The Last of Us: Exodus (Horror-Drama) OOC/OPEN

[Kentucky Fried Land]

THE LAST OF US: EXODUS


Theme

IC

Co-OPS: Imperial Idaho, Ormata, Anowa

The world is dead.

2013. That was the year the infection began to spread. Nobody knew what would happen then. We were all so naive. We were huddled into these little camps by FEDRA, they told us we would be safe. I won’t call it a lie; they believed it. Goddammit, they believed it. That was a long time ago. We know a hell of a lot more about the virus now. The fact that it’s not even a virus was the first thing we learned. A fungus, Cordyceps it’s called. Nobody really calls it that anymore. Just “infected.” It’s degrading, but… we live with it.

Twenty-two years since the infection started. As you may guess from your surroundings, society has fallen apart. Now, if you were one of those people who were born after the apocalypse, fuck… I don’t want to ruin your day or anything, but you don’t know what you are missing out on. Hot dogs. Hot dogs! God, I miss hot dogs. Ketchup. I miss ketchup. I don’t miss mustard. Mustard can go jump off a bridge for all I care. Sorry, I’m getting off track.

There’s these groups. Fireflies, call themselves activists. Militia, if you ask me. Terrorists, if you ask others. Saviors of the world, if you ask real gullible people. I wouldn’t mess with them, personally. Then there’s the military, what’s left of it. They put people into outbreak zones, keeping them safe. It was true, I guess. You were happy, if you liked getting bossed around by a bunch of assholes with guns. I left there, but… I wouldn’t be in the mess I am now if I had just stayed.

Fuck. Sorry. I know, it’s probably super boring to read about me whining. I left the military outpost, found myself in this motel. I should have known that spores were around. I got my gas mask on before any of it touched me. I think, at least. Also, while you’re hear, watch out for the spores, unless you have a gas mask. I guess you can borrow mine, if you need one. I won’t be using it anymore. I just realized I spelled “here” wrong. I’m just gonna leave it, cause I’m writing this in pen and then there’d just be a huge black smudge in the middle of this paper. I’m a little dyslexic, so sorry. I’ve been writing this pretty slowly, though that’s probably because I’m scared.

Getting off track again. I gotta stop doing that. There’s a few assholes outside, chased me into this hotel. Hope those damn clickers came out and ate them. You should probably watch out for those guys. Trouble all around, heard a few of them were even resorting to cannibalism. Shivers my bones. Freaks. Anyways, if you see a dead guy outside in a yellow jacket, piss on him for me, will you? He shot off my ear. My right one. That was my favorite ear too!

There’s a few clickers outside, chased me in here. I’ve got six bullets in my pistol left. I’m a pretty good shot, should be able to hit them all in the head. If there’s six, I’ll use all my bullets and you’ll never read this note. If you are reading this note, there were more than six and I saved one for myself. Or I just ended up being a terrible shot in which case I’m snacking on you or shambling about the grounds.

If you’re ever up in Maine, and you meet this girl named Elizabeth, right? Blue eyes, blonde hair, got this nasty scar along her right cheek. She’s in the northern part. Got a tough personality. If you see her, tell her to go fuck herself, courtesy of her brother James. That’s me, by the way. James. James. Also, mind burying me or putting me down if you find me in here? I mean, bury me after you put me down, of course. Don’t just leave my body out there if I happen to be a Runner. Bury with my hat, too. It’s blue, Tar Heels. I don’t even like the Tar Heels. I’m putting it on the nightstand. They’re breaking in. I can see the wood splintering. Anyways, if you’re reading this, sorry. Sorry I couldn’t kill them all.

Stay safe out there.

***

In The Last of Us: Exodus, you play as one of the survivors of a brutal attack upon the Military Outpost in McCall, Idaho. Beginning only minutes before the attack on the Quarantine Zone, players will start off by getting their groundings in the world. The characters will include all those in the camp at the time of attack. After your escape from the attack, the unlikely group of travelers are pitted on a journey across America, not just to survive, but to find a reason to keep on living.

[/list]

Civilians Civilians are your everyday run of the mill people. They were just about anything before the apocalypse, and most of them led normal lives, as mechanics or office workers or school kids. They don’t belong to any one group, but are attempted to be recruited by FEDRA and the Fireflies. Some escape and become Hunters, or smuggle things from inside the walls. Most of them lead normal lives inside the camps. It was safe in them, after all. Smugglers Smugglers were once tied down to Quarantine Zones or Fireflies or any other thing that could hold them, but eventually began to use illegal methods to get by. They often fight each other for power, much like the criminal groups of old. Smugglers rely on performing difficult tasks for people. Those who can pay with the ever lucrative ration cards, that is. Military The "protectors" of the Quarantine Zones, the military, along with FEDRA, are the last remnants of the United States Government. The Military works aggressively with FEDRA, putting down any infected, no matter what. The Military has been known to crush the sparks of rebellion, but are still at war with the terrorist-activist group known as the Fireflies. Fireflies Fireflies are members of the the revolutionary militia group of the same name. Their goal is to return all branches of the US Government, and overtake FEDRA and the Military. Fireflies often send sleeper agents to Quarantine Zones to gain information on FEDRA. The Fireflies are also looking for a cure for the virus, but some see their methods as inhumane. Currently, they are fighting a losing war against FEDRA.	A species of fungus that once turned insects into mind controlled zombies, began affecting humans as well. The fungus is transmitted via direct blood contact and spores in the air. When an infected is close to death, they find a dark, moist corner to lay down and die in. Even though the host has died, Cordyceps continues on. It continues to grow in the host, spreading to the walls and releasing spores. Infected are susceptible to fire due to the fungus growing in them, but can be killed just about any way you can think. Stage 1: Runners 1-2 days after infection, you become a Runner. Runners are the first stage of infection, and have poor eyesight, although hold a heightened awareness. They are the easiest of the infected to kill, able to be strangled and desposed of in anyway you would a human. They are easily identified by their glowing orange eyes and lack of any fungal growths on the outside of their bodies. Stage 2: Stalkers Stalkers have the vision and speed of Runners, with the ferocity of Clickers. They make very distinct croaking sounds, and are the stage in between Runners and Clickers. Stalkers are identifiable by fungal growths overtaking one side of their face, emerging from an eye socket (typically the right one). They are extremely dangerous and extremely intelligent, hiding and using hunting tactics to kill survivors. They rely on ambushes, and while deadly can be killed any way a Runner can. Stage 3: Clickers 2-4 years after initial infection, fungus begins pouring from every orifice and turning the victim’s head into a mass of bioluminescent growth. Clickers have strength that far out rivals that of a normal human, but due to the overgrowth on their heads, have become blind. Clickers use echolocation to find food, which they will hunt until they kill it or it escapes. Clickers also possess exceptional hearing, and even the smallest of sounds will attack. They are extremely aggressive, rarely flinch, and are relentless. Clickers cannot be strangled, as their strength would simply reverse the maneuver on any attacker. Clickers are aptly named, due to the clicking sounds they make to find prey. Stage 4: Bloaters 9-10 years after infection, the Cordyceps virus converts the infectee into a Bloater. Bloaters are the final stage of infection, and are the most dangerous of the infected. They are covered in a dense fungus that protects them even from high powered rounds. Like Clickers, Bloaters rely on echolocation but move at a much slower pace. Once a survivor is found, they will hunt them by throwing sacks of Mycotoxin at it’s prey. If a survivor is caught by a Bloater, it will either crush the person’s head or forcefully rip their jaw apart. Bloaters should be avoided if at all possible.	1. Don’t be a dick, in OOC at least. Seriously, don't. Constant fighting is not good, and will get you kicked from the RP. 2. Don’t godmod, don’t metagame, you get the idea. All the in general RP rules. 3. If you are going to be away for some time, please tell me, either in OOC or by TG. If you just go and disappear with no words spoken, I’ll assume you aren't coming back and let your character go. Don't let this make you think you have to post every day, or even every week! (It would be nice, though.) I will typically give players some time if they go missing for a period. 4. Death will happen in this RP. Don't let that scare you though, your characters won't all get slaughtered all willy nilly. As this RP has a focus on character development and story, deaths will not be used as shock value, but rather for in-story reasons. 5. Speaking of characters, remember. Your character should act like a human being. You are playing the “heroes” of this story, and as such your characters shouldn't be Mary Sues that only brood and whine about how miserable they are, nor should they believe they are in a land of rainbows and puppies. Be realistic. 6. Characters who have absolutely no hardships will be killed off. That means those with absolutely infallible aim, run faster than Usain Bolt, are stronger than Clickers, or those who can take out an entire room of men in a minute tops. Remember, everybody has flaws. 7. If you’d like to introduce some external conflict (like zombies, Hunters, Military, Fireflies, bad weather, wild dogs, etc.) ask me first. It could potentially ruin the flow of the RP if the survivors are constantly having to fend off threats. Inter-personal threats and drama are fine, and actually encouraged.	Orange text signals that a character is an NPC. McCall Quarantine Zone, Idaho Viktoriya Volkov and Anastasiya 'Anna' Volkov (Smugglers) - Anowa William 'Will' Suh (Smuggler) - Recon Alexander 'Al' Grant (Smuggler) - The Forodwraith Slim Rusk (Smuggler) - Imperial Idaho Sgt. Mason Walsh (Military) - Zhaas123 Cpl. Alfred Anderson and SMaj. Brandon Anderson (Military) - The Valyria Empire 1st Lt. Friedrich 'Fritz' von Stetten (Military) Lt. Sam Pryzbylewski (Military) SSgt. Emily Porter (Military) - Kentucky Fried Land Cpl. Sullivan 'Sully' Trotsky (Military) Cpl. Davis (Military) Cpl. Pollack (Military) Cpl. Bassett (Military) PFC. Francis Johnson (Military) - Umcara Pvt. Hale Rose (Military) - Kentucky Fried Land Maddox Dean (Citizen) - Damverland Nine de Vries (Citizen) - The Assorted Saharan Outposts Simon "Artsy" Frye (Citizen) - True Christopia Percival "Percy" Bassett (Citizen) - Kylantha Karla Garcia (Citizen) - Corrian Vivian Iverson (Citizen) - Corrian Benjamin Cox (Firefly) - Goflnheim Amy Tallow (Firefly) - Beiarusia Valley County, Idaho The White Star Raiders - Ormata Unknown Diego Maldonado (Scavenger) - Terintania Deceased
Prologue - COMING SOON ACT I: Spring - COMING SOON ACT II: Summer - COMING SOON ACT III: Fall - COMING SOON ACT IV: Winter - COMING SOON ACT V: Rebirth - COMING SOON Epilogue - COMING SOON	Character Limits Each person will be allowed two characters at one time, but sometimes an extension to three characters can be negotiated. All players are allowed five characters in total (five throughout the entire RP should be enough), in the case their other ones meet a bullet or infected’s jaws. There will be limitations to factions, as well. Note: Exceptions will be made for Co-OPs. Also, ask if you wish to introduce NPCs. Special Gameplay Elements 1. How Bites Will Be Dealt With - In the case that I decide a character has been bitten, I will TG the player whose character has been put on death row. The player can then choose to have their character tell the other characters of their newfound illness, hide the bite, or even commit suicide. The character can do, theoretically anything possible after infection, but they must know that 2 in-game days after the infection they will turn. Unless… 2. They happen to be immune. One character will be chosen specifically to be immune to the infection. Nobody will know if they are actually immune until they are bitten or dropped in spores and miraculously live. This helps to bring in paranoia between players and characters.	Character Sheet Note: Lines with stars (*) before them are optional to fill out. Note 2: Please delete everything in parentheses after filling out the character sheet, just for cleanliness' sake. Note 3: We are no longer accepting military characters. Note 4: We are no longer accepting Firefly characters. Code: Select all [b]Name:[/b] [b]Age:[/b] [b]Sex:[/b] [b]Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly):[/b] [b]Appearance:[/b] [b]Equipment/Personal Belongings:[/b] [b]Personality:[/b] [b]Bio (one paragraph at least):[/b] [b]Strengths:[/b] [b]Weaknesses:[/b] *[b]Living Family Members (include locations):[/b] *[b]Quirks:[/b] *[b]Likes:[/b] *[b]Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected):[/b] *[b]Worst Fears:[/b] *[b]Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add):[/b] [b]RP Examples:[/b] NPC Applications Note: NPCs can be controlled by anybody. As such, don't treat this as an actual character app. Code: Select all [color=#FFBF00]NPC App[/color] [b]Name:[/b] [b]Age:[/b] [b]Sex:[/b] [b]Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly):[/b] [b]Appearance:[/b] [b]Equipment/Personal Belongings:[/b] [b]Personality:[/b] *[b]Bio (one paragraph at least):[/b] *[b]Strengths:[/b] *[b]Weaknesses:[/b] *[b]Living Family Members (include locations):[/b] *[b]Quirks:[/b] *[b]Likes:[/b] *[b]Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected):[/b] *[b]Worst Fears:[/b] *[b]Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add):[/b]	Custom Map

Credit to Galdius for formatting.

[The Valyria Empire]

Ah, a RP made by KFL. That's a guaranteed tag right there.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Ah, a RP made by KFL. That's a guaranteed tag right there.

Thank you! It genuinely means a lot to hear that! I hope this one can survive for a bit longer than the others, though.

[Ormata]

Have a tag.

[Imperial Idaho]

Tag.

[Anowa]

Name:Viktoriya Volkov
Age: 50
Faction: Smuggler
Sex: Female
Appearance:
Height: 5'7 (170.18 cm)
Weight: 142 lbs (64.4 kg)
Body Frame: Light build
Baba
Equipment/Personal Belongings: M9 Service Pistol, Russian VDV Beret, Gas Mask, ruck sack, USAF BDU.
Personality: Cold, generally uncaring for all but her daughter, 'efficient'.
Bio:Viktoriya was born in the a rural area of the RSFSR in the year 1984. As such, she knew the stomach sucking void of starvation, and the effects it would have on a human body. She also became familiarized with loss at a young age, losing her father to the Soviet-Afghan War before really getting to know him. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, so did much of it's infrastructure, leaving her and her mother in even worse straights. Viktoriya's life went even further down the tube, when her mother was forced to put her into an orphanage, as she couldn't support them both. This was fortunately -in her won opinion- the lowest point in Viktoriya's life. She would not be adopted, but she would get an education, and when she could she enlisted with the Russian Armed Forces, specifically as an Airborne Officer.

Needless to say passed selection, going on to fight in the Second Chechen War. It was here in mid 2003 she received a rather significant scar across the right side of her face, in an event that killed a third of her squad. The event left her mildly depressed, not because of her own wounds, but of the failure to keep the people entrusted to her alive. She also found herself doubting her country's ability to lead itself, and with it's imperialists policies rising up, she became disillusioned.

In late 2004 She immigrated to the United States, the one country she saw as being a viable option to continue her life. And seeing as she had the skills, she enlisted with the USAF. A move that gained more than a few questioning stares from her fellow American service personnel. In late 2005 she met one David Gray, a Canadian/American citizen in which she happened to fall in love with. They married a year later and promptly had a child.

And this is where Anastasiya's story begins.

Strengths: Russian VDV and USAF Basic training and combat experience, survival instinct.
Weaknesses: Old age, cares a bit too deeply for her daughter's well-being, generally callous of other's problems.

Name: Anastasiya 'Anna' Volkov
Age: 27
Faction: Smuggler
Sex: Female
Appearance:
Height: 5'11 (180.34 cm)
Weight: 182 lbs (82.5 kg)
Body Frame: Medium build
Doch
Equipment/Personal Belongings: SIG P226, Father's pendant, Gas Mask, Patrol Bergen Pack, Leather Jacket, 4 rolls of duct tape.
Personality: Distrusting of 'ladies men', introverted, calm, brutal.
Bio: Anastasiya was born in mid May of 2006, during a time in which her mother was still enlisted in the USAF, and when her father was still an ER Surgeon. Due to this, Anastasiya had little time to spend with either of her parents, most of it being spent with the other army brats on base. Her early life was peaceful enough, though more than a few other kids called her a communist pinko more than a few times. She figured it was because of her favorite color, the anger of her Mother proved otherwise.

Anastasiya had just enrolled in school when the world took a downward turn. Her Father, among the first to encounter the infected in the ER he worked, returned home one night late, not too soon after Anastasiya had gone to bed. The poor girl awoke to a gunshot and her crying mother, as she would soon find out the world had gone to absolute shit. And that her father was dead.

Fast forward almost a decade, to a FEDRA QZ. Anastasiya was a little over sixteen at that point, and somehow got her hands on pink hair dye. Her mother one of the many farm hands running the few pieces of crop equipment left. The second generation Russian however, was amidst something else, smuggling in supplies from outside the walls, specifically 'sterile' syringes for a friend, who had recently started making heroine in his basement. Unfortunately a two-man patrol of US Army Soldiers found her before she could make it back to where she'd arise no suspicion. They made a rather one sided deal, one that Anastasiya would much rather be ratted out for in hindsight (You can likely guess what it was). Said deal was slowly completed over the course of about three months, Anna only keeping her side of the 'deal' to avoid her and her mother being kicked out or executed.

Eventually her Mother caught on. And in a tearful revelation, Anna spilled the figurative beans. In the following six night, twelve US Soldiers were found dead, either on patrol or in their beds. And Anna and Viktoriya were gone.

Now 26, both Anastasiya and her mother continued to smuggle weapons, supplies, and occasionally people for random amounts ration cards or supplies in their own right. The mystery of where she gets the pink hair dye is something she still hasn't divulged to anyone. Her general distrust of socially forward males and soldiers still carries on, but her emotional damage has mostly healed.


Strengths: Second hand military training, very-athletic conditioning.
Weaknesses: Not the average frame for a woman, a bit anti-social, still has some emotional damage from a certain 'deal'.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Name:Viktoriya Volkov
Age: 50
Faction: Smuggler
Sex: Female
Appearance:
Height: 5'7 (170.18 cm)
Weight: 142 lbs (64.4 kg)
Body Frame: Light build
Baba
Equipment/Personal Belongings: M9 Service Pistol, Russian VDV Beret, Gas Mask, ruck sack, USAF BDU.
Personality: Cold, generally uncaring for all but her daughter, 'efficient'.
Bio:Viktoriya was born in the a rural area of the RSFSR in the year 1984. As such, she knew the stomach sucking void of starvation, and the effects it would have on a human body. She also became familiarized with loss at a young age, losing her father to the Soviet-Afghan War before really getting to know him. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, so did much of it's infrastructure, leaving her and her mother in even worse straights. Viktoriya's life went even further down the tube, when her mother was forced to put her into an orphanage, as she couldn't support them both. This was fortunately -in her won opinion- the lowest point in Viktoriya's life. She would not be adopted, but she would get an education, and when she could she enlisted with the Russian Armed Forces, specifically as an Airborne Officer.

Needless to say passed selection, going on to fight in the Second Chechen War. It was here in mid 2003 she received a rather significant scar across the right side of her face, in an event that killed a third of her squad. The event left her mildly depressed, not because of her own wounds, but of the failure to keep the people entrusted to her alive. She also found herself doubting her country's ability to lead itself, and with it's imperialists policies rising up, she became disillusioned.

In late 2004 She immigrated to the United States, the one country she saw as being a viable option to continue her life. And seeing as she had the skills, she enlisted with the USAF. A move that gained more than a few questioning stares from her fellow American service personnel. In late 2005 she met one David Gray, a Canadian/American citizen in which she happened to fall in love with. They married a year later and promptly had a child.

And this is where Anastasiya's story begins.

Strengths: Russian VDV and USAF Basic training and combat experience, survival instinct.
Weaknesses: Old age, cares a bit too deeply for her daughter's well-being, generally callous of other's problems.

Name: Anastasiya 'Anna' Volkov
Age: 27
Faction: Smuggler
Sex: Female
Appearance:
Height: 5'11 (180.34 cm)
Weight: 182 lbs (82.5 kg)
Body Frame: Medium build
Doch
Equipment/Personal Belongings: Para 14/45, Father's pendant, Gas Mask, Patrol Bergen Pack, Leather Jacket, 4 rolls of duct tape.
Personality: Distrusting of 'ladies men', introverted, calm, brutal.
Bio: Anastasiya was born in mid May of 2006, during a time in which her mother was still enlisted in the USAF, and when her father was still an ER Surgeon. Due to this, Anastasiya had little time to spend with either of her parents, most of it being spent with the other army brats on base. Her early life was peaceful enough, though more than a few other kids called her a communist pinko more than a few times. She figured it was because of her favorite color, the anger of her Mother proved otherwise.

Anastasiya had just enrolled in school when the world took a downward turn. Her Father, among the first to encounter the infected in the ER he worked, returned home one night late, not too soon after Anastasiya had gone to bed. The poor girl awoke to a gunshot and her crying mother, as she would soon find out the world had gone to absolute shit. And that her father was dead.

Fast forward almost a decade, to a FEDRA QZ. Anastasiya was a little over sixteen at that point, and somehow got her hands on pink hair dye. Her mother one of the many farm hands running the few pieces of crop equipment left. The second generation Russian however, was amidst something else, smuggling in supplies from outside the walls, specifically 'sterile' syringes for a friend, who had recently started making heroine in his basement. Unfortunately a two-man patrol of US Army Soldiers found her before she could make it back to where she'd arise no suspicion. They made a rather one sided deal, one that Anastasiya would much rather be ratted out for in hindsight (You can likely guess what it was). Said deal was slowly completed over the course of about three months, Anna only keeping her side of the 'deal' to avoid her and her mother being kicked out or executed.

Eventually her Mother caught on. And in a tearful revelation, Anna spilled the figurative beans. In the following six night, twelve US Soldiers were found dead, either on patrol or in their beds. And Anna and Viktoriya were gone.

Now 26, both Anastasiya and her mother continued to smuggle weapons, supplies, and occasionally people for random amounts ration cards or supplies in their own right. The mystery of where she gets the pink hair dye is something she still hasn't divulged to anyone. Her general distrust of socially forward males and soldiers still carries on, but her emotional damage has mostly healed.


Strengths: Second hand military training, very-athletic conditioning.
Weaknesses: Not the average frame for a woman, a bit anti-social, still has some emotional damage from a certain 'deal'.

Accepted, of course.

[New Minahasa]

Will there be player-made factions?

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Will there be player-made factions?

No, other than random bandit groups. And those have to be approved by me.

[Corrian]

I shall join the reboot.

[Damverland]

Here, take this:

[Zhaas123]

Name: Mason Walsh
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Faction: Military
Appearance: Height five foot seven, weighs 148 lbs, White, Shaved head and face (natural hair color is brown).
Equipment/Personal Belongings: M16A4 Rifle, Backpack, Pictures of Family, Gas Mask
Personality: A paranoid man, quick to assume the worst of a situation.
Bio (one paragraph at least): Born in Cascade Idaho to Joshua and Jennifer Walsh, Mason lived a normal life with his family. He often accompanied his father on hunting tripes, where he learned to shoot. He was 15 when the outbreak started he and his uncle Peter made it out of the city, his parents did not. The two traveled until they found McCall one of the many safe zones created to protect people. Peter though found it isolating and couldn't stand the strict rules and regulation, he left when Mason turned 17. The next year after his 18th birthday Mason decided to join with the military,a choice he has stuck with for over a decade. Unknown to his friends and superiors he helps his uncle and others to smuggle weapons, supplies, etc out of the outpost
Strengths: Good shot, military training, over a decade of experience.
Weaknesses: Corrupt, slow to trust others, abrasive personality, inadequate hand-to-hand fighter.
*Living Family Members: Peter Walsh, uncle, smuggler living outside of the McCall Quarantine Zone)
*Likes: Reading any books he can get his hands on, drawing, getting cigarettes from his uncle, and other smugglers
*Dislikes: Long shifts, false Alarms, fireflies agitating at the outpost, smugglers who don't know what a good bribe is
RP Examples: I was in the original verson of this, viewtopic.php?f=31&t=410585#p31647053, viewtopic.php?f=31&t=392458#p30181486

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Name: Mason Walsh
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Faction: Military
Appearance: Height five foot seven, weighs 148 lbs, White, Shaved head and face (natural hair color is brown).
Equipment/Personal Belongings: M16A4 Rifle, Backpack, Pictures of Family, Gas Mask
Personality: A paranoid man, quick to assume the worst of a situation.
Bio (one paragraph at least): Born in Cascade Idaho to Joshua and Jennifer Walsh, Mason lived a normal life with his family. He often accompanied his father on hunting tripes, where he learned to shoot. He was 15 when the outbreak started he and his uncle Peter made it out of the city, his parents did not. The two traveled until they found McCall one of the many safe zones created to protect people. Peter though found it isolating and couldn't stand the strict rules and regulation, he left when Mason turned 17. The next year after his 18th birthday Mason decided to join with the military,a choice he has stuck with for over a decade. Unknown to his friends and superiors he helps his uncle and others to smuggle weapons, supplies, etc out of the outpost
Strengths: Good shot, military training, over a decade of experience.
Weaknesses: Corrupt, slow to trust others, abrasive personality, inadequate hand-to-hand fighter.
*Living Family Members: Peter Walsh, uncle, smuggler living outside of the McCall Quarantine Zone)
*Likes: Reading any books he can get his hands on, drawing, getting cigarettes from his uncle, and other smugglers
*Dislikes: Long shifts, false Alarms, fireflies agitating at the outpost, smugglers who don't know what a good bribe is
RP Examples: I was in the original verson of this, viewtopic.php?f=31&t=410585#p31647053, viewtopic.php?f=31&t=392458#p30181486

Accepted. I assumed he was a sergeant, as he was last time. One military spot left.

[Zhaas123]

Accepted. I assumed he was a sergeant, as he was last time. One military spot left.

yes he is a sergeant

[Kentucky Fried Land]

We have a Discord server now.
https://discord.gg/Ds8G9Ys

[Ormata]

Name: White Star

Hierarchy:

• Aleah Jefferson
  • Aurora Cobb
  • Ira Maynard

Numbers: 34 Members
Equipment:

• One Truck w/ mounted Spigot Mortar
• One Truck
• Twenty-One Rifles
• Nineteen Pistols
• Thirteen Vests

Faction: Raiders
Appearance:

White Star has a traditionally mismatched appearance, with vests and plaid shirts overall being common, along with patched denim and sneakers wrapped with cloth. Some heavy coats can be seen, along with darker raincoats, though for the most part these are stowed-away. Backpacks and daypacks can also be seen on most of the members.

The ages of the White Star are normally about the twenties, with outliers at three and forty-three, the first of those being a son of two members and the eldest being an IRA descendent, Aurora Cobb. The demographics of the group center about 60% Caucasian with 22% Asian, 15% African-American, the rest ‘other’.

The vehicles used by White Star, two pickup trucks from the 70s, are both green with the White Star icon painted on the doors. These are, as could be expected, patched with sheet metal and reinforced in the bed with the same. On one is a Spigot Mortar, looking much like a Blacker Bombard, though with no plate to protect the crew servicing the weapon. This mortar is some 50mm in terms of projectiles. The second truck is serviced with a tent over the bed, along with a good deal of crates.

Personality:

The overall personality of the White Star is that of an ‘us’ versus ‘them’ mentality. They view themselves as the most important thing to take care of and, really, the only thing they should take care of. All other individuals are secondary in this aspect and should be treated as such. The care of another member comes first, while the care of a prospective member comes second. Those who will not join are executed. They are, if anything, not merciful.

Name: Aleah Jefferson

Equipment/Personal Belongings:

• Smith & Wesson Model 15
• 30 x .38 Special
• OKC-3S Bayonet
• Scavenged Bulletproof Vest & Helmet
• Scavenged Gasmask

Strengths:

• Militarily Competent
• Quiet
• Strong Speaker

Weaknesses:

• Brutal
• Slow to trust
• Mediocre Shot

Age: 32
Sex: Female
Faction: White Star Raiders
Appearance:

Standing some 5’ tall, plus some change, Aleah has the lean sort of musculature one would expect from a survivor and hunter. With darker skin and mildly short hair compared to some individuals. The majority of this mass lies in her arms, which are really rather strong compared to the normal individual. Some scarring can be seen, on the arms, though this is minor.

In terms of clothing she wears a white shirt with a thin light blue vest, along with ragged, patched pants. Shoes are really rather a luxury, so she has patched ones with wraps about the width of them. The soles are coming-off, after all. In addition to this, Aleah also often wears a backpack, olive green.

Personality:

Aleah’s mindset is quite simple. There are ‘us’, the White Star and those who would ever wish to join, and there are ‘them’, which includes essentially everyone else. She treats those who join with a good modicum of respect and those who are ‘them’ with little to no mercy at all. If their suffering can bring-about benefits to the organization then she will do it. Somewhat calculating, Aleah is brutal in her methods and comforts herself in the fact that she feels herself to be working towards the betterment of her people.

Bio:

Born in Seattle, 2003, ten years before the infection began all over the world, Aleah’s parents were of the sort that you could expect. Her dad joined the Army just after 9/11, two years prior, and was what you could call a patriot. Her mom was a teacher, elementary school. Aleah’s early life was a real quiet one; not much happened, though that’s to be expected from a kiddie who was just a pre-teen when everything happened. With the start of the infection, well, everything went down the drain really damn quickly. Her mom would be one of the first dead, killed when the military dropped bombs across cities in rural America in an effort to kill the infection. Her dad was on tour, in Afghanistan. Aleah would be whisked-off to a Quarantine Zone, first in Olympia.

She’d spend some four years there, talking to other people. A lot of people had gotten out of the universities, people she made friends with. Granted, it was just a tad odd considering the age difference at times, but they were, in a way, like parents to her. She was adopted by a group out of Seattle University and Portland, a group calling themselves White Star. It was a throw-back, they said, to Red Star in Belgrade, to the antifacist movement and Communist movement and the rest. They talked, sometimes, on the infection being a starting point, on how the world wouldn’t need a revolution or mass riot, on how the poor could
rise to the top now. They talked about these things with starry eyes, she
remembered, starry eyes and hushed whispers. The group numbered some fifty,
then, and each of those university students and men and women worked hard
at Olympia. They learned all of the skills and trades they could, and whenever
Aleah would ask, they simply said “To prepare”. Ominous words, then, yeah.
Aleah didn’t notice.

Then it all ended, at Olympia. The Clickers came, down from Seattle and up from Portland, they came and climbed the very walls. The military shot, sure, they did that, they shot and threw the grenades until there were no more grenades and no more bullets and there were still enough Clickers and Runners to climb up the walls on the bodies of the dead. Then the White Star and the rest of the civilians, some hundred of them all, they tried to run. Aleah’s never going to forget that, that run from Olympia, the screams and the blood and the gunshots in the distance, wild and unmeasured and simply chaos. It was, in a sense, insanity.

They ran, ran until Fords Prairie in the south, and then they counted. The group numbered some thirty-eight, then, and the leader had died. They held elections, mourned for the dead, scavenged the town. There were few survivors, there, and fewer Clickers. It was a ghost town. Those survivors there who numbered some twenty, and they presented some difficulty in giving the supplies that the group needed; four members had been wounded in the fight, and though they were not bitten the scratches and cuts they had been given were rapidly turning septic. They needed medicine, something those survivors in the area had and refused to give.

The new leader, a man by the name of Donovan Simpson, gave the order for the town’s residents to be killed. The battle afterwards, which could be called that, ended with the deaths of every person in the town and two of White Star’s. When asked why, the answer was a simple one. “They had become the enemy.” The town was looked, the ammunition and guns taken, and the fuel from every wreckage and idle truck siphoned. Those four wounded members lived. Aleah was only fourteen.

They would continue down the I-5, looting what they could from what was left and extorting from those who they came across. They were minor payments at first, things that they needed and things the others sort of didn’t, with only a modicum of force behind them simply due to the size of the group. These extortions, however, gradually grew larger and larger. White Star, by the time Aleah was seventeen, had gotten down to Longview, taking-up residence there with what supplies were left before formulating their own plan of creating a little tollbooth. This would go somewhat well, with incidents being scattered between confrontations until it seemed like there was nothing more to toll. For a month there was nothing, and so the group went south, south to Portland.

They’d raid often, though the first incident there turned sour. A confrontation ended with the others, four of them, dead and a White Star member wounded, and after that a reputation was formed. Those in Portland had already dealt with raiders and murderers and they had an idea on how raiders did their business. After that point, whenever White Star met others, the others shot first. Eventually they learned to shoot first, too, that those outside White Star were the enemy and the other and could not be trusted under any circumstances. They shot and robbed for a year, there, until there was little more to shoot and rob. The group, with ten members dead, would turn East on the I-84.

It would be a hard march; they found other raider groups more often than they did survivors. Ninety percent of the time this resulted in a fierce firefight, the White Star often taking hits from it all. By the time they found The Dalles, the group numbered some twenty-five overall. Yet this wasn’t the end; at The Dalles was a Quarantine Zone, a station with refugees and military and all the supplies therein. There there was a group that had military-grade medicine and MREs and books. Books. They couldn’t simply go in there, no, the group had gained somewhat of a reputation from its work in Portland and the runner that was sent got his head blown-off. No, that would do them no good. Yet some ways away from The Dalles, in Ortley where they hid to plan, was another bandit group.

This was an old group, formed years prior with a keen interest in finding-out the military and knocking them about until the loose change came out of their pockets, a group lead by some of the more interesting individuals one could ask for. They had a mortar with them, something that one really didn’t see in bandit groups or in the Army at the QZs, though they had an issue too. A run-in with an Army patrol, who had the advantage of humvees, had decimated their group from some sixty to just ten guys. Say what you want about those Army guys but hand them M2s and they became hard-hitters. They needed manpower, something the White Star had, in some ways.

And so they bombarded The Dalles QZ, bombarded it from some miles away. The bastards had no idea what was going-on, and they just kept-on pounding it. Eventually, just to try and find-out what was going on, they sent-out four humvees in the general direction of the shelling, finding them at Frantz Spring. Long story short, the White Star opened-up and the humvees died miserable deaths. What followed was a joyous event of staying at the QZ’s burnt and battered corpse. Yet the other bandit group was not content, wanting more of the spoils, and a fight more or less broke-out. This event ended with the other organization being nearly broken, their leader dead, and their engineer defecting.

The group thereafter moved east, along the I-84, selecting QZs, really, only. The packets and supplies gained from the QZs are really rather useful, the tactics eventually developed, and the mortar became their signature tool on engaging such targets. The group would find Kennewick, with it’s own minor QZ and supply station, taking that area as well. It’s since turned it’s attention to McCall, Idaho.

In that interim time, Donovan Simpson died, leaving the election. Aleah won this, representing much of the group in her own interests.

*Living Family Members:

• Jackson Jefferson, Father, Afghanistan

*Quirks:
*Worst Fears:
*Miscellaneous:
RP Examples:

Name: Aurora Cobb >>>DEAD<<<

Equipment/Personal Belongings:

• Colt AR-15
• 2 x 7.62×39mm 20-round magazine
• Beretta M9
• 3 x 9×19mm 20-round box magazine
• OKC-3S Bayonet
• Scavenged Bulletproof Vest & Helmet
• Scavenged Gasmask

Strengths:

• Survival Instincts
• Engineering
• Jury-Rigging

Weaknesses:

• Poor Combat Training
• Little to No Loyalty

Age: 43
Sex: Female
Faction: White Star Raiders
Appearance:

Standing 5’7”, Aurora has the musculature and build one would consider on a professional. Weighing some 240 lbs, her upper body strength is really quite good from her long history with mechanics. Her skin’s caucasian, though mildly tanned and nearly permanently dirty from her chosen profession, and Aurora’s hair is brown, which she keeps short. Her eyes are green.

She prefers to wear particularly heavy clothing, a coat with vest over, along with a bulletproof vest and accompanying ceramic plates. Heavy jeans are also worn, along with combat boots, salvaged from the last raid. Along with this, Aurora wears a wrap about her head. On her back is, nearly permanently, a backpack filled with equipment and the like.

Personality:

Her personality is one that is the survivor. She likes living and has the tenacious ability in making the attempt to live against most odds. Aurora, to this effect, is willing to break solemn promises to anyone if her ass is one the line. Dying simply isn’t on the menu, as it were, and Aurora prefers to keep it this way. This stated, she is also the rabidly ingenious, always wanting to improve on what she currently has.

Bio:

Born in 1992, in Ireland, Aurora’s parents were as floral as they came. Her father was a university student in Dublin, studying chemicals and the like, and he was the sort that, if you ever got him to talk about the British, would sound as one might sound as a Bolshevik talking of the Czars. He was incendiary, the kind of personality that drove and drove and drove and never felt the need to stop. Her mother was not this kind of individual, a quiet sort from the Pacific Northwest who had gone to the United Kingdom and the area to study fishing and hunting and to look at such things. They would fall in love, with the suspected idea being that Aurora’s mother could pacify her father, though such a thing never worked.

Aurora would take-on the notions of her dad, learning from him on some of the more interesting details of the organization he belonged to. When she was really young, it seemed like a country club to her, something her dad disappeared to and had fun at, though he always came home more serious. The man smiled less often, and by the point Aurora reached ten, her dad sometimes even let her see some of the little designs. She was incredibly smart, he said, for a ten year old, a person who imagined and thought and was essentially the thing he had fun projecting upon. Her father, while a serious man and a firebrand, was not incredibly smart in terms of who, in his immediate family, he shared information with. As she got older, Aurora would see more, learn more, do more. She was good with her hands, then, a born-again mechanic.

A few months after turning eighteen, Aurora would be taken away by her mother, back to the Pacific Northwest and back to a town called Astoria. Her mother had, though it had taken significant time, wizened-up to her husband’s radical ideas,
and Aurora would go to college there. Needless to state, her mother did not think
it would be wise for her daughter to become older in the company of her father
and his friends, what they would do, things to that effect. She would go to Portland
State University, learning mechanics.

Three years later, the infection began. Aurora would, once this started, run-off with a survivor group, trying to make it to Warm Springs Reservation. The routes out of Portland had become crowded, infecting becoming rapidly common in the area. The group would make it about halfway, up to Government Camp, waiting there. They would wait for a long time, with food being relatively common in the area and few, if any, potentials for danger coming. The cold was the only issue, something that was rectified after some time. This would, unfortunately, not last. A group came upon them, numbering about fifty to their twenty, and made their demands. Any who wished to go with them could go, any who wished to stay would die. It was really a rather simple choice.

Aurora would attempt to move-forwards in the organization by constructing a machine she had seen in the history books and in her father’s books, something they were intensely interested in as well: a mortar. The weapon would be crudely built piecemeal, using several QZ workshops under various guises for the necessary welding. These guises would, eventually, give rise to a simple concept; what if the group used the weapon against the most stationary, most useful targets? It was a mediocre plan.

With the first usage of the weapon, the military responded as they might have before; they sent-out hunter-killer teams and outflanked the raiders. This lead to a rather interesting event called ‘decimation’, though it was more realistic that every 4 out of 5 died instead of those kinder numbers. As a result, they retreated away from The Dalles, leading to the events described above. Aurora most definitely did not agree with the concept of betrayal and was a vocal, or as vocal as one could be, member of the group against it. As a result, she was also one of those who surrendered rather rapidly to the White Star.

Since then, she’s been operating the mortar with good success.

*Living Family Members (include locations):
*Quirks:
*Worst Fears:
*Miscellaneous:
RP Examples:

Name: Tisorn Wi'lepana

Equipment/Personal Belongings:

• M14
• 3 x 7.62×51mm box magazine
• OKC-3S Bayonet
• Scavenged Bulletproof Vest
• Scavenged Gasmask

Strengths:

• Excellent Shot
• No Mercy, No Respite
• Excellent Reflexes

Weaknesses:

• Mediocre Strength
• Poor Independence

Age: 18
Sex: Male
Faction: White Star Raiders
Appearance:

Standing 5’3” at his best, Tisorn’s body is described as lean and murderous. With little in the visual way to distinguish musculature, he could seem to be all skin and bones, though that sort of thing is surprisingly deceiving. His upper body strength, while not great, is not miserable either, and the kid can run. All this combines to him having a weight of 130 lbs, give or take a few. Tisorn’s hair, black, is relatively long, and his eyes green.

In terms of clothing, he keeps with the standard look of a survivor, having jeans, a white shirt, and a gray hoodie. Over this, at times, Tisorn wears a camouflage jacket that he once took off a dead soldier. In terms of footwear, a pair of former soldier boots is his choice, along with long, woolen socks.

Personality:

Cold, disconnected, and calm, Tisorn has all the rage and fury of a mouse on the outside. However, on the inside, he is very much angry, displaying this in a way that can only be called ‘repressed’. In terms of his independence, ever since the harsh lessons he has not been very independent, though the kid still has a brain and still can make good decisions. Directive is, however, always required for him.

Bio:

Born in the White Star Raiders group, Tisorn came into the world some years after the infection had begun, back in the Olympia QZ. He didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t know that the world had been better once, or that it had been a safer place, once. That QZ was his home, all he knew, though his parents had other plans. They were both White Star, honestly both sounding like Born-Again Communists. They even gave him Mao’s little book, read him the Communist Manifesto to put him to sleep. It was all normal to him, all done quietly enough that it just was. There was nothing else that had to be said.

With the attack and subsequent run, his parents died. He doesn’t, really, know where or how, though afterwards they told him his parents died from the soldiers, from the men in green who took it upon themselves to start to kill the people there. Mercy killings had been known to happen, though the concept of killing being merciful was alien to the kid. He simply grew-up with a deep-seated hatred of the men in green, the murderers and hoarders.

With the ‘long slog’, as some called it, Tisorn become increasingly alone and self-serving. The group turned, to him, to seem like a detriment to his survival, a detriment to his ability. When he would scavenge, he would report that he had found nothing, keeping what food he had found to himself. A cold nature would come over him, resisting efforts by others in the White Star to bridge this gap. Eventually the others grew suspicious, grew unnerved by his lack of finding goods and materials while others reported a good bounty.

In time, this deception would be realized and would be addressed. Donovan Simpson, the leader of the group, would give the kid some twenty lashes for his
transgressions, keeping him close and harshly teaching him the lessons of the
White Star. Since then Tisorn has not been allowed to scavenge.

As the group has become stronger, Tisorn has become better and better with his rifle. During the Portland Excursions, sitting in a tower, he killed many bastards without a scope and with only a rudimentary silencer, the sounds being lost in the high buildings. During the attack on The Dalles, he accounted for twenty of them during the ambush and was responsible for saving many White Star lives by killing the enemy machinegunneres. He’s good at what he does and does not plan on stopping.

*Living Family Members (include locations):
*Quirks:
*Worst Fears:
*Miscellaneous:
RP Examples:

[Goflnheim]

Name:Benjamin Cox
Age:32
Sex:Male
Faction:Firefly
Appearance:Here.
Height: 185 cm
Weight: 86.7 Kg
Equipment/Personal Belongings:
- A satchel.
- A vest with multiple pouches.
- A used up scarf.
- A little rusted Firefly pendant tucked away in his pocket.
- A small pocket knife.
- A Colt M1911.
- 3x 45. ACP magazines


Personality:Egotistical, and often rude to others who is not on the same side as his.
Bio:Benjamin Cox was born in Baker City, Oregon, in September 21st 2003. As a kid, he spent most of his time with his family especially his big brother, Howard Cox, who was always by his side. He was 10 years old when the outbreak happened in 2013 and their mother was a victim to this. Fortunately, Howard and Benjamin along with their father escaped Baker City, heading North East until they found an abandoned area by the Keating region. Isolated enough, they settled there.

By 2033, Benjamin was 30 years old and his family was getting food by hunts. Their father taught most of the survival techniques but his brother gave a little contribution as well through sparring. However, their little community finally got noticed when a medium sized group of bandits attacked them. Their numbers overwhelmed Benjamin's and his family and his father was the first to die before killing a couple of bandits himself. Howard was the second one to fall after buying time for Benjamin to escape. After narrowly escaping the attack, Benjamin roamed east into Idaho, still remembering the attack, making him cynical and cold toward people he doesn't trust. After a while, he stumbled into the fireflies which accepted him with a not-so open arms. They gave him moderate training for the next two years and he had grown fond of their ideologies. Living in isolation for a decade made him unaware of most events. By 2035, he was ready for his first real mission.

Enter the McCall QZ as a sleeper agent and relay critical information.

Strengths:Moderate training from both his family and the fireflies including survival techniques and a little bit of CQC's and marksmanship.
Weaknesses:His cynical and egotistical attitude makes him difficult to trust other people.
RP Examples:

Cambridge, Idaho.
Two months after the Keating incident.

"Cambridge." I muttered under my breath as I gaze around the town in front of me. It wasn't the United Kingdom's Cambridge but rather a discount rural town in Idaho. The eerie silence gives it the feeling of a ghost town. Decomposing corpses and rusty wreckage litters the streets. 'I need supplies. Should be a general store nearby.' And there was. Under the name of 'Loveland's General Store'. How convenient. I opened the door slowly, a cold gust of wind breezing out. The store was mostly dim, but that didn't stop me from going in. One step inside..

Clank clank clank clank!

'Well shit.' I tripped on a fucking alarm. The noise blared loudly across the general store but nothing or nobody went ahead to try and kill me. Perhaps the previous owner just left without disarming the alarm? Whatever the case, I entered the store quickly and shut the door. Glancing around the dim store, there's really not a lot to go off with. Nevertheless, I went ahead and packed anything worth eating into my satchel. But..

It feels like I'm being watched.

By who, I don't know. Definitely not infecteds or such. I can't help a shudder but I decided to shrug it off. With my satchel filled with enough food there was no other reason for me to be here so I headed straight to the exit. Just as I was about to open the exit door, I felt the cold muzzle of a gun on the back of my head. I froze and paled quickly.

"Hands on your fucking head." A gruff voice ordered. "No funny business either, or it's bye-bye to your brain."
I complied slowly and raised my hands over to my head.

"Alright, turn around." This time, a feminine voice was ordering me.

I turned around slowly and there they were. Two people. A tall male with a rough beard and heavy body build and a slightly shorter woman with a more darker skin tone and a slim build. One has a pistol and the other one doesn't. This should go my way if do it correctly. Keyword: If.

"Guess this isn't really abandoned huh? Nice trick with the alarm." I said lightheartedly.

"You bet your ass." The woman replied quickly and sternly. Well, guess they're not much of a talker.

"Now, tell me.." The woman trailed off, "What should we do with you?".

"Uh, let me go?" I said.

"Think we got a better idea, buddy." The man chuckled. "Drop your satchel for us, will you?"

'With pleasure, buddy.' I smirked.

I nodded slowly and put my satchel on the ground, kneeling on one knee. Surprising them, I delivered a hard blow to the man's crotch, emitting a loud groan from him as he bends over, followed with a hard knee to his face, instantly making the man fall on his ass. Kicking his gun away, I turned over to the woman who was already charging at me. With a shitty luck, she managed to tackle me and furiously punched me. I held my hands up in defense, who knew a short fucking girl could have so much strength?

After a moment of beating, I saw an opening and threw her off. Drawing my pocket knife, a large pair of hand suddenly grabbed me and raised me up into the air. This fucking guy is a grizzly bear. I took this opportunity and stabbed his arms multiple time. Of course, a small knife didn't exactly did much damage and he smashed me into the cold, hard floor. As I tried to reach my pocket knife, he picked up his gun and slammed his boot on my arm, emitting a painful yelp from me. He points his gun at my face and moved his fingers to the triggers. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Wait!" The woman yelled. The man looked at her with a confused look. "He has one hell of a fucking willpower. He'd be a nice fresh meat for the fireflies. Beside, we do need a couple more recruits don't we?" She reasoned with the man. The man glanced from me to her and lowered his gun.

"What do you say, buddy?" The man said, still putting his other foot on my arm.

"Fuck, man!" I groaned out, "I'll join the fireflies. I don't really have anywhere to go anyway." Anything has to be better than living as a nomad. A lonely nomad. So, being offered to join the fireflies was a deal I couldn't pass up.

"Nice choice, buddy." He released my arm and offered his hands to which I graciously accepted.

I looked over to the woman, smiling at my decision.

"But.." She trailed off, "You gotta close your eyes first." She finished as she points behind me.

"What?" I looked behind me and a fist collided with my face. The last thing I saw was a pair of hands hauling me before I lost all consciousness.

[The Valyria Empire]

Name: Alfred Anderson
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly, Soldier): Soldier, Corporal (United States Army Rangers)
Appearance: 6' and 220 lbs

Equipment/Personal Belongings: Gas Mask (1x), Custom MP5 (1x), Magazines of MP5 ammo (5x), Colt 1911 (1x), A single .45 round tied to a necklace, stopwatch,
Personality: Alfred is nothing but dutiful. He believes in what the Army is doing, and refuses to believe anyone tell him other wise. Alfred dreams that the military can possible establish a new system of governance if the people would just listen and hopes that they could start rebuilding. Alfred is stead fast that his father is doing the right thing and will follow him no matter what.
Bio (one paragraph at least): The first child of Sergeant Major Brandon Anderson and Jessica Anderson, Alfred was born in Portland Oregon. He grew up for the first eight years there before his father was then stationed in McCall where the family promptly moved to. Live was fairly quiet for the next few years until he was 12, and everything went straight to hell. Some how, his father had gotten word from the other bases to start establishing Quarantine Zones, and this led to most of the army families being the first ones to make it inside.

The next twenty two years were hard, and Alfred learned this the hard way. His youngest brother would be the first casualty of the Quarantine Zone, as he was able to escape while he was playing by himself. This led to tighter regulations within the Zone, and Alfred would soon follow in his father's footsteps and join his father's Army Rangers when he became eighteen. After many years of service he would reach the rank of corporal and due to the lack of military supplies has to use a mixture of police and military grade equipment.
Strengths: Army Rangers Training, Hand-to-hand fighting expert
Weaknesses: Horrible with long range weapons, being reminded of the loss of his brother
*Living Family Members (include locations): SGM Brandon Anderson (60, Father) (Leader of the McCall Quarantine Zone), Jessica Anderson (57, Mother), Clara Anderson (27, Sister)
*Quirks: Is always willing to follow the chain of command and won't question orders unless it goes against his family.
*Likes: Order and leadership, taking care of his sister, praise from his father
*Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected): The corruption in the base, those that squander what the Zone has given them
*Worst Fears: The chain of command collapsing, the lost of his family, finding nothing to live for
*Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add):
RP Examples: Check my signature, if you need exact examples let me know.

Name: Brandon Anderson
Age:60
Sex: Male
Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly, Soldier): Soldier (Sergeant Major)
Appearance:

Equipment/Personal Belongings: SIG Sauer P320 (x1), Gas Mask
Personality: Cold, Stern and above all authoritative. Brandon was put into a position he never thought he would have to take, and seeks to keep all who follow the rules safe. Brandon while stern is also caring when it comes to his family and is willing to do anything for them.
Bio (one paragraph at least): Brandon Anderson was a U.S Army Ranger for many years before the infection began, and was stationed in McCall Idaho. Following the fall, he took his men and established a Quarantine Zone. At first, while hard on the people was willing to allow many smaller commanders. Following his youngest child's death, he took full control over the Zone and established much stricter rules.

While dealing with the smugglers, he has been put under a lot of pressure with many lives under his command.
Strengths: Amazing leadership skills, fantastic firearm skills
Weaknesses: Old age, his weaker lungs due to his smoking habits
*Living Family Members (include locations): Alfred Anderson, Clara Anderson, Jessica Anderson
*Quirks: If ever he becomes stressed he smokes a cigar.
*Likes: His men and family, polishing his weapons, cigars
*Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected): Smugglers, wasting of supplies, raiders
*Worst Fears: The death of his family.
*Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add): This just a one off character, he will die during the fall of the base (or shortly afterwards) I just thought we should make a character who is in charge of the base.
RP Examples: See above

[Anowa]

Name: Alfred Anderson
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly, Soldier): Soldier, Corporal (United States Army Rangers)
Appearance: 6' and 220 lbs

(Image)

(Image)

Equipment/Personal Belongings: Gas Mask (1x), Custom MP5 (1x), Magazines of MP5 ammo (5x), Colt 1911 (1x), A single .45 round tied to a necklace, stopwatch,
Personality: Alfred is nothing but dutiful. He believes in what the Army is doing, and refuses to believe anyone tell him other wise. Alfred dreams that the military can possible establish a new system of governance if the people would just listen and hopes that they could start rebuilding. Alfred is stead fast that his father is doing the right thing and will follow him no matter what.
Bio (one paragraph at least): The first child of Sergeant Major Brandon Anderson and Jessica Anderson, Alfred was born in Portland Oregon. He grew up for the first eight years there before his father was then stationed in McCall where the family promptly moved to. Live was fairly quiet for the next few years until he was 12, and everything went straight to hell. Some how, his father had gotten word from the other bases to start establishing Quarantine Zones, and this led to most of the army families being the first ones to make it inside.

The next twenty two years were hard, and Alfred learned this the hard way. His youngest brother would be the first casualty of the Quarantine Zone, as he was able to escape while he was playing by himself. This led to tighter regulations within the Zone, and Alfred would soon follow in his father's footsteps and join his father's Army Rangers when he became eighteen. After many years of service he would reach the rank of corporal and due to the lack of military supplies has to use a mixture of police and military grade equipment.
Strengths: Army Rangers Training, Hand-to-hand fighting expert
Weaknesses: Horrible with long range weapons, being reminded of the loss of his brother
*Living Family Members (include locations): SGM Brandon Anderson (60, Father) (Leader of the McCall Quarantine Zone), Jessica Anderson (57, Mother), Clara Anderson (27, Sister)
*Quirks: Is always willing to follow the chain of command and won't question orders unless it goes against his family.
*Likes: Order and leadership, taking care of his sister, praise from his father
*Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected): The corruption in the base, those that squander what the Zone has given them
*Worst Fears: The chain of command collapsing, the lost of his family, finding nothing to live for
*Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add):
RP Examples: Check my signature, if you need exact examples let me know.

Name: Brandon Anderson
Age:60
Sex: Male
Faction (Citizen, Smuggler, Firefly, Soldier): Soldier (Sergeant Major)
Appearance:

(Image)

Equipment/Personal Belongings: SIG Sauer P320 (x1), Gas Mask
Personality: Cold, Stern and above all authoritative. Brandon was put into a position he never thought he would have to take, and seeks to keep all who follow the rules safe. Brandon while stern is also caring when it comes to his family and is willing to do anything for them.
Bio (one paragraph at least): Brandon Anderson was a U.S Army Ranger for many years before the infection began, and was stationed in McCall Idaho. Following the fall, he took his men and established a Quarantine Zone. At first, while hard on the people was willing to allow many smaller commanders. Following his youngest child's death, he took full control over the Zone and established much stricter rules.

While dealing with the smugglers, he has been put under a lot of pressure with many lives under his command.
Strengths: Amazing leadership skills, fantastic firearm skills
Weaknesses: Old age, his weaker lungs due to his smoking habits
*Living Family Members (include locations): Alfred Anderson, Clara Anderson, Jessica Anderson
*Quirks: If ever he becomes stressed he smokes a cigar.
*Likes: His men and family, polishing his weapons, cigars
*Dislikes (don’t say “infected.” I know your character doesn't like infected): Smugglers, wasting of supplies, raiders
*Worst Fears: The death of his family.
*Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add): This just a one off character, he will die during the fall of the base (or shortly afterwards) I just thought we should make a character who is in charge of the base.
RP Examples: See above

I don't think I've ever heard of a SMaj breaking 40, let alone 60.

There is no 'custom' gear in the military, you get what's available, and given that supplies from military bases would've been transferred to QZs anything more than an M4 and the GI BDU would be unacceptable.

[The Valyria Empire]

I don't think I've ever heard of a SMaj breaking 40, let alone 60.

There is no 'custom' gear in the military, you get what's available, and given that supplies from military bases would've been transferred to QZs anything more than an M4 and the GI BDU would be unacceptable.

I figured that with the world going to shit, most rules for age would be abandoned and would take who ever they could get to serve. Brandon is just there to be a leader, basically staying at HQ to help plan and direct his men. When you're the guy who commands the battalion, the guys with guns it's hard to remove them from power. This is just a one-off character so it's not that big of a deal if he doesn't work.

As for equipment I assumed that after twenty two years that supplies would have gone down as time went on. Soldiers who went out of the QZ could never return and their equipment is never recovered so I figured that some soldiers would have both stuff they have scavenged and military equipment from the base. Alfred did not join the military till several years after the world went to shit so I figured that the standard equipment wouldn't be available. Also, by custom MP5 I meant it just has a scope.

[Damverland]

Name: Maddox Dean
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Faction: Citizen
Appearance: Here

[Equipment/Personal Belongings: Old water bottle, school backpack, hammer
Personality: Countercultural (if that is the right term), has a humble aura. Still holds the old Southern charm.

Bio: Maddox was born in eastern Texas in 2002. His mother was a strong evangelical and his father was from Minnesota of Swedish descent, who moved to Texas looking for work. In 2009 they moved to the Dallas suburbs. He was taught deeply in the faith of God, and attended church regularly. He took an interest in history by his father and in school.

2013 was the year everything went to hell. Dallas was thrown into chaos as the infection spread throughout the city. Maddox and his parents bunkered down in their house for a week without food and barely any water, until the military went through their suburb, going house to house and killing any infected they could find. They broke down their door and were almost mistaken for runners themselves due to their malnourishment. Fortunately for them, they were not.

Their suburb was subsequently looted and the populace was temporarily transferred to Downtown. There the Dallas Quarantine Zone was formed. In the following months several riots occurred by survivors, resulting in one thousand citizens and dozens of soldiers dead. Dean's mother was one of those killed. The Quarantine zone was then divided into two segments: the Inner Zone and the Outer Zone, with the former reserved for soldiers, engineers and government officials, and the outer zone for everyone else. The Outer Zone was by all means a slum, with infrastructure falling apart and several areas still littered with infected. Dallas became a military dictatorship, ruled by the general from the former Bank of America.

From 2013 to 2020 Maddox and his father tried to continue life in Dallas, struggling under the rations system. His father secretly became a smuggler, taking things from the Inner Zone to the highest bidders in the Outer Zone, such as weapons and luxury food. Maddox became friends with fellow survivors, and grew a connection of acquaintances. There eventually formed a large smuggler ring with his father as one of the leaders. Maddox studied at a university that, although still functioning, was severely undermanned. Slowly through the years he lost his religion. Despite several more riots during this period, life was uncomfortable but bearable.

Despite the strict regime that ruled over them, the heavy military presence in every aspect of life proved to be a boon. Few infected were seen in their neighborhood since 2013. In the end though, it wasn't the infected that destroyed Dallas, it was the people. In late 2019, a massive drought swept through Texas, including Dallas. Greenhouses were few, and the farms were devastated. Mass starvation resulted in thousands of deaths. Suddenly, information passed through the Outer Zone that the military purposely instigated a famine in order to cull the large population. Anger and terror gripped the populace, and a massive rebellion broke out in the Outer Zone. Maddox's father was one of the rebels. They tried to attack the Inner Zone but were met with heavy fire. Maddox wanted to find his father but would not go near the battlegrounds. Instead, his four friends convinced him to join them in leaving Dallas. And so they did.

The fate of his father became unknown.

Maddox Dean and his companions fled to the Pacific Coast, going town to town and looting what they could. They heard news that the Los Angeles Quarantine Zone was both strongly defended and well off, despite this information being three years old. Either way, they had arrived at LA. As expected by most of the crew, it was a dead zone. Although they were exhausted, they had to move on, in fear of being attacked by clickers or bandits. They went from city to city. San Francisco, San Diego, Los Vegas, and many more. Each were either abandoned or littered with infected. Eventually, they found a survivor community in a humble community around Warm Lake, Idaho. People were friendly enough, and there existed plenty of food and weapons.

For the next 12 years, Maddox Dean and his friends lived in the community, foraging, hunting and living a peaceful life there. Occasionally they would make scavenger missions to Boise. Over the years though, Dean would lose most of his old friends, either from attacks, infection, or sickness. Only one remained, Tyler Wyatt. Eventually he too left Dean's life, but not through death, instead joining a group known as the "Fireflies". He had left a note nailed on the door of his lodge, and was never seen again.

All good things could not last, and in 2032 a horde of Clickers came through the area. Maddox fled Warm Lake into the mountains. Presumably, everyone had died.

For the next month Maddox wandered western Idaho until he came across McCall, a town he had heard of before but few people at Warm Lake visited. He was allowed sanctuary in the town, though it gave him memories of his youth in Dallas. Today Maddox does his best to make a living in McCall, though he always reminisces his old life at Warm Lake.

Strengths: He's a bit of a thief, though whether that is a strength or not depends on who you are. Is a decent shooter. Good forager.

Weaknesses: Can be too trusting.

*Living Family Members: Jacob Dean (Father, unknown location)

*Quirks: Has retained his Texan accent even after years of living outside of Texas.

*Miscellaneous (anything else you’d like to add):

RP Examples: I played in the first one.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Valyria, your apps are good provided the Sergeant Major is for sure done for at the end of the prologue.

Damverland, your app is also good.

Accepted.

Golfnheim, I'm checking your app out now.

Please note no more military characters will be allowed.

[The Valyria Empire]

Valyria, your apps are good provided the Sergeant Major is for sure done for at the end of the prologue.

Damverland, your app is also good.

Accepted.

Golfnheim, I'm checking your app out now.

Please note no more military characters will be allowed.

Gotcha. Yeah, I just thought I would create some chain of command that has a face instead of just unnamed soldiers who are in charge. I plan on having him die during the fall or right after before the adventure starts.

[Ormata]

Gotcha. Yeah, I just thought I would create some chain of command that has a face instead of just unnamed soldiers who are in charge. I plan on having him die during the fall or right after before the adventure starts.

I'll be sure to kill him specially, then.

[Anowa]

Gotcha. Yeah, I just thought I would create some chain of command that has a face instead of just unnamed soldiers who are in charge. I plan on having him die during the fall or right after before the adventure starts.

I'll be sure to kill him specially, then.

I was hoping for slow strangulation via the local anti-military gal.