Dread (Roleplay Interest Check)

Horizon

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Dread
A Post Apocalyptic / Survival / Horror / Diverse Roleplay
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The crisp morning is without a doubt a constant within your life now. Early to rise with the birds that sing their songs, if wearily by now. The branches seem thinner now when you look up to them and the sky all the more gray. In front of you, the fog stands. Waiting.

You waste little time in gathering your things.
Setting up camp for this long was a mistake, but the sleepless nights are really starting to catch up to you.

The feeling of the bags beneath your eyes are weighing heavily as you yawn openly, wiping away the tiredness before picking up your backpack, tightening down your bandoliers and checking to make sure you have enough water and that your weapons are loaded properly.

Dawning your mask made in the image of stag built from wood, cloth, leather and bone, you take surveilance of your surroundings before setting off again into the fog. Some years ago this used to be the coast of... Something. Now it belonged to something else entirely. Everything you knew it as once was changed the day the fog rolled over everything.

A branch snaps in the distance and you pause dead in your tracks.

Kneeling down quietly, you unhook the wooden bow from your pack and pick out one of the three arrows from your quiver, knowing that your rifle would attract things unwanted. Following the direction of the noise, skulking about in the shadows still remaining, you spot a stag.


Quickly, out of some old world habit, you count the horns. Four points total. Then comes the size. It's eaten well enough which is surprising given how poorly the vegetation has dealt since the fog has come.

With no time to waste, you ready your arrow and take aim, but the stag notices your mask clearly. The horns created to imitate its very own image and has secured its gaze. The stag lurches closer, closing the distance more and more with each passing second.

You feel it in the pit of your stomach. The hunger that's been pulling at you for days and now a moment has been presented. You feel the strain in your arm and your eyes squint, concentrating at the heart to get a clean shot and finish things quickly. Now it's just feet away, pushing out gusts of air through its nostrils. Cocking its head left and right to get a better look. Your eyes focus on the heart..


Suddenly a loud white noise begins to emit from your radio.


The stag jerks back, freightened and your hand slips from the bow string, letting it fly straight torward the stag's neck.

Piercing its throat, a splotch of blood spurts forth over your mask before it turns to try and run. The stag screams and gurgles on its own blood, swaying back and forth in pain. The birds take notice and flee, their own squeals echoing out into the fog along with the stag's.

Your hands tremble as you search desperately for your knife, grabbing hold of it for but a moment before dropping it to the dirt. As you panick, you can still hear the stag screaming through its pain, your eyes darting around the area before grabbing up the knife firmly in your grip.

You rush the crying stag and jump at its neck, wrapping one arm around as it thrashes about. Plunging your knife in deep once and twisting it about, the blood runs freely over you. Yanking it out again quickly, you plunge it back down, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth. Praying that this moment isn't real.

Trying to shut out the screams.

Plunge after plunge, the stag's thrashing about slows down before coming to a slow wobble and collapsing into the dirt and ontop of you.

With the wind crushed right out of your lungs, the once promising providence of its size kept you pinned to the earth as your eyes instinctively looked to the tree line thickened with fog.

Their sickly eyes looking at you, their forms twisted and mangled with frames disproportionate.
Their maws salviating at the mere sight of a meal helpless to defend as the white noise of your radio screams into the air.

All the while you clamer to seize yourself from the dead stag's weight, heaving and pulling yourself as you listen to the hurried foot steps of those horrors practically trampeding their way to you.

On the other side of the corpse you can feel their claws attempting to grab hold of your legs as you rear back and kick something square off in the jaw, a quick scream of pain bellowing out with hisses trailing off.

You grab the knife from the stag's neck, having yourself at the ready as tears streak down your cheeks, unable to see to the other side and flailing your legs the best you can before the sudden shift of weight of the corpse moves just enough.

With a quick slide you, you pull yourself up and look at into the faces of something eeriely human ripping into the flesh of the carcas, attempting to take it back into the deeper recesses of the fog as you make a break for it. Darting in and out of the trees, you duck and weave around stonework before stop for but a brief moment to get a grip of your surroundings only to get a glimpse of another vaguely human silhouette rush at you with some kind of object in hand.

Then nothing but the pitch black darkness.


Your eyes open with the pain aching inside your skull. You blink several times, the shape of something sitting down at a desk. A dim light. A painting from before the fog. Nails protruding. Horns.


The chair remains faced to the wall as it creaks to the stranger's adjustment in posture; holding to the light what looks to be 'your' knife still caked with blood before turning to face you with another rickety creak of the chair.

"Welcome home."

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Horizon

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Setting of Dread
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In the late year of 1954, a mysterious fog envelops the coast of Maine. While this is normal by the standard for those who lived here, it's reach did not simply end there. The news was in a panic for a short time with reports of a massive swell in people being submitted to hospitals after being exposed to the fog.

Then all the television channels simply turned to white noise one day. The only thing left was the radio and the instructions were clear. Stay out of the fog, stay inside and board up your windows. A singular repeated message by the local radio station.

It's been several years since the initial arrival of the fog and it is clear that is otherworldly in nature. Those who go into the fog usually don't come back and if they do, they're something else entirely.

You've spent these last several years learning to survive off the land, scavenging whatever you can find and keeping yourself moving as quickly as possible. Sometimes you feel as if you're re-treading old ground, but some days you know you're not where you used to be. Landmarks are generally not useful due to the fog's ability to obscure. What might have been in one place, may no longer be there anymore.

You avoid survivors usually. If there was one thing to be sure of, it was that the fog made people sick. It changed people physically as much as it could change them mentally. No telling if the next person you meet is simply waiting for you to turn the other way for the slight second so they cleave your head off.

But on the off chance you've met someone sane enough, you've stuck around for a night or two to exchange stories. It's always the same accounts. The fog, the things in it, doing your best to keep moving. But one night you meet someone who tells you about others who have strange 'gifts' as it were. They describe them as witches, able to do ungodly things but at a cost. They cut the topic short before leaving.

And so this is the world you live in.

_________________________________________________


Character Creation
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Your survivor's beginnings can be kept vague, much like how this roleplay will be. Not everything has to be explained and secrets are encouraged. I encourage diversity in roles, such as medic, hunter, soldier and etc. Be mindful of what you bring to the table because others might depend on you. I ask for your starting to gear to simply not include any kind of plating. Tough leather being the most you can have in terms of protection. Weaponry is encouraged, however, guns will be restricted to having one clip only.
(One firearm per character)

Your backpack can contain various supplies meant to help your character survive, but keep in mind that you are not stacked with various tools. Keep it to the basics i.e, a lighter, some rope and maybe some food.

_________________________________________________

Where does the story begin?
-
Much like the character mention above, you have been taken into the house of a man named 'Briar'. You have not been imprisoned, but you get the sense that leaving isn't the best idea given the state of the world outside. There are other survivors here too and you've all been invited to sit down with Briar for dinner to talk. All windows have been boarded up and you've been seen electricity working in some parts of the house, while your gut instinct might have told you to leave, you can't ignore how hungry you are.

So you decide to join Briar and the others for dinner.
_________________________________________________

Character Sheet
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Portait: What you look like goes here.
Gender: Is your character male or female?
Age: How old is your character?
Notable Skills: Can your character do anything beyond scavenge?
Backpack: What are you carrying with you?
Background: Who are you exactly?
 
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Mad Dog

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I'm in. I have a character from a previous diverse rp, that I'd like to bring to this.
 

Mad Dog

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Character for Zombies In Vegas
Theme:
Name:
Mona
Age:
24
Appearance:
Strong, and athletic Mona's body is very suited for combat and the activities associated with combat. Mona's body may be of an extremely small frame however she is much stronger and more capable than most
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Former Occupation:
Mona's most recent occupation was as a Private Investigator working out of California, Mona took this job after she was honorably discharged as a Sergeant from the National Guard with five years of service straight out of highschool and one tour in Iraq.

Rank/Title: P.I. and Sergeant.

Relevant Skills:
  1. Mona is well trained in Martial Arts (Aikido, Judo, Tae Kwon Do, Jiu Jitsu, and Muay Thai) having first started at the age of 12, at her fathers request.
  2. Mona has been trained for years in firearms by the United States National Guard, This includes Small Arms, and Long Arms, with additional smaller amounts of training in Heavy weapons (RPGs and the like) as well as explosives(landmines and grenades.)
  3. Mona has also received training in basic survival in a large variety of environments.
Items Possessed:
Urban Military Fatigues:
GH Armor Lite IIIA Body Armor
A Beretta Cx4 Storm
A Beretta M92 FS
(6) 15 round magazines
(3) 30 round magazine
(4) Winchester White box 9MM FMJ
Total rounds (398)
(2) Tactical Flashlights
A tactical radio with ear piece.

Tactical rook-sack:
15 days worth of MRE's
Tactical K-Bar Knife
(10) Flexible Collapsible Foldable Reusable Water Bottles (Full)
A Black Camelback Water Bag
Tactical Blanket

NPCs:
Joseph, AKA Joe, was a Specialist in the National Guard with Mona in Iraq. When the virus hit they teamed up to look for other survivors and brave the wasteland. Joe is equipped similarly to Mona except that he carries different firearms.
Items Possessed:
(2) Joe's Handgun
(4) Winchester White Box.45 ACP FMJ
Total Rounds (387)
(12) 7 round magazines.
(1) two person tent.

Vehicle:
Mona operates a black 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 she received as part of an inheritance from her grand father.
The vehicle while mostly standard has been outfitted with one notable upgrade.
A Partial Economy T5.

Here she is!

*Obviously she'll need a bit of editing. But yea, I think she'd fit this bill!
 

Horizon

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Word, I'll give it a read.
 

Herrith

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So up for this.

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Name: Benjamin 'V' Vivian

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Notable Skills:
  • Military training, US Army Airborne
  • Survival skills, learned from father
  • Hunting, learned from father

Weaponry:
1 Thompson M1928 submachine gun w/ 100 round drum mag, 75 rounds currently
1 knuckle knife (brass knuckle/knife combo)

Rucksack:
4 K-rations
1 box of matches, 1/4 full (box of 50)
1 Zippo lighter
1 50 ft military grade coil of rope

Appearance:
He is wearing average 50s-era clothing with his trench coat, web gear, and rucksack over, as well as his standard-issue helmet.

Ben maintains a strong frame from his time in the service, and has brown hair, brown eyes, as well as a couple fresh cuts and light stubble.

Bio:
Corporal Benjamin Vivian was a part of the 101st Airborne division during the Second Great War, taking part in many battles in the European theatre. He retired from the military as soon as the war ended, returning to his home state of Maine and marrying one Aveline Wellington, who took the name Vivian. His father trained him skills in hunting and survival in wooded forests, military training further adding to this.

But then the fog came. One night Ben left to search for help in the wilderness and returned to find his wife and children gone.

All he could do was leave. And now he wanders the wilderness, searching for others.

Until he found himself in a house...with other people seemingly as desperate as him.

Personality:
Losing friends in the war left Ben depressed and short tempered, and he often resorted to drink to solve his problems. But that's in short supply nowadays..
 
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Mad Dog

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So up for this.

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Name: Benjamin 'V' Vivian

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Notable Skills:
  • Military training, US Army Airborne
  • Survival skills, learned from father
  • Hunting, learned from father

Weaponry:
1 Thompson M1928 submachine gun w/ 100 round drum mag, 75 rounds currently
1 knuckle knife (brass knuckle/knife combo)

Rucksack:
4 K-rations
1 box of matches, 1/4 full (box of 50)
1 Zippo lighter
1 50 ft military grade coil of rope

Appearance:
He is wearing average 50s-era clothing with his trench coat, web gear, and rucksack over, as well as his standard-issue helmet.

Ben maintains a strong frame from his time in the service, and has brown hair, brown eyes, as well as a couple fresh cuts and light stubble.

Bio:
Corporal Benjamin Vivian was a part of the 101st Airborne division during the Second Great War, taking part in many battles in the European theatre. He retired from the military as soon as the war ended, returning to his home state of Maine and marrying one Aveline Wellington, who took the name Vivian. His father trained him skills in hunting and survival in wooded forests, military training further adding to this.

But then the fog came. One night Ben left to search for help in the wilderness and returned to find his wife and children gone.

All he could do was leave. And now he wanders the wilderness, searching for others.

Until he found himself in a house...with other people seemingly as desperate as him.

Personality:
Losing friends in the war left Ben depressed and short tempered, and he often resorted to drink to solve his problems. But that's in short supply nowadays..

You following me?
 

Mad Dog

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I'm... uh.... what? I'm not gonna... kill you..... That's a bit drastic...
 

Kaane

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How has this not received more attention

I have an idea for a character, if you're still doing this @Horizon
 
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