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Post by alfred on Nov 16, 2016 20:01:37 GMT -5
About
The world as we know it is gone. Wiped from existence and replaced by something much darker. Twelve years after the events that brought Earth its doom, people are struggling to stay alive. It's a hard life and just surviving might not be enough. A dangerous toxin falls like dust, turning people mad from prolonged exposure. Wars and skirmishes have broken out over that land and it's every person for themselves.
Yet, humans still prevail. Settlements have emerged and new life has began. It's a long road to recovery but there are those still willing to try. It's our mission to start anew, to rebuild and protect the last of Earth's survivors. i. I am aware that most of us here are in high school or beyond. We've got work and families. Therefore, I do not expect you to be on everyday. That is completely fine. However, if you could remain committed to this rp, I would appreciate that. You don't have to be on everyday, even every other, but please do not join and quite. ii. This rp is quality over quantity. There should be no posts under five lines of solid IC rp, but you don't need to type up a novel every time you post something. Just show effort. Length can vary and that's totally fine. iii. I am in full support of the LGBT+ community. All love is welcomed here. No one should feel judged or disrespected OOC. If there is even the slightest hint of disdain, I will warn you. iv. Abide by the forum rules. This will be slightly more graphic than your usual rp but know that every post should be forum appropriate. No excessive gore or explicit love scenes. We've a strict fade-to-black policy here. v. There should be no unrealistic expectations. No godmodding, powerplaying, controlling other characters that you do not own, nothing. Mary Sues and Gary Stus will not be accepted. I understand if you want to spotlight your character every once in a while but do not make them the focus of an entire plot. Everyone should have their moment of glory, all shared equally. vi. Please, share any and all ideas or suggestions you may have. I have a bad habit of drawing scenes out. I can be boring. Just tell me when I am and I'll pick up the pace a bit. I want us all to have fun here. Entry #1: The Asteroid It started as a celestial phenomenon. Every two years or so it would cross our skies. We'd ready our telescopes, sit on the porch and wait. Gleaming, burning, and beautiful - it'd hurtled over our heads, leaving trails of stardust in its wake. It'd a name, some string of letters and three numbers, but that changed. While on the other side - the dark side - something crashed into it, sending it off course. In a matter of months it would complete its course around the sun and come shooting toward us. After that, we called it Moros. It was our doom and our new beginning.
Entry #2: The Dust The impact the asteroid took on the other side of the sun had been nasty. It broke apart into hundreds of shards of rock. When our day of reckoning came, the shards showered Earth, hitting it with enough force to send tons of dirt and debris up into the sky. Clouds of ruin hung like shrouds over our heads. It falls like ash, carrying with it toxin released from the bits of meteor fragments.
Entry #3: Toxin The toxin is released by the meteors and most toxic within a certain radius of the impact zones. It spreads through the ash and settles over the land like snow, silent and deadly. In the years following the impact, the toxin mostly went unrecognized. The science that still existed beyond that point studied it and came to the conclusion that it was slowly poisoning our atmosphere, entering the blood stream of living species and turning them mad with increased dosages. It takes time and prolonged exposure but, eventually, we all fall victim to the toxin. Once turned feral, the host does not live long.
To protect ourselves and impede the toxin's progression, it is recommended we wear appropriate clothing and gear. Heavy wool, rubber, and sealed garments are preferred. If you are fortunate enough to find them, wear a hazmat suit or a gas mask to prevent the inhalation of ash.
Entry #4: Turning Feral The speed the toxin progresses at depends on the person. For some it may be years before they show symptoms. For others, it may only be weeks. We only know that, once you do start to show symptoms, the toxin progresses rather rapidly. It starts as a cold, a fever or redness of the skin. In later stages you may start to develop a sort of burn over your body and experience nausea or loss of memory. In the final stages, the victim may become violent. They are reduced to their basic needs, become animalistic in nature, and will no longer recognize you. They are feral and most dangerous.
There is no treatment and no cure.
Entry #5: Sequence of Events Millions of people perished in the initial attack. The meteors wiped cities from the face of the map overnight. Following this event, people tried to come back stronger. They collected themselves and reached out to those still surviving. The clouds of ash overhead stuck, though. Within months, crops were failing and our environment was polluted. Famine and disease erupted from the populace and millions died as result. Wars broke out for the remaining resources, both foreign and domestic.
It is twelves years after the fall of civilization. Around 2% of the population remains, all struggling to thrive in a world that wants them dead. It is a battle many fear we are losing.
Entry #6: Future Tech Before Moros and before the wars, technology had progressed far beyond expectation. We were in the middle of another boom, a new era of future tech. Among the most renowned of inventions were that of the hovercar, pulse rifle, and automaton. Machines made by man and like man lived in our homes, serving our every need. People went to work in self-driving cars. Wars were fought with ammunition made from energy rather than metal and powder. It was a good time to be alive.
Entry #7: Lay of the Land It's like a scene from a movie. A silent and sad beauty best admired from afar. Vegetation grows in pathetic clusters, cities lay in quiet slumber, and nature does its damnedest to hide its sorrow from sight. The sun never shines and a fog or gloom hovers overhead. Though largely unaffected by the toxin, other non-human life struggles. Settlements have emerged, however few they may be, and seem to be on the uprise. There are four of importance within a few days walk: Milton, Fort Jones, Merryville, and Bel-Ridge.
Milton specializes in home-grown vegetables and herbs. They've greenhouses to protect their precious plants from the elements and a river passing by. They've walls made from wood and scouts placed on posts every five feet around the perimeter. They are a friendly settlement and most likely to offer help to those in need but still hold their secrets. They are closest to their plants.
Fort Jones is a trading settlement. They carry general goods, things you might not think you need till later. They are a heavily guarded community and self-policed. However, crime runs rampant through its streets and thieves flock to the settlement in droves. They are in the midst of creating a pact with Bel-Ridge. If Bel-Ridge gives them support through military enforcement, they will supply them with their most valuable of goods and services. The community is nestled in the square of a dilapidated town. They block what exits they can with vehicles and repair falling structures.
Merryville is the newest of settlements. They are a farming community and most poor. Because they're crops aren't protected, many die off and those that live are heavily polluted by the toxin. Many of its residents are ill and in desperate need of medical attention. They are rough, untrusting, and cautious of strangers. They reside on a large farm and have no walls to protect themselves. They loath other settlements for their reluctance to aid them.
Bel-Ridge was a military outpost. They specialize in weapons, their most valuable resource being pulse rifles and antique guns. They have a sort of monopoly over other settlements, a purchasing power which others envy. They've meds, weapons, and a strong force of people waiting to test their skills. They are cocky but well disciplined. They've chainlink surrounding their settlement's perimeter and guards patrolling every hour.
Entry #8: Occupations --
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Post by alfred on Nov 16, 2016 20:02:09 GMT -5
Joining
** Be sure you've read and understand the second post before joining Don't Panic. All information provided there is vital for the workings of this roleplay. ** Please, also remember to erase the words in parentheses. Follow this exact format. Things will be edited when you are accepted.
Name: (first and last. middle is optional)Gender:Age: (+16, preferably late twenties and early thirties)Appearance:Personality: (sum up in three all-encompassing words)Backstory:Important Gear: (this should include the gear they wear and what they might commonly carry)Weapons: (guns in this day and age are highly expensive and hard to find. try to be creative but not over-the-top)Other: (try to include a face-claim or photo here. maybe their occupation or speciality if they have one.)Character BiographiesName | age | gender trait, trait, trait. appearance. words words words words. gear, weapons and other. screen name
Mercy Evans| 28 | femalerealistic, critical, steadfast.Mercy stands at 5' 7" and weighs 130 lbs. She's a slender physique and proud posture. A mess of dark brown curls cascade down around her shoulders, often pulled to the back and pinned. She's a soft brown complexion and darker eyes. She had still been in high school when Moros arrived. She'd been a bright student then and most interested in engineering. Her father was one himself, designing and repairing the local house automatons. After the asteroid hit, her father was enlisted to repair the more equipped automatons, the law enforcement and medical correspondents, from damage they'd received in the riots. He'd show her small things and bring her along when no one else was at home to watch her. She'd learned many skills and put them to use after the untimely death of her father seven years back. For a time, she traveled alone, bouncing around from settlement to settlement. On one outing, she encountered a sleeping android, activated it and reprogrammed its system. Ghost, as she calls it, follows her on her journeys outside the settlements. She's no hazmat suit to protect her and instead wears a green, waxed cotton coat. This falls over her jean jacket and cream, sweater shirt. She sports grey trousers and a worn pair of brown, timberland boots. For protection from the elements, she wears tight-fitting gloves, a respirator, and a large pair of orange-tinted ski goggles. As she is a frequent habitant of Bel-Ridge, she was able to acquire a pulse rifle from one of its storerooms. Aside from this, she carries a blade on the strap to her canvas rucksack. She's a sort of repairman for the settlements. If there is something needing fixed, she'll do it but for a price. automatonGhost | been in commission for 14 | referred to as male empathetic, patient, passive. Ghost is an android, fitting of the figure but completely mechanical. These twelves years have been none too kind to him. A majority of his paint has rusted and the display screen on his face is cracked and non-functional. He is mute, his vocal processors faulty. When he is saying something, a faint light appears on one temple but no sound emerges. gear, weapons and other. Before Moros and, for a time afterwards, he worked as law enforcement. A riot put him out of commission for four years before he was reactivated by Mercy. He's no weapons aside from an immunity from the toxin and enhanced strength. Eugene "Gene" Taylor | 30 | maleindifferent, quiet, contemplative.Gene is not what you might consider clearcut and handsome. One good look will tell you he appears rather worn and tired. His eyes are sunken and shadowed by thick brows, his lips pursed thin. He's no laughing lines and, instead, deep furrows from maintaining his frown and constant composure. Most would think him quite serious just from one simple look, and they wouldn't be far from wrong. His ragged appearance is only furthered by the stubble of a growing beard and a mop of unruly hair. He does his best to tame it with a brush of his hand or a razor but, most often, it gets away from him. In his youth, his hair was a soft whisper of blonde locks. Now, though, it has darkened to a dull brown. The mess hovers over the tops of his ears and two green eyes. He's a rather slender physique, fit and lightly toned with muscle. He stands just shy of 6' 1". After Moros and the following chaos, his parents and him wound up at Fort Jones. Needing work to survive, his father became a scavenger and took him on missions. His mother died early on from the toxins and his father turned not long after. He's been frequenting Fort Jones ever since. He doesn't stay long and mostly just arrives to trade in things he's found. He wears a light, water proof jacket and heavy clothing. A gas mask shields his face from the elements and he wears gloves when handling things. Aside from this, he carries an orange, nylon rucksack. He's a serrated blade on his belt and a crowbar hanging from a loop on his rucksack. He works as a scavenger for Fort Jones. He'll collect things of interest and trade them into the venders. automatonMichael Wright | age | male impulsive, sarcastic, rude. appearance. words words words words. Craig Wright | 26 | male friendly, relaxed, irresponsible. Craig is 5'10 and is never seen without an easy smile on his face. He has a oval face with large, deep-set blue eyes, a sharp nose and thin lips. He has a mop of curly dirty blonde hair that he usually leaves unstyled. When he smiles widely, he has a set of dimples and a pair of too-bright, crinkly eyes. His friendly disposition can be seen in his usual demeanor; and the way he carries himself causes him to be a relaxing presence to the people around him. Michael is his brother and they've stuck together through thick and thin for the past ten years. Camo jacket, black beanie, black slacks and a surgical mask. He usually carries a brown rucksack for storing necessities. He stashes a few knives in his belt for self-defense. However, his usual weapon of choice is a baseball bat for inflicting head trauma. Craig has a flair for coaxing plants to grow despite the harsh conditions. susieqSalome Mercado | 29 | female pragmatic, serious, narrow-minded. Salome is an imposing 5'3. (lol) However, you shouldn't take her lightly due to her height. She has broad shoulders and defined muscles, and could probably knock someone out cold if she wanted. She has a heart-shaped face, large dark brown eyes, a small nose and small lips. Her black hair reaches the small of her back and is usually parted in the center. It is usually up tied up in a bun and hidden under a baseball hat. 12 years ago, when the event happened, Salome lost the people close to her to the illness. This struck her psyche especially hard. Since then, she has had trust issues and refuses to form friendships for the sake of doing so. Any bonds she formed were supposed to be for business and mutually beneficial. Usually keeps to herself and goes from town to town to trade or look for anyone willing to give her odd jobs to do. However, she frequents Fort Jones the most as many merchants are willing to pay her handsomely to catch thieves and the lot. She took taekwondo back then, and was a black belt, and is heavily reliant on her skills during combat. An oversized bomber jacket over a white tank top, grey wool pants and a base ball cap. Usually she ties a scarf around the lower half of her face. She carries a sling bag to store whatever she needs on hand. She carries a swiss army knife in the pockets of her bomber jacket. Alfred Solas | 20 | malebold, curious, passionate.After the doomsday that shattered the earth, Alfred was told several times to prepare for the rough life that was ahead. Alfred, traveled to the nearest museum, and salvaged what he could of the tattered remains of bricks and stone of the monument of historical knowledge. It was there he gathered many supplies, one of which was a weapon, and WWI equipment. Alfred wears a bleak and tattered grey German World War I coat and trousers, along with black gloves and black shoes. Alfred wears a stalhelm and the old gas mask when the time need be. On his back is a heavy pack of supplies that carry what he salvaged from the museum, and his journey so far, including other clothing, other weapons, an abundance of ammunition, and dog tags, which belonged to the owner of the uniform. There is also blankets, and pillows. Along his waist, there are ammunition pouches, canteens, and combat knives. Finding it with his older german uniform, Alfred picked up the Gewehr 98, a bolt action rifle. Alfred has attached a bayonet to the rifle, and wears it around his arm. TheFunnyRobotSterling Norcrosse | 26 | male stubborn, wary, quiet. Almost everything about this dude is sharp. Fine lines appear all around his face, from his knife-like jawline to his cheekbones to Hell even his nose. This arguably young man stands at a good 5'10, his long and thin legs holding him up to this height. Short darker brown hair frames his face, equal amber eyes piercing through dark eyelashes. His thin body is lean and flexible, fingers long and actually pretty tough. Sometimes he wears a beanie, but that's rarely. His back is very strong, due to the amount of things he carries with him. His fairly toned skin is relatively unmarked, on the outside at least. Under his clothing hides a gruesome scar running from his right collarbone down to around the middle of his waist, from a fight long ago that Sterling had obviously lost. Although many perceive him to be a lone wolf now, as he prefers to walk a lonely road, in the past he wasn't quite the same. Dependent on people like his brother and his few friends to help his incredibly shy, introverted, and quiet self through life, it was quite the shock to him when everything went to Hell. He still remembers when the asteroid hit all those years ago, and he ran into his house after busting the door down to see his brother splayed out on the floor in the entrance of the house, twitching madly with the insanity of the deadly toxin, pupils blown wide as he stared at Sterling with an unreadable gleam in his lifeless eyes. It was a scarring experience, especially on the young mind of a 14 year old boy, that was for sure. He had much difficulty adjusting to life without a shoulder to lean on in such a short and unexpected notice, and even now he still has remnants of that trouble he had been in. But he soon got sort of a hang on life on his own, and now he does fairly well for a person like himself. A red leather jacket along with some other important clothes and items, such as his gas mask and several more personal things, are usually packed into a large dark brown backpack carefully slung over his back. He is usually spotted wearing a dyed black classic cavalry jacket, underneath hides a black bulletproof vest just in case, and some ripped up jeans, along with some ratty old boots covering his feet. But most noticeably is a fading yellow motorcycle helmet adorning his head, to protect possibly his most vital part of his body. A dark green quiver usually either hangs off his hip on his tool belt, or is slung over his back. Knives decorate his shallow tool belt, the quiver usually thrown over his back normally rustling with bolts, some of which he's actually made himself. But the star of the show with this guy is a big camouflage crossbow pulled from the wreckage of a hunting store, and surprisingly he's pretty damn good with it. That is usually either in hand, or slung off of his backpack, held on the loops and buckles of the backpack by a couple of carefully hooked carabiners. Maybe not so surprisingly, Sterling is a fairly good thief. Although understandably, due to the tight conditions of security in most of the towns and forts, he hasn't been able to exercise this skill he has very much. Dʀᴏᴡɴɪɴɢ Lᴇssᴏɴs
Ezekiel "Zeke" Jaime Zubia | 30 | male observant, sharp-tongued, loyal. A lanky, lean man at the height of an intimidating 6'4" when not hunched over, in a typical lazy body posture; although skinny, he moves with controlled, powerful intent. A slender face, with sharp cheek bones, strong, prominent chin, and a pointed, hooked nose; his skin is muddy brown, with a reddish tone too it. Contrast against his dark skin, a mess of scars, large gash wounds, raw-pink in color, stretched across the right side of his face, raised and crisscrossing, reaching his jaw and the outward edge of the right eye, stretching out over his whole cheek. Although a mutilated face, Zeke still smiles wide and crookedly, showing off a shiny, left silver incisor. Although he gives big smiles, most don't actually meet his eyes, which are a stark, eerily light green. His hair, although beginning to grey at the roots, is an inky black, loose wavy curls, long enough to go past his ears. He is commonly covered in dirt, sweat, and grease, and is self-conscious about his facial scar to the point he wears a black gas-mask as often as he can. Zeke was only a young adult, a teenager really, when the world was plummeted into chaos. He had lost his mother to the toxic gases and toxins released close by where they lived. the year he turned nineteen, a year after, his father was killed by thieves after whatever he had in his scavenging bag; Zeke found him, laying in a pool of his own blood on one of the common paths his father took back to their "home." His mentality after his mother dying in a slow, painful way, had already damaged his mentality, and once his father passed, found cold with eyes misted over, that had only sent him deeper into slight insanity and regular dissociation from reality; and receiving small dose of toxins didn't and won't help. The scars on his face came from a rather savage, brutal encounter he had with a thief with the structure of a wall, and had the upper-hand of getting Zeke pinned and have the access to slash and cut his face with a heavy-duty pocket knife. Only way he managed to escape was to get his teeth into the attacker's neck and bite, hard. Zeke wears a pair of filthy dark blue jeans with a thick, but worn brown leather belt to keep it snug against his thin, bony frame and a pair of old black, army boots. He owns an old, worn, black leather pilot's bomber jacket, which was his grandfather's; underneath the jacket is usually the same white, dusty t-shirt with holes here and there, and a black tank-top underneath that. Along with all that, he has a black gas-mask with red tinted lens that he wears frequently to mask his face and protect him from as much toxic gases/toxins in the air. He owns a navy green duffel bag, where he stores anything he's found scavenging, bought, possibly stolen. He carries his hatchet strapped to the back of his jacket, always there and ready. His main weapon is a heavy woodcutter hatchet, a thick wooden hilt and a dirty metal blade that appears better kept than he keeps himself. ➳Gʀʏρнοп🌠
Paul Rosenburg | 26 | male timid, jittery, paranoid. Paul is a small, five-foot-five man with a slightly chubby kind of build. He has a little bit of a gut, even though he's constantly up and about, but he’s not too big. His hair is pretty short, a light blonde color, and his eyes are a soft shade of green. Paul has many scars scattered across his body, but most are on his arms and hands from working, and his skin is a light bronze. Paul is not an intimidating or physically remarkable person. He looks like a cuddly, friendly teddy bear, which he pretty much is. He often wears baggy clothes and is fond of long-sleeved shirts and sweatpants. Paul was only a preteen when everything fell apart and the world went downhill. His parents were both doctors, and due to this, he grew up constantly witnessing death and gore. His father was a good man, always trying to help a patient, even if he knew they wouldn't make it, while his mother was very cautious and only wanted to use supplies on people she was certain would live. At first, Paul was conflicted, but after being asked to save a couple’s daughter when his mother refused to help, he decided he preferred his father’s more generous attitude. However, when he was still only a teenager, his parents were taken by a vicious gang of men, but both put up such a serious fight that, in the end, they were accidentally killed. Since then, he’s mostly been on his own, and prefers to be alone when he’s not visiting patients. He trades his medical expertise for necessities like food, water and clothing. Paul always, without a doubt, carries his medical bag around with him wherever he goes. He keeps basic first aid supplies, such as gauze, disinfectant, rubbing alcohol and bandages, and more serious equipment like scalpels and stitching twine inside it. Of course, these things are hard to come by, so he guards it with his life. Other than that, he likes to keep rubber gloves, an apron or lab coat, a face mask and other protective outfits on hand, all of which he keeps in a backpack. He tries not to advertise his profession too much, however, so he generally dresses as inconspicuously as possible. Paul's weapon of choice is a small, flimsy little pocket knife, though he isn't much of a fighter. Paul is an excellent doctor and, despite his frailty, isn't squeamish about blood. He enjoys helping others, although his lack of a backbone often gets him into dangerous situations. shoutsofwar
Sammie Reyes | 19 | female compassionate, hot-tempered, pessimistic. A very soft looking girl, full figured, with a standing height of 5'3". Her skin is the color of wheat, lightly tanned, golden, with light brown freckles all over her body, mainly a splash of them across her face, like a mask. No apparent scars, just a few nicks on her hands, legs, and arms. She has an oval shaped face, still with baby-fat, giving her soft cheeks, no prominent chin, and a soft button nose, with a slight arch to the bridge of it. Alongside the splash of freckles on her face, there's also a smooth mole on the right cheek, that matches perfectly to where her dimples fall whenever she smiles or frowns with plump pink lips, that are either chapped or constantly being bitten. Underneath thick black eyelashes are round, heavy-lidded looking eyes; they are hazel in color, a light brown, with a lighter green around the pupils. Her hair is long, wavy, thick and wild, reaching to about the middle of her back. The color of it is mainly brown, but with small streaks and parts that are either a dark or light blonde. Brushed or not, it always looked messy, and she usually keeps it in one or two braids if it's getting in the way. Her fingernails are always ragged and bitten off, since Sammie has the nervous habit of biting off her nails to the point they would bleed. Around her neck is a necklace, made of turquoise, in the shape of a bear, which she keeps very close to her, underneath her shirt. She was very young when the world went to sh*t, but she remembers it all too well of how the years were afterwards. She had been living with her grandmother since both her parents had been killed by the disaster, and she had somehow managed to survive. Her grandmother and her got along living just fine, somehow finding a safe place out of the way of the crashing cities. Even so, at the age of fourteen Sammie was left alone, as her grandmother, already too weak, succumbed to the poisonous air rather quickly. After that, Sammie packed up what she could with a rather small, red and black backpack from her childhood days, and left before others would find them. Sammie's main get up is baggy looking army camo-pants, securely tied around her small waist with a thick brown leather belt, along with dirty and ragged, tan colored army combat boots, which she's managed to fit in due to wearing heavily thick socks. She wears a worn and dirty dark, dark green t-shirt, discolored with lighter patches, tucked into her pants. She wears a puffy, thick navy green jacket, and a soft, but worn darker navy green fur aviator hat, or stuffed in one of the large pockets inside the jacket. A small, tan colored respirator is either around her neck or on her mouth and nose at all times, along with her beat up backpack. Besides a small pocket knife she keeps in her pocket, Sammie owns a pair of black, leather and spandex tactical gloves, with bits of sharp metal pieces on the three middle knuckles. May look cute and unassuming, but Sammie has a wicked temper, and isn't afraid to fight someone with only her fists, close and physical. She has a bit of a sailor-mouth, and isn't very ladylike at all. Sammie's occupation, one could say, is that she herself deals with toxins and poisons; she has a great knowledge of poisons, how to use them, and if she can find the ingredients, knows how to make them. She uses them to dip her weapons in, if needed, or to drug someone, inflict a painful death. Although, without the ingredients, she can't do much with what she knows. She's a wanderer, doesn't really settle down anywhere, especially in settlements; they give her bad vibes. ➳Gʀʏρнοп🌠 Francesca "Frankie" Belle | 25 | femalesarcastic, thoughtful, awkward.Frankie "literal puppy" Belle is a taller-than-average (5'9") girl with a warm, brown skin tone and enough freckles to cover a family of ten. She quite likes them. Her hair is a rusty sort of brown, naturally curly, and often pulled back in some manner to be kept away from her face. Her eyes are dark brown, easily read, and usually brimming with the emotion that she refuses to voice aloud. Besides living through the post-apocalypse, Frankie has lived a rather mundane life. Her father either died or left early in her life- she isn't sure which -and currently helps her mother in Milton. She's quite the photographer, her camera being her most prized possession. Frankie wears two layers of tighter clothing, then a few of looser clothing. Two scarfs hang around her neck of brighter colors, and she carries more than a few bags around. Finally, her gas mask is specially fitted using similar tech as the settlement's greenhouses. A machete, a few knives, and an axe. Helps grow things in Milton, a hobby photographer. upsidedownAquarius Ayres | 30 | female guarded, calculated, confident. Aquarius, 5'10, has wide shoulders and a powerful build. She looks like she could hurt you, and she both would and could. Bleached white-blonde hair cuts off at her shoulders, her skin almost the same shade of pale. Her skin doesn't often see the sun without heavy coverings. Her brows are dark, and her eyes a striking, pale blue. Aquarius likes to shroud herself in a simple life story. She had a perfectly normal life, went into the military, at some point her parents both died, and now she simply wants to make everyone's lives better. Even if that means sacrificing others for the greater good. Whether this is the truth or not, who knows for sure. A military gal, she wears a jumpsuit and camo poncho-type thing, along with mask. An incredibly talented maskman, Aquarius has always been particularly interested with bows. So, with the help of a mechanic friend, she created her very own hard-light/condensed energy bow. And yes, she is highly effective with it. Besides that, she carries an old styled pistol and a few knives. She seems to have an aversion to individual people, but is a charismatic leader when it comes to larger crowds. She tends to run more special-ops type missions. upsidedown
Jamison Osborne | 26 | maleunstable, fearful, alert.
Jamison has an unkempt beard and dirty hair. His face is covered in soot and dirt, and his eyes are mildly bloodshot. He almost always has a constant tired look about him, as if he never gets any sleep. He is not very strong, and is in fact rather scrawny. Jamison was just a standard man before doomsday. Had a decent job, a family, and a home. Now he wanders the wasteland of what used to be the world, rarely trusting anyone he meets. Sleep constantly evades him as he stays alert for anyone who decides to wander too close to wherever his camp is at the time. He rarely gains entry to settlements, mostly due to those living there referring to him as "insane" or "dangerous". And they're mostly right. The end of the world can change a man. Jamison wears a thick coat with plates of scrap metal attached to it, creating makeshift armor. His mouth and nose are covered by a scavenged half-face respirator that muffles his voice slightly. He usually has a few "shrapnel" bombs on him, self made explosives that while not packing much power explosion-wise, spreads sharp shards of metal and screws in a large radius. The only weapon he carries is a self-made spear. A long stick with a sharpened piece of metal on the end, nails stuck through the end of the stick for another method of attack, and it is decorated with small pieces of broken glass tied to the stick. He specializes in scavenging. He knows where to look for food, water, and sometimes even medical supplies. Sour CandyBuck | assembled 16 years past | male voice software hospitable, helpful, protective. Buck is a robot built to handle hazardous situations. His body is made from rather thick metal plating, standing with a humanoid figure. He has an antenna sticking out the back of his head, and a small bright yellow light on top of his "face" serves as his eye. Heat vents are between his shoulders and neck. His yellow warning paint has been mostly weathered away by the elements, leaving his metallic body a dull, scratched gray. Buck was created as a prototype for exploring and monitoring hazardous areas (Broken nuclear power plants, for example.), Although he never made it out of the prototype phase due to overheating problems. Years later, possibly due to a mainframe malfunction, Buck was activated and brought back into the world. Since then, he has been exploring this new world, trying to lend a helping hand to any survivors of humanity. Buck commonly wears a large hooded wool cloak, hiding most his mechanical form from view. Other than that, most of his gear is internal. He has built in sensors to detect temperature, radiation, nearby lifeforms, and humidity. Buck's weapon is a large sniper rifle, designed to pierce through walls and other targets. Even though it has poor reload speed, low ammo capacity, a heavy kick, and is rather heavy in general, it makes up for its negatives with pinpoint accuracy and high damage. Buck has one large problem: He overheats easily. If he tries to get up close and personal with any combatants, he could easily overheat and lock up, leaving him vulnerable. Hence why he prefers to fight from a distance. Sour Candy C17 | unknown | prefers maleclever, independent, curious.C17 is an android, and a very humanoid one at that, although mostly seen that way by his face. His chrome tint isn't as shiny these days, and most of his LEDs have faded, but the bolts and cables all remain in proper order, save for a long gash across his face and chest plate, amongst other scratches. He speaks with a mostly dead-pan robotic voice. C17 was an assembly-line bot, created for training soldiers, and built sturdy for the purpose. Though he didn't see much action due to a small flaw in his AI, which made him a bit too self-willed and all too often refusing to follow orders. Because of this, he was shelved before the initial disaster for tweaking, but no one really got around to it because of the rather important apocalypse. In the ensuing chaos, C17 was activated as part of an emergency protocol and took his chance to escape, and has been wandering by himself ever since. C17 wears a lot of covering layers to keep his mechanical parts from view to avoid being scavenged for parts and to keep himself safe from the weather. He wears a coat over a beat-up zipper jacket that falls to his knees, with the hood up and dark tinted goggles over his eyes. He wears cargofish pants for the many pockets, boots, and carries a backpack and a few other smaller bags. Gloves and wraps go down his arms and hands. He always seems to have just the right tool. Other than his metal fists, C17 doesn't have much except the scrap he's picked up. He has an old baton and a small pistol. C17 is a bit of a loner with no real purpose, but does most work as a scavenger, and providing info where he can if there's a good price for it. He also has a bit of thievery under his belt for good measure. The Blue AdeptHonora Ocampo | 27 | female responsible, disciplined, stubborn. Honora wouldn't immediately strike one as intimidating, at least concerning her height. She's roughly 5'6", average, with a lean and built body and tanned skin. Her auburn hair is about shoulder length, and kept back in either a bun or a ponytail. Her eyebrows are dark and her eyes are dark brown and almond shaped, her face round. She has a few battle scars, but none immediately visible. She has very sharp reflexes and always seems to be ready for action. Honora didn't known much of her parents, even before Moros. They died from an accident when she was quite young, too young to remember them properly, and was eventually adopted by two well-meaning military men. Because of this, she grew up disciplined and favoring justice and force, and was raised to be a soldier herself. She didn't detest it, but found herself thriving under such motivation, and became revered within her squadron. After Moros hit, work was tougher, more dangerous, and she was more inclined to help her community than strangers, and relocated to Bel-Ridge where she now does work out of, with Artemus as her partner and trainee. Her morals are situational, and she's a tough woman to face. Honora is decked out in a full military ensemble, with thick-cotton shirt and pants, body armor, a pack-vest, and sturdy and reliable combat boots. Under most of her gear she wears a double-breasted coat and a light wrap around her neck, with her gas mask either on her face or resting around her neck. She has supplies for a long journey, including medicine. Among her ensemble of weapons, there are at least 5 knives, one pulse rifle, and a pistol. Honora works as a sort of scout/courier for Bel-Ridge, relaying information and helping transport traded material from the different settlements. She does diplomatic work, and scouts for any signs of trouble. The Blue Adept Artemus Hayes | 24 | malereserved, altruistic, steadfast.Of the many mysteries of Artemus, his appearance seems to be the biggest one. In fact, it's easy to mistake him for an android at first glance. Much of his body is very mutilated, with many organs and limbs entirely replaced with mechanical counterparts. His face has not been seen before, but underneath the helmet he wears it's quite scarred, almost entirely missing the left half which has been clumsily replaced with synthetics. He is still very tall, standing at around 6'2" and with a sturdy and built physique. Artemus was young when Moros first hit, and he and his family were not adequately prepared to react. His family survived the initial problems, but as they traveled on to different settlements, searching for respite, they began to slowly die off. Left with just his mother and sister, Artemus struggled to keep himself safe. Then, as if things couldn't get any worse during the apocalypse, there was an accident while he was with a group of scavengers, involving an explosion that crippled him. While barely managing to keep him alive, two strangers dragged him as close as they could to Bel-Ridge, where he was subsequently 'fixed', but separated from his family. Indebted to them, he agreed to become a soldier, where his enhancements were best fitted. Much like Honora, Artemus wears extensive military gear, with body armor and vestpacks, his body comfortably covered by heavy black fabric and straps. Among the most prominent of his gear, he wears a motorcycle-esque helmet, with a dark tinted faceplate stretching from his chin to his forehead. Although there is a respirator built in, due to his inhuman 'deformities', Artemus is almost entirely immune to the toxin. Artemus carries a few knives, a pulse rifle, and a rather fancy spear that normally appears as a small, 3 foot rod that extends out to his full height, and very sharp-tipped. Artemus does much of the same work as Honora, but does more of the scouting than the talking. He has a bit more trouble when it comes to ignoring the problems of strangers. The Blue Adept
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