsters with her bare hands before it was her turn. Only Angela survived, running the other way, eyes wide open, falling into a ditch and losing consciousness.

    She was rescued by the remainders of the border patrol, most of whom now composed the caravan. They were traveling to Kansas. They heard that there was an underground military facility out there where they had herded some of the survivors. Where they were working on a cure. Did the old man think there was a cure?

    Call me Ishmael, I told her softly. God has harkened.

    ---

  6. #6
    Post Fiend Wildfire's Avatar
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    Jessica

    I always knew I had a thing with the dead. I never really realized just how much.

    They say as a child I used to pretend to play with ghosts. Father, a God fearing man, used to tell every one that it was just the imagination of a seven year old girl. It didn’t help that there was a cemetery just down the block.

    However, last week I finally came to realize there is some thing terribly wrong with me. I was just minding my own business when I got that feeling. The one where my fingers start to tingle. It started just after the virus broke lose. Sure enough, I walked around a corner and there was one of those vile creatures.

    Instantly it knew I was there. It was like a deer in headlights. It turned its head with a half eaten arm hanging from its mouth. I wanted to hurl. I thought I was a goner. Then, the strangest thing happened. It turned tail and ran, almost as if I had been the monster eating a human carcass. It was gone before I could figure out what had happened.

    I thought it was just luck the first time, but then it happened again. I tried to rationalize it. Say it was something else that scared the monster away. But after the fourth time, there was no getting around it. It was me. The monsters are running away from me. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or happy about it. I have seen what they can do to a human being. I have seen the chaos they create from a single bite. What is so wrong with me that the monsters run from me?

    All I know is that I survived, and I am still alive. However, I won’t be if I don’t find food soon. To think that after every thing that could possibly kill me, it would be by starvation.

    My feet are tired but I managed to keep walking. I was some where in Iowa. I passed several farms on my way, but did not stop to see if there were any survivors. A few hours later the sun was beginning to set. I needed shelter and needed it fast.

    Luckily, I spotted a column of smoke rising up through the air. I picked up speed hoping that it was a camp. I dearly hoped that they had food.

    I was taken off guard when I saw the barbed wire fence. I had to travel all the way around before finding the entrance. I walked up and found no one around. It was strange. Then I heard the foot steps behind me, and a barrel of a gun was pressed up against the back of my head.

    “I am just looking for shelter” My hands went up instantly.

    “Are you infected?” the deep voice of a man said.

    “Do I look infected?” That was the wrong question. A split second later, the world went black.

  7. #7
    Post Fiend Shari Tana's Avatar
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    Delrana

    OOC Note: This is a very old character of mine. One of my first. Never thought I'd have the chance to use him again. Enjoy ^_^

    IC:
    The wind never seemed as cold as it did these days. Even in bitterest of winters, I would trade those winds for these. Back then, the world was so much different. How does one cope with such a drastic change; it feels like something that should have taken centuries. I remember the last day I call normal, and it was well after the virus was discovered. The news updates were only daily then. Every day at 9pm the anchor would appear on the screen with his smile and everything-is-okay attitude and tell the poeple of the country that only another fifty cases were found. I gave a brief moment of worry then cast it away like so many others, saying "I'm glad its not me."

    That day I spent with a woman I'd been seeing for some time. She was young and energetic, and if things had gone differently, I'd probably be asking her to marry me instead of trying every day to keep myself alive, and more importantly, sane. I was born in New York, though, it was a very different place in my youth, even long before the nuke. I watched in stunned silence, holding my equally stunned girlfriend, as the news covered the destruction live. Few people were alive then who had witnessed the destruction at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Even in the 1940's I knew these weapons would end the world one day. Turns out, I was only half right.

    Days later, the virus hit my hometown, and within a week everyone was infected, save myself. The geists ravaged those not infected and claimed my love. With her death, I realized the humanity I had been living was over. My life was back to how it was two hundred years before. Running, this time from the undead, and killing.

    I am a pureblood. An original. My exact origin is lost to antiquity, as the brain can only hold a limited amount of information, and the older memories die first. Horror stories, and romance novels do little to accurately describe a true lycanthrope. Mine is not a curse, but a destiny. I am what I am meant to be, just as the undead are now claiming the Earth, other so-called "mythological" beings are all that remain. Eventually the humans will die, and likely vampires will have thier turn while the humans' God shudders in his folly.

    I'm running now, across the flatlands somewhere in the midwest. Unlike vampires, I require regular meals to maintain my ability to transform, and in turn, my ability to survive. I am immune to the virus, but not to death. Much of the midwest is isolated and some animal species have managed to survive. Deer, small vermin, and some wild cats are the majority of it. The addition of butcher shops made my life so much easier... though my hunting insticts quickly resurfaced after the apocalypse. However, prey has been few and far between of late, and I needed sustenance.

    I could see a road in the distance. Following it led me to one of those strange, middle-of-nowhere intersections with only a pair of stop signs that no one has bothered replacing in the last eighty years. I was still in lycan form, as was how I spent all but the few hours while I slept. My claws and strength were my only defense, so in this form is how I remained even as I watched the approaching cloud of dust in the distance. As much as I was in danger among humans, I was far less safe on my own. Sure, they would see a large, dangerous looking, man-sized wolf staring back at them, but at least they would know what I truely am. They might shoot me, but then again, that would solve most of my problems as well.

    As the caravan approached the intersection, my eyes were drawn to a single vehicle not far from the front. Something was inside that urged my attention. It wasn't threatening, but it was very interesting. It was a feeling I'd never experienced. The caravan stopped, obviously because there was indeed a standing stop sign. I prepared myself to flee if I had to, but survival was the most important thing these days. Running would only seal my fate. I was greeted at gunpoint by the apparant leader of the group and a number of his friends. They mostly showed looks of confusion and awe mixed with suspicion. In a curious inspection of his garb, I noticed a Border Patrol patch on his arm, which was somehow amusing.

    "I could use a ride..." I said, gazing down the narrow road vanishing into the distance.
    "I am the brightest light, for I am darkness. I know everything, for I know nothing. I am a container, brimming with emotion, for I am empty."
    --Bebedora, Arc the Lad

    "Intelligence is the key, and she is locked out." - Josh Sneed, in reference to his ex.

  8. #8
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    I woke that morning like I did any other. Not thinking too much into the necessary order of the early bird routine; shower, dress, eat then leave for class. Although the tension, fear and general panic all around rose in everyone and every animal, things were normal...ish. My class was perfectly on time, me...not so much. The professor wasn't too happy but knew it was just procedure. I was working on an advertisement in my media class when it happened.

    Someone turned the channel, pissing me off because we were so close to finishing this project. My thoughts wandered to something much worse as the breaking news was broadcasted. The nuking of New York. I couldn't believe it. Then again...I could. I'd always liked how destruction seemed to cause people to behave more than law and order attempted to. Memories of me being surrounded by death and chaos were the more comforting ones I remembered for some reason I never quite could grasp. Perhaps it was something subconcious, or maybe that ravenous side of me was beginning to seep into the logical side. Either way, New York...was something else.

    Unneeded but supposed required containment...as the government put it. I couldn't quite see the logic in it, they should've just blocked off the state and killed anything trying to leave. That would've done a much better job. Things would be different now. I wouldn't be fleeing this town because of what I had to do. I'd still be with her...with Caitlyn. Most people feared me for what I became in front of them during the...tricky times when those beasts attacked.

    New York's containment was a failed attempt. I can't remember when I first revealed my 'better' half in front of others...but something didn't quite go right in that group of survivors. I fled from them to keep myself alive...paranoid I guess. Staying alive was all anyone wanted to do nowadays...I truly can't see why. This world will obviously never change...but maybe I'll find something along the way that might change my mindset.

    Waking up in the tree with a slight breeze passing through does feel quite nice. But after realizing I wasn't dreaming and there really were 5 of those ugly things starting to climb up towards me things started going downhill. Another thought immediately hit me like a ton of bricks...I haven't eaten in at least 2 days. Going that long without food for my kind wasn't good for when a fight started. I'm exhausted to start...fighting will only weaken me further for when the next group chugs along. So I decided to run. A quick jump into the next tree over, a slide down a few branches to the ground and I was sprinting towards freedom. Well as free as you could be this day and age.

    A very detailed picture was embedded into my head to this very moment. I stayed alive for one reason, I needed to stay alive...something wasn't finished yet. I had to avenge her. The fanged bastard that killed her needed to be put in his place. She hadn't wronged anyone, she hadn't done anything but been kind. Even now, just thinking about that night...I get angry and start to lose control. A few dodged tree-branches later...and one not so much. I wiped the leaves from my face and the small trickle of blood from a scratch. Shaking my head free of this confusion, I went back to sprinting through some forestry in what used to be a park. Washington had it's ups and downs, but these forests are still the best thing around.

    ooc: revised and Shari, you have any messengers or an email I could contact you so we could talk it out abit? (the werewolf lore so we don't contradict eachother.)
    Last edited by Matthias3690; 23-12-2008 at 18:42.

  9. #9
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    [GM’s Notes]

    First of all, I’d like to give a whole-hearted welcome to those who have joined me. It seems I’ve collected a good majority of those who are still on these boards, and I am honored to have all of you.

    A quick note about storylines. As I have suggested, I have currently one story line on the board: angel chases vampire. This has been quickly complicated with the addition of Shari and Wildfire’s respective characters, for which I am enormously glad. However, I just wanted to be clear that this thread is open to multiple story lines. Whatever you want goes. But to be clear, this requires some initiative on your parts in order for this to work. The more people invest, the better this thread will be.

    Secondly, most of you might recall that I’m open to mild PRPing. This is primarily necessary as we interact with first-person views. You can only do so much if you wait for your partner to reply, and I prefer to see longer, in-depth posts rather cliff-hangers after every brief line of dialogue.

    If you feel that whatever either I or anyone else has written about your character isn’t true to the character, feel free to revise the scene accordingly in your next post. Just add a little notice.

    Again, welcome.

    Lastly, a sidenote:


    I need a while longer to think about the scene with Shari and Matthias. Matthias, is there any chance you might be able rethink your opening scene? It’s just simply unlikely for two people to show up in front of a caravan in the middle of a day at the same exact time. Furthermore, it vastly limits my options for Uriel. Having Delrana show up was already particularly difficult to think around. If two monsters show up, he’s just going to go heaven’s avenger on both your furry tails, and neither of you will stand a chance, heh.

    Also, if both of you are going to be werewolves (and same goes for those of us being vampires), you should be somewhat on the same page of what kind of basic lore rules to follow. You don't have to chat it out through email, but you do need to give some basic clues as you go along. For instance, I made it clear that sunlight hurts vampires, but I made some changes to lore according to whim. Rules, are obviously subject to change, but please be clear about this kind of change. I intend to clarify these things as well.

    ---

    - Alice

    I hadn’t realized the extent of my influence over the camp until they brought the girl to me, asking me what we should do with her. She was unconscious, dressed in clothes that looked more like a thick layer of mud. She couldn’t have been a day over 18 (?)

    You did this? I asked of the person who brought her to me, a stiff, dour man by the name of Embrey. No one knew if it was his first or last name. He was a good soldier because he was a stickler for rules, and now he looked out of his element, embarrassed to have acted un-according to possible orders.

    If she wasn’t infected, she might be now, I chastised him, pointing out the wound on her head. I feigned disinterest at the sight of the blood, but the hunger practically made me tingle with premonition. To still my own violence, I gave brief orders:

    I want you to take her to quarantine yourself. Be careful to not get the blood on you. It shouldn’t take us more than two hours to figure out whether she’s infected, but in the meantime, I advise you to clean her up and when you wake, an apology will be necessary.

    Embrey nodded curtly and dashed off with her in his arms, and the moment he left, it seemed that the air cleared, like some pivotal moment had passed. I had made it unscathed through some sort of test. It wasn’t just the blood, it must’ve been the sight of the girl, I figured, so despite my orders, I followed along after Embrey.

    Quarantine wasn’t much more than a metal shed with a padlock, that we quickly built after what happened to Amos. It couldn’t contain a pack of creatures, but we had never put in more than two or three, waiting to see if a wound would turn into a full blown infection. Not a single one of them survived. So went our hopes for immunities among us.

    There was no one else in there now. I watched as Embrey gathered a cloth, wet it from the pump and proceeded to wipe off the blood in a quick-thorough fashion. His method was so precise and methodological that I questioned him concerning his previous profession as I stood my distance at the door.

    A nurse, he told me, with an awkward expression on his face, as if he didn’t want to confess it. He said little else as he made his way past me to hang out the towel and to wash away his hands. He was uncomfortable handling this kind of death, this transitory disease that failed to discriminate, failed to follow the rules.

    She’s not infected, I told him. I wasn’t sure how I knew, and for a minute, it occurred to me that I might have just been lying to him to comfort him. However, as we both silently watched through the slit in the door, it became apparent that she wasn’t manifesting any symptoms of the transformation. However, the uneasiness didn’t leave and as the girl finally stirred, I quickly unlocked the door to present myself.

    I’m Alice, I said. Her grogginess was apparent when she simply looked at me solemnly, a hand reaching for her head, before finally stating, “That’s a girl’s name.” I chuckled a little, but I quickly cut it out as clear eyes (?) swept across my face, brewing an emptiness that fell down the length of my spine.

    Certainly, it made little sense. This girl fit the profile of my usual victims: scrawny, pretty girls who practically crawled into arms to be eaten.

    I started with my usual questions, a litany designed to obtain the most crucial information:

    Name, so that I might be categorize this little creature in front of me.
    Was she alone?
    Was she injured in any way?
    Where had she come from?

    I didn’t want to waste any more time. Nightfall was coming soon. The munitions vehicles would be returning soon, as well as the scouts. I had reports to answer to, preparations to make. This girl was only going to slow me down. When she had answered me, I was going to assign Embrey to her. He had to demonstrate his remonstrance anyways.
    Last edited by Arkady; 23-12-2008 at 05:54.

  10. #10
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    Marcus

    I awoke that morning gasping aloud "Father!" There was a movement beside me, then a gentle hand caressed my shoulder. "Honey? That dream again?" said a soft voice in my ear, her breath tickling the hairs on my neck. I nodded, taking a moment. Then I turned and took Rose into my arms, both to comfort her and myself. "Don't worry, love, I'm quite alright." I replied, smiling and planting a kiss on the top of her head. She got up before me, pulling her robe on and heading down to start breakfast. I followed a few minutes later. Christ, I'm becoming a head case, I thought as I shook my head wearily. The doctors, shrinks rather, said it would take a long time to get over what happened. I never thought it would be this long and still I would not be fine.

    We met downstairs again, kissing a good morning to each other properly, and I surveyed the kitchen. It wasn't really a kitchen anymore. Or, rather, it was, it had simply taking a wrong turn somewhere and ended up between kitchen and bathroom. Not that anyone could blame us, given the state of things, but the proper lavatory had been demolished as part of the building next to this one collapsed. Luckily, it perfectly sealed that section of the condo off, giving us adequate protection on that boundary.

    Breakfast was served, such as it was, and we made short work of it. We had learned that being quick and efficient was the best way to go in these times. I sighed as I once again remembered how Nashville used to be. Rose turned to look at me, wiping some of her meal from her gloriously pouty lips. She always seemed to have this almost petulant, sassy smile lurking on those lips of hers. God how I love them. "What is it? What's bothering you?" she was asking as I brought myself back from my wonderfully distracting thoughts. I knew she was concerned about me, as I was about her. I shook my head. "Nothing." I said, trying to leave it at that. However the look in her eyes told me she was being stubborn today, so I relented. "Just thinking, reminiscing really. About, well, everything." Our eyes met and she nodded, standing briefly before slipping onto my lap. With her leaning against me, her warm arms encircling me, things felt almost normal. That's usually when things go to **** in the movies, and reality did not serve to disappoint me.

    The wall beside us unexpectedly came crashing down. Not the whole wall, of course, but a large area of it. On the other side were those sad, wretched beings. We counted five at first, until several more surged forward. We fought, using anything we could get our hands on. The back of my mind suddenly registered the fact that it was daylight. They aren't supposed to be active during the day!! the logical portion of my mind screamed at the world. I got separated from Rose, watching her brandish a cast iron pan. I desperately fought my way back towards her. As my mind screamed it's rage at the universe for changing the rules so suddenly, I screamed in fury as I beat beast after beast out of my way. "Marcus!" she shouted over the din even as the pan connected with another one of their heads. For a brief second our eyes met, and then they swarmed over her.


    I jerked awake with a shudder, bathed in cold sweat. My hand passed over my face as I squeezed my eyes shut again. Another would likely have reached out to check the place next to where they lay, to reassure themselves that their loved one was still there. That is had been all a stupid dream. I did not. I knew she was gone, if not in the exact way I had dreamed. My rage broke again, as it had so many other times after my dreams of late. Always a different way each night I watched her die. It never got easier, and I do not think it ever will. Not after how much we had shared together. I looked up as the wooden chair that had been next to me smashed against the brick wall, collapsing to the ground in several pieces. I hadn't even realized I had hurled it.

    Christ, I'm becoming a head case, I thought, mirroring the thought from my dream. Still seething I punched the mattress I laid upon. Rose had been dead for weeks, overcome by the near-dead. Near-dead. The word brought another fresh pang of pain to my heart. That was the word Rose had invented for them. They weren't human, not anymore. They were not dead, obviously. But they were not those undead zombies, either. So she dubbed them near-dead, which seemed apt. Rose had always been good with words. One of the things I had loved so much about her. She was practically perfect, everything just seemed so right about her. She had been the reason I had stayed sane for so long. I wished to God she was still with me, even given the constant dangers of the world as it was now. My only comfort, sick as it was, was that she hadn't become one of those things. There hadn't been much left when they were done....

    I was moving down the sewer again now, moving quickly away from the locked storage room I had found on one of my many excursions. I had found that the near-dead did not venture into the underground sewer tunnels even given their hatred of the sunlight. I found it odd, very odd actually, but I was not going to give out on a potential boon. So once a week I traveled via the sewer system under the city, day and night, sleeping in various locked rooms I had found and prepared. My destination: the naval base just a quarter day or so walk from downtown Memphis. Nashville seemed so far in the past, it was hard to believe it had only been weeks since I had been there.... with Rose.

    The trips to the base were to prepare. Not the base, it would be foolish to try and defend an entire military base with just one person even given the improvement of automated defenses. I had stores of weapons hidden around the city, and in the underground. Memphis was my home for now, and I would be damned if I was going to just hide as the near-dead roamed the streets. It was also fortunate that they could not operate machinery or guns and the sort. The sewers did not lead directly to the base, of course, that would have been idiotic of the Army to plan out. I glanced over and read the scrawl on the brick wall: 1000 ft. I sighed, glad that I could be getting out of here soon. At the end of that distance was a sewer cover that I used to pop back out above ground.

    A sudden itch attacked my skin, odd because it seemed to run along the base of my skull. I was idly scratching the base of my neck when I froze. Something had moved behind me. I continued forward, listening intently for another noise. There it was again, it sounded like a shuffled footstep. Sure, it could be anything down here, but I was all to aware of what it was most likely to be. I sprinted forward several feet and spun, eyes searching the corridor that was dimly lit by the lights I had painstakingly rigged up. I muttered a curse as I saw the light washing over two of the ravenous creatures that had sieged the night. As they lurched forward I took over, though I knew I could kill them. Where there was two there would be more. I took a quick left, deviating from my course, and I could hear the approaching fast.

    I leapt up and grabbed the short ladder that lead to the sewer cover above me. With a grunt I shoved it up and to the side, tossed my bag up into the daylight, and hoisted myself through it as the creatures below howled in rage. Breathing a sigh of relief I pushed the cover back over the hole. "Damnit" I muttered as I stood, then turned to look back in the direction of the city. "****!" I half shouted as I came face to face with a gruesome, mangled corpse. Shaking my head, I chuckled. Looking back, it may not have been my best idea ever, but around the outskirts of the city I had staked up the corpses of the near-dead I had killed. Like some silly omen to ward them off.

    I laughed, it felt good. Getting my bearings back I headed back in the direction of the base. I vaguely wondered what anyone would think when they saw the rather disgusting display of bodies. Hah. Like anyone is going to be coming my way.


    (There we go, it's a lot longer than I planned, but I didn't feel like stopping heh. I tried to make it not dull and boring, hope it worked. Plus, I gave the caravan a nice way to work onto my path. I won't reach the base for at least an hour, so feel free to find me, or my lovely little welcome mats, once you have figured out who is doing what. Anyways, enjoy!)
    Last edited by LordKain; 25-12-2008 at 00:19.

  11. #11
    Post Fiend Shari Tana's Avatar
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    OOC: Sorry Ark, I know you didnt want any OOC messages, but without anything else to post, I'm sort of left with few options >.< If you want to tack on something for Delrana to your above post, Ark, I'll use this space to post a response :)

    Matt - Use this forums messaging system to contact me. It's far more convineant.
    "I am the brightest light, for I am darkness. I know everything, for I know nothing. I am a container, brimming with emotion, for I am empty."
    --Bebedora, Arc the Lad

    "Intelligence is the key, and she is locked out." - Josh Sneed, in reference to his ex.

  12. #12
    Post Fiend Wildfire's Avatar
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    Jessica

    I was dreaming, of that I am sure. It was if my 23rd birthday was happening all over again. I awoke in the morning to smell of cooking bacon. My roommate was an excellent cook, at least compared to me. I could not cook a box of macaroni and cheese to save my life. I got up and dressed for my one and only day off this week. I headed down the stairs to greet Angelica, my cat, at its base. I scratched the back of her ears and she purred. I could not help but smile.

    “Is that you Jess?” My roommate asked as she came around the corner.

    “Nope.” I said in my normal sarcastic manner.

    She grinned at me and then turned back into the kitchen. I headed strait to the T.V. I plumped down on the sofa and reached for the remote. I clicked the on button for the TV and then for the cable box. I was instantly greeted by morning cartoons. I love Tom and Jerry. Now I am watching the news. The top story for the day is resent out break of a virus, the cause of five people’s deaths.

    I smelled smoke. I got off the sofa to investigate. I stepped into the kitchen and see the bacon is burning, and my roommate is no where in sight. Strange I thought to myself.

    ****

    My eyes fluttered open and I gasped in pain. I reached back to feel a wound, the size of golf ball, on the back of my head. At least, that is how it felt. I felt a cool dampness on my fingers which I could only imagine was blood. For a brief moment I forgot what had happened, but it quickly came flooding back to me. I had been struck from behind and struck hard. When I finally took a good I looked around I nearly panicked. The room was dark and reeked of death. Then, I noticed my fingers were tingling. I looked down at my hands, then back around the room. I was alone, or so I thought.

    Just as I sat up, a man rushed into the small room. He took me by surprise which nearly sent me through the roof. When I finally calmed myself down I took a good look at him. He was tall, and very well built. He was definitely handsome in my book. However, there was darkness surrounding him. He had a face that screamed leader, but his eyes said something completely different. He introduced himself Alice and I could not help but giggle. “That’s a girl’s name” Who in there right mind names a boy Alice?

    The man was only slightly amused. That made me feel a little bit better. I attempted relax but his demeanor changed just as quickly as deciphered it. His amusement faded and he pulled back into a series look. I tensed up again. When our eyes met I nearly gasped. It was almost as I had stuck my fingers into a light socket. What only be described as electricity ran all the up my hand and into my entire body. Something about this man intrigued me and scared me at the same time. He was not like every one else, or at least like any one I had met before.

    “What is your name?” He asked me a cool and calm voice.

    I was about to answer blindly, but I caught myself. “Wait just a minute Buster. Before I answer your questions, you answer mine” I stood up. It was a bit of a challenge but I managed. “How long have I been out?”

    “Not long” was all he said.

    Great, a man of many words. “Why am in here?” I gestured to the surrounding room.

    “I was making sure you were not infected” It was the honest truth.

    Wonderful. “Well if who ever hit me had actually listened to me instead of knocking me unconscious, it may have saved you the trouble….” I paused because I was unsure I wanted to give him my name. “My name is Jessica. Who hit me?”

    “Embrey. He is sorry. Are you alone?” was the next question.

    “Unfortunately” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. The man seemed to be in a bit of a rush. I did not blame him, but I doubt we wanted to leave for the same reasons. The room was making me uneasy, but in a way one would think. I was begging to feel comfortable in the room. That was what was making me fee uneasy. I took in a deep breath and smelt the death that engulfed the small room. There had been infected people in this room, and none of them had survived. I wondered what they did with the bodies.

    “Are you hurt in any way?”

    That was a dumb question. “You mean besides the golf ball size wound on my head?” I said as our eyes locked again. I fought the urge to look away. “I have some blisters on my feet from these worn out shoes. But other than that, just some minor scraps and bruises.” I was started to get fidgety. I uncrossed my arms for a moment to run my hand through my hair.

    “Where are you from?”

    “Does it even matter at this point” I wanted out of this room. Alice glared at me. “OK, OK, I am from California. I know it’s a long freken ways away. I just picked a direction and ran. I had a car, but I ran out of gas. I have been walking ever since. Please can we get out of here?”

    Alice nodded in answer, turned, and head right out the door. The Man’s name did not suit him. I giggled again at the thought. There was no way that I could call him Alice. I had a cousin named Alice. She was blond and five the last time I saw her. She was one of the first to be infected. I shook my head and followed behind.

    Out side the door, I caught the tail end of a conversation between Alice and another man. The new man just nodded and head strait for me. I watched as Alice disappeared.
    “I am very sorry, Mame. I panicked. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. Please if there is anything I can do for you…” He tailed off only looking me in the eyes once.

    “So it was you, huh? Embry, right? ” I said to him and managed a half smile. It was hard times. I might have panicked to. That was just how it was now. There was no going back. “Please Embry I am really hungry. If there is any food you could spare I would be grateful. I have not eaten much in the last two days.”

    Embry quickly saw to it that I was fed, and even had a place to sleep for the night. However, there was no way that I was going to sleep tonight. I had a freken head ache now and no pain killers. I needed to pass the time. I realize how dangerous it is at night, but what choices did I have.

    After what seemed like most of the women at the bunker had fallen asleep, I slipped out to take a look around. I hoped no one would mind. There wasn’t much to find. It appeared that the bunker, or what ever one would call this place, was very well guarded. There were several men with rifles and guns. I did my best to stay out of sight.

    Then just as I was bout to head back to my cot, I saw him. It looked as if he was ready to go to war. And for all intensive purposes, we were at war. Somehow He looked different in the star light. He seemed more alive than in the containment room. I looked down at my hands as they began to tingle. Not again. I clenched my fists and continued to watch him.
    Last edited by Wildfire; 24-12-2008 at 05:47. Reason: There much better ... I hope

  13. #13
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    Victor told me he'd never belived in a higher power until I walked into the Trenches like a descending angel from heaven. He said I had an inner radiance, a light that shone so brightly that the infected could not touch me without being burnt. An old friend from Louisiana, Victor always had a tendancy to wax lyrical.

    When he turned I tried to make his death quick.

    He snarled and cowered away from me, shrieking like a banshee as if he was being burnt alive, louder and in greater agony the closer I got. My hands were shaking too much, my aim was wandering everywhere. It took four shots to bring down the thing that used to be my friend.

    Victor was wrong. I refuse to believe that any power that could cause such agony could be holy. Besides, I'm far from a holy man. I took the meagre belongings the two of us had shared and left the Trenches behind. Some of the others tried to convince me to stay. I told them that I would be back soon. A lie, I've always been good at them, but a lie meant to inspire hope. They deserve that much.

    They know as well as I do that they'll probably die, with or without me there.

    I didn't know where I wanted to go after that, just that I wanted to get away for a while. New Orleans was right out, damaged so often over the years and now utterly ruined from the outbreak of the Infected there. You'd figure with such a colourful voodoo history there'd have been Houngans who could control the zombies. Magicians who could fight back the tides. I was there when New Orleans fell but from what I could tell, most people just died and became savage monstrosities.

    But none of them could touch me.

    I got called many things during those days, but the two that always stuck with me were “Venus-child” and “Herald of Morning”. I'm particularly fond of Herald of Morning – it has such a poetic ring to it. Victor would have loved it.

    I struck out north, aiming to head out of Louisiana altogether. A caravan of survivors reluctantly picked me up upon the way when I told them I could be of use. The 'genuine' gold ring I bartered to the leader sweetened the deal. After years of lying, cheating, swindling, stealing and lying again, I still find myself amazed that people want to believe that you'll give them something valuable for practically nothing. It puzzled me more why he wanted material trinkets at the end of the world.. I suppose some people never change, despite their surroundings. I rode north with the caravan.

    At night, I shone like the Morning Star.

    -L.

  14. #14
    Post Fiend
    Join Date
    Jul 2008
    Posts
    207

    Dominic

    (So I got bored and decided to make a new character. I dunno if it's gonna work out that well, and it's rather a ripoff of Constantine, so if you have any issues with it Ark, or anyone, just say so. Also, posts for this chara may contain strong language. He's rather jaded and stuff :V I think we're all adults here[either in age or spirit], so I doubt there will be a problem. If there is, just PM me about it and I'll cut down/cut out the swearing. I always try to post responsibly lol)


    "God damnit!"

    My voice echoed inside the empty school bus. I seemed to be saying that a lot lately. Hell, who am I kidding? 'Lately' is an understatement. My frustrations were not unmerited, of course. I had just run out of gas... again. At least this time I wasn't in the middle of nowhere inside a little metal toaster oven. Seven cars and as many weeks had taken me as far from New York as humanly possible. Course, I got the hell out of town long before the nuke was announced. Just as good I did, too. Things had only gotten worse in the few weeks up until the bombing.

    But I digress, I'm getting distracted again. My current predicament placed me a good couple of miles away from the nearest town with zero gas and the same number of cars around. Great. looks like I'm hoofing it. I snatched up my duffel and hauled ass out of the bus. It was midday, so thank God I still had time left. I snorted at that thought. Yeah, let's all thank God for this. Shoving the thoughts from my mind I lit up a cigarette, my favorite of vices. I could get to the next town in good time and either find another ride or hunker down somewhere.

    By early afternoon I had reached the town, conveniently marked 'Bone Gap'. How quaint. Eager to get the journey behind me I found the nearest store. It seemed no one was tending the shop today so I helped myself. Now where the hell am I again? I thought as I looked around for the map section. Ah yeah, crossed the Illinois border today, I remembered and found the map I sought. From the looks of it, I might be able to get through the rest of the state today but it would probably be pushing it. Plus it'd put me right into either St. Louis or nowhere. Might as well stay here and fort up. One dead town is as good as another, and a city is likely worse. I didn't know how far things had spread, though I doubted the other side of the country is more habitable than where I came from. Oh well, gotta try. Beats playing dead. Besides, maybe I'll get the chance to clean this town out. Bet that'd impress the big guy upstairs.

    I snorted again. Yeah, right.
    Last edited by LordKain; 07-01-2009 at 18:54.

  15. #15
    Regular
    Join Date
    Jul 2008
    Posts
    71
    OOC: Shari, Matthias. Here’s the deal. Matthias, I’m going to disregard your post for now, but I’ll leave you hints in mine for places where you can jump in. A suggestion though: think about practicality before you jump in. If you walk into a group of soldiers with guns, while covered with blood, you’re going to get shot. Feel free to either edit your post or, post something new.

    Shari, your post is fine as it stands. I was glad for the complication. I don’t mean to be a stickler for OOC posts. In general, I don’t like OOC threads as they make players waste breathe on talking about posting than actual posting. But here, obviously was a legitimate confusion, most of which was my fault.

    DK. Sorry I didn’t respond by email earlier. It’s a great first post. I just wanted to clear up a few things. The caravan is somewhere between Alabama and Kansas, neither of which are “near” Des Moines. I had hoped to make that a little clearer, so this was an error on my part. Also, if you’re in Kansas, by the military base, it might take a while to get there. I don’t have the plot all straightened out in my head either, so it might take some initiative on your part to join the group so to speak.

    Also, you mentioned to me that you’re playing a vampire. Yet you sort of strode into the sun to avoid the “near-dead.” If you’re immune to the sun as Alice is becoming, that’s fine. But take care to explain that a little, next time.

    ---

    [GMs Note]

    Fair warning to all. We all seem to be leaning towards being a merry group of strangers. This is natural in an RP setting, as well as in a post-disaster setting, but keep in mind, people are not generally the sort without their own agendas. Especially not werewolves and vampires. Or angels…

    ---

    Uriel

    The problem wasn’t so much that we constantly dealt with these monsters, day after day. It wasn’t even so much that men died. Men had always died. If they hadn’t died in this tragedy, then they would’ve made one themselves, taken fire straight into their own hands, and forged their own destitute fates. This was a test, set forth by God himself, to cleanse humanity of its ills.

    What bothered me was that we hadn’t merely destroyed humanity for the sake of cleansing it, we were still left with monsters among men. I was several cars back, sitting with Angela near the rear of an SUV. Other than her with the small-caliber pistol that I had given her, the only other armed men were the two in the front seat. The driver was an Asian military man, who had served as an engineer. The other was a man who claimed he used to be a police officer, and although he had the gun and badge to prove it, I didn’t believe him. He fingered the gun as he spoke, cracking racist jokes at the driver while casting lurid looks at the women in the backseat.

    We stopped suddenly, and of course, Hog was the loudest with his questions, giving us anxious gazes, pulling down the window and yelling with his hand out, taking the opportunity to declare that he needed to take a piss. Our own concerns were more abstract. We only had a few more hours of daylight and we had planned to reach the outskirts of Memphis, Tennessee before the sun set.

    I had become complacent, living these past few days with men, and I assumed that we had only met with survivors. Therefore, I didn’t immediately react after Hog had exited the vehicle to take his piss and had instead started firing his gun at something directly ahead.

    Immediate protests were made, orders to stand down, but it was too late. Something ahead of us was making a violent response to the gun-fire. Even with my vision, I barely caught the glimpse of the creature dove straight for Hog, turning him into a wild-mess of bones.

    I was on the passenger side, and even as I felt poor Angela’s nails dig into my forearm, I stepped out of the vehicle. Now guns were firing at will, and the wolf-creature dashed back to the woods, taking a good chunk of Hog’s neck with him.

    For a brief moment, I caught Owen’s eye. Owen was a good man. He had told me that he had recently graduated college and was serving his dues with the army when the virus spread. An educated soldier. A paladin. I gave him a look that served better than any command. His men retreated to the vehicles, started their engines and rapidly continued on their path, leaving me behind to track the wolf. I had a duty, a responsibility to deal with creatures who slew men, regardless of what kind of scum they were.

    My hands burned of their own accord, as I set off for the woods.

    OOC: Some heavy PRPing, Shari. Please feel free “rewrite” some of this in your next post.

    Vagrant, good to see you back. Welcome.

    DK. Concerning Lucious. It's not that I'm worried that you're mimic'ing Constantine, but rather fulfilling the same sort of role that either Uriel is playing, or possibly Vagrant's new character (he posted before you). (edit) Scratch that. I did some googling as the -L was rather suspicious. I don't think Lucious will fulfill a similar role as Vagrant's L.

    I'll leave Vagrant to his own plans. :P

    DK, it's not a problem for now, but you may need to adapt him, or else you'll just be shadowing elements of Uriel. Either that, or use him to pick up your own story line.
    Last edited by Arkady; 24-12-2008 at 06:11.

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