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Post by alfred on Jan 18, 2017 22:13:06 GMT -5
Due to some complications with the last thread, I've remade this with limited positions and an overarching plot. All old members are welcome to rejoin!
I wish I could tell you everything is okay, but it's not.
Just don't panic.
i. introduction ii. about, rules, survivor's journal iii. plots, members & character tracker, news iv. joining & character biographies v. credit vi. character and story inspiration
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Post by alfred on Jan 18, 2017 22:13:19 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 quit. 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 equal opportunity to a moment of glory. 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: The Toxin The toxin is released by fragments of meteor 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 and, 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 #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 still 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 guns and ammunition. 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.
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Post by alfred on Jan 18, 2017 22:13:29 GMT -5
Plots
**Feel free to suggest your own ideas and formulate plots that suits your character's needs.
Overarching Group #1: Merryville is on high-guard after spotting a group of raiders on the outskirts of their settlement. Fearing an attack, members prepare for the worst. However, with resources so low and no real defense, they are in dire need of further support. A group is dispatched to scout for resources and help from other settlements. The dangers the surrounding land harbors, though, may make the task at hand far more difficult than any are anticipating.
Minor i. If anyone is interested, I'd be open for a sibling pair. ii. In his/her passing, a scavenger for Fort Jones agrees to aid the settlement.
Members & Character Tracker
alfred | auto | creator & admin Michael Rayburn, Sophie "Soph" Martin, Ben.John 3:16 | pete | memberSterling Norcrosse. News
Out of Character i. January 18 marks the start of remaking Don't Panic. ii. The rp was opened on January 19. The previous page can be located here. iii. Pete rejoined!!
In Character i. n/a
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Post by alfred on Jan 18, 2017 22:13:40 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. Reading the plot section might also benefit you. ** If you'd like to include pictures for character reference, please, put them in spoilers. ** Delete everything in parentheses when posting your form.
Name | age(18+) | gender | settlement(plot-wise and for now, merryville unless otherwise suggested)trait, trait, trait(limit it to three defining personality traits).basic description (brief and to the point) or faceclaim (optional)screen name (as is)Character BiographiesMerryville Settlement
alfred 's charactersMichael Rayburn | 34 | male indifferent, quiet, contemplative. possesses brown/blonde hair, green eyes, and strong physique. he is of average height and has on his person a hunting rifle, a nylon rucksack, and a hunting knife. autoInspiration for Michael's gear. He's a simple handkerchief and heavy coat. Sophie "Soph" Martin | 28 | femalerealistic, steadfast, confident.faceclaim: Ruth Negga. notable scarf she wraps around her face and thick pair of orange tinted, cover goggles. green, waxed cotton coat and flimsy, canvas rucksack.auto John 3:16 's charactersSterling Norcrosse | 26 | malestubborn, 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. John 3:16 Sterling's faceclaim.Reference for Sterling's crossbow. Raidersalfred 's character(s)Ben | 32 | male | raidercalculated, sarcastic, straight-forward.faceclaim: Cillian Murphy. thinner frame of slight build. dark, shaggy hair and blue eyes. doesn't carry much on person aside from a large machete on his right hip.auto Inspiration for Ben's gear.
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Post by alfred on Jan 18, 2017 22:13:58 GMT -5
CreditI cannot deny that Fallout 4 and TWD were two major influences for this roleplay. I want to give a shoutout to @christa for her help with coding. Her lovely text boxes were the perfect layout for this rp. Lastly, all photos and/or videos used in this rp belong to their respective owners.
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Post by alfred on Jan 19, 2017 12:53:14 GMT -5
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Post by alfred on Jan 19, 2017 15:00:39 GMT -5
Michael Rayburn ;; Merryville Settlement - 8:30 a.m.
There wasn't much to Merryville. In it's entirety, it was probably half the size of Jone's Town. It was nothing more than five acres of tainted soil and dilapidated growth. They'd two sound structures, a modest farmhouse of three stories and a barn towards the southern end of the field. Stretched out over the expanse of three acres was a sorry-looking harvest of corn and soybeans, a sort of gloom hanging over them. In the early mornings, a fog often rolled in, leaving mid-day to expose a working crew of ten to twelve people laboring over turned dirt and rotted seeds. Their grunted efforts and stifled coughs were carried in the wind, hushed conversations of a settlement left in near ruin. It was a poor excuse, a failed project that left most strangers of Merryville wondering why they even tried. It's residents were sick, their crops yellowing, and the settlement's defensive efforts all but nonexistent. By all reasoning, Merryville shouldn't even be running the way it was.
In its own mysterious way, though, it prevailed, and not because it wanted to but because it had to. Those who claimed Merryville home did not easily call it so. If any had had their way in the start, many would have chosen the safety of Bel-Ridge, the comfort of Milton, or the utility of Fort Jones. Any who lived in Merryville did so reluctantly and because they'd no other place to go. It was a settlement of outcasts. Amongst the hordes that flocked to other settlements in droves, those that were turned away came to Merryville. They were thieves, those unspecialized in work, or, put quite simply, off-putting in appearance or manner. They were the unwanted for the fact that many considered them not useful or troublemakers.
Michael Rayburn was of the latter. He'd little to call to his name but by what he'd stolen or scavenged from from those long deceased. The rifle he carefully cradled in crossed arms was off of a soldier on the outskirts of Bel-Ridge; the hunting knife he carried on his belt had been swiped off of a peddler in Fort Jones; even the coat he wore had been taken from the back of a pick-up truck, it's owner laying still in a pool of red. In all honesty, he was probably no better than the raiders that scouted their borders. The only thing separating him, was his connections to other settlers in Merryville.
Waking late, he'd tread down the stairs of the farmhouse in heavy boots, his rifle slung over shoulder. Anymore, he was accustomed to waking earlier but had taken an afternoon shift patrolling Merryville's territory. He'd a crick in his back from sleeping on the floor and an ache in his legs from endlessly pacing the dirt plains outside the previous day. The pains he harbored, though, was nothing out of the usual. Ask any other and they'd tell you the same two feelings and more. Opening the front door, he pushed through the screen in one sharp snap, stepping out onto the porch. The field before him was shadowed by a thick, white haze, parting around his feet and swirling about his figure. There was no sound aside from his own breathing and a creak underfoot. Adjusting the beanie he wore, Michael paused on the step, taking his time while tying back his handkerchief and pulling up his hood.
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Post by alfred on Jan 19, 2017 23:39:00 GMT -5
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 0:53:00 GMT -5
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 0:55:05 GMT -5
(could i repost my charrie? i'd like to rejoin ^^)
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Post by alfred on Jan 20, 2017 1:06:53 GMT -5
( Except non-hazardous. dx Of course! A few changes have been made but nothing really major. )
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 1:11:55 GMT -5
Sterling 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.
John 3:16
~~~
face claim:
crossbow:
~~~
(gonna go try and find the pictures next, i'll edit them in here)
(Edit: got em!)
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Post by alfred on Jan 20, 2017 1:15:59 GMT -5
( That's fine! Are they from Merryville? For now, the plot's just kind of focusing on the one settlement. )
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 1:23:03 GMT -5
(i guess he could, last time i left him outside merryville so *shrug*)
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Post by alfred on Jan 20, 2017 1:26:32 GMT -5
( Alrighty. c; I suppose they could be from another settlement, just passing through or something. I'm just kind of planning to have a group leave Merryville in search of other things and whatnot. Still kind of working on the idea.
There's a starter above if you wanted to rp! )
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 1:49:17 GMT -5
Michael Rayburn ;; Merryville Settlement - 8:30 a.m.
There wasn't much to Merryville. In it's entirety, it was probably half the size of Jone's Town. It was nothing more than five acres of tainted soil and dilapidated growth. They'd two sound structures, a modest farmhouse of three stories and a barn towards the southern end of the field. Stretched out over the expanse of three acres was a sorry-looking harvest of corn and soybeans, a sort of gloom hanging over them. In the early mornings, a fog often rolled in, leaving mid-day to expose a working crew of ten to twelve people laboring over turned dirt and rotted seeds. Their grunted efforts and stifled coughs were carried in the wind, hushed conversations of a settlement left in near ruin. It was a poor excuse, a failed project that left most strangers of Merryville wondering why they even tried. It's residents were sick, their crops yellowing, and the settlement's defensive efforts all but nonexistent. By all reasoning, Merryville shouldn't even be running the way it was.
In its own mysterious way, though, it prevailed, and not because it wanted to but because it had to. Those who claimed Merryville home did not easily call it so. If any had had their way in the start, many would have chosen the safety of Bel-Ridge, the comfort of Milton, or the utility of Fort Jones. Any who lived in Merryville did so reluctantly and because they'd no other place to go. It was a settlement of outcasts. Amongst the hordes that flocked to other settlements in droves, those that were turned away came to Merryville. They were thieves, those unspecialized in work, or, put quite simply, off-putting in appearance or manner. They were the unwanted for the fact that many considered them not useful or troublemakers.
Michael Rayburn was of the latter. He'd little to call to his name but by what he'd stolen or scavenged from from those long deceased. The rifle he carefully cradled in crossed arms was off of a soldier on the outskirts of Bel-Ridge; the hunting knife he carried on his belt had been swiped off of a peddler in Fort Jones; even the coat he wore had been taken from the back of a pick-up truck, it's owner laying still in a pool of red. In all honesty, he was probably no better than the raiders that scouted their borders. The only thing separating him, was his connections to other settlers in Merryville.
Waking late, he'd tread down the stairs of the farmhouse in heavy boots, his rifle slung over shoulder. Anymore, he was accustomed to waking earlier but had taken an afternoon shift patrolling Merryville's territory. He'd a crick in his back from sleeping on the floor and an ache in his legs from endlessly pacing the dirt plains outside the previous day. The pains he harbored, though, was nothing out of the usual. Ask any other and they'd tell you the same two feelings and more. Opening the front door, he pushed through the screen in one sharp snap, stepping out onto the porch. The field before him was shadowed by a thick, white haze, parting around his feet and swirling about his figure. There was no sound aside from his own breathing and a creak underfoot. Adjusting the beanie he wore, Michael paused on the step, taking his time while tying back his handkerchief and pulling up his hood. As with many others in the town of Merryville, Sterling wasn't anything to write home about. He came here with most everyone else, because he was cast out from the communities of every town he traveled to, finding this place to be the only one around that even remotely welcomed him. But it had it's downsides, of course. And as Sterling stirred awake, still curled up into a tight little ball in the alleyway he had fallen asleep in, to the sound of someone rifling through his things, it was obvious to anyone what those downsides were. Thieves ran amok, crime thriving in this run down city of ruins. This was a place where every man was out for himself, I suppose. And it showed as Sterling awoke with a start, chasing the surprised thief down the alleyway. Luckily, when Sterling got back to his backpack eventually, nothing had been taken. Must've just been looking... Sterling thought, biting his lip as he ran his hands through his cropped dark brown hair.
Sterling took in the faint scent of morning dew on the leaves of dying weeds nearby, rubbing his tired eyes with his fingers as he threw his backpack over his shoulders. Leaning against the wall, he took a quick minute to steady himself, trying to fight off the sleepiness that was still within him, before retrieving his crossbow and his helmet from behind a withered stack of bricks when he felt awake enough to do so. He was running out of food, so he made a mental note to try and find something to chow down on. God, what Sterling would do for a real nice, hot meal right now.
Emerging out of the alleyway, he pulled his helmet over his head and kept his crossbow on hand as he took a quick peek around, not seeing much interesting happening early in the morning, which was to be expected. The field in front of the man had a thick fog, as thick as pea soup as people used to like to playfully name it. Sighing for what seemed like the billionth time today, he closed his eyes. Gah, he was woken up too early...
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Post by alfred on Jan 20, 2017 3:06:34 GMT -5
( Just a quick note - sorry if I didn't make it clear - but Merryville is more so a farm outside of any major town. The nearest neighboring house would be a couple miles down the road. It's basically your typical farm, secluded but a lot smaller.
Sorry for taking forever and a day. )
Michael Rayburn ;; to Sterling Norcrosse Merryville Settlement - 8:30 a.m.
Taking his time, Michael paced the border of Merryville's crop, his rifle cradled comfortably between crossed arms. His demeanor was lax and his gait leisurely as he kicked at stone and dry dirt. With the fog came a sort of silence that put most people on edge. It carried an eerie calmness that settled uneasily in open air, its message lost in translation. In all honesty, though, Michael found it welcoming. The fear that turned his stomach was something so familiar now that, most often, it went unnoticed. This fog was nothing but a chill reminder of that lost feeling.
Tensing only slightly as a figure took form in the mist, Michael watched as a fresh-faced individual ran past him and back toward the steps of the farmhouse. The boy looked to be in a hurry, stumbling past Michael as he shared an awkward greeting. Returning the gesture with one raised hand, Michael shook his head and continued forward, stopping as another figure emerged. Pursing his lips, he kept his gun lowered but hand poised as he stepped forward to investigate.
The man before him was familiar, a face he'd seen around Merryville before. Nodding curtly in introduction, Michael turned to look at the farmhouse, exchanging a look between it and the man. "Morning," he started, his voice loud in the silence that surrounded them.
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Post by John 3:16 on Jan 20, 2017 3:20:09 GMT -5
(o h oop s i always thought it was kind of a closer town, but still farm-y)
Sterling jumped slightly, not expecting someone nearby to break the eerie silence surrounding the town. Whirling his head around, fingers tight on his crossbow, stepping back slightly as he lay eyes on another person, seemingly running towards something. Huh, strange. Well, nothing to be worried about, he wasn't charging after Sterling so Sterling didn't have to be concerned. But when he did hear someone's voice directed at him, he did jump once again, but this time more out of slight fear. "U-Uh, good morning." He said with an awkward smirk-smile, although the other could not see it for his helmet was in the way. "How are you?" He asked, trying to keep his slightly shaky voice steady and calm for this interaction at least. He didn't want to make it more awkward than it already was, that was for sure.
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Post by alfred on Jan 22, 2017 14:42:45 GMT -5
( Sorry, get kind of busy on the weekends. xp I'll be on in a few!! )
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