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Post by нσωℓ on Oct 5, 2016 3:14:32 GMT
About the Rp
This rp takes place roughly 2-3 years after nuclear warfare in post-apocalyptic America, in which nearly all of the human population has died off and any surviving animals have mutated to become disfigured and extremely bloodthirsty. Our characters are some of the few who have managed to live so long in the wastelands, each with their own sets of troubled pasts and skill sets. Most of the characters have banned together to form a sort of clan in the "new world", one with a leader and those who play specific roles. Other characters may include rogues, people belonging to smaller groups, or even villains of sorts. The roleplay simply takes place in America, which means that the characters can explore forests, cities, towns, and you name it.
The nature of this rp is more serious and focuses primary on characters fighting for survival, although there are major themes of companionship, humanity, and gray morality. I do ask that you're at least 15 to rp, just because of some dark content that'll be rped, but of course we won't turn anyone away!
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Post by нσωℓ on Oct 11, 2016 20:25:33 GMT
There was Riley, diligent as ever. Of course, it's not like anyone had ever asked her to be. She had chosen this for herself, staying by Arlo's side even through the turmoils with Ghost's presence. Him being there made things hard on her, and gave her new worries. It felt as if Arlo were slipping through her fingers; as if they were Icarus flying too close to the sun and their wax wings had begun to melt, and boy did it burn. All the pain in the world couldn't change her heart though. It was set on Arlo and she would stick by him until he sent her away. Regardless, he and Ghost left her with plenty of work to do. Trouble seemed to follow Ghost like a loyal dog.
Viv had split a while ago. She had begged Riley to come with her and a few other hopefuls from the group, but Riley had refused. Viv had expected this, but still couldn't bring herself to leave without at least trying to persuade her cousin. What had become of her, Riley wasn't sure, but felt assured that Viv would never stray too far. Her only hope was that the turk stayed out of trouble and away from raiders. Viv was known to involve her herself with rather questionable crowds at times.
Then there was Roux. Riley had thought she caught glimpses of the woman's unmistakable red hair lurking around the farm. Yet something in her kept her from reporting this to Arlo. She couldn't be sure it was Roux without seeing her face, and why would Roux still be trailing them anyways? If they had seen her.... well, then that would mean even more trouble. Riley had a feeling knotting up in her stomach that having Roux and Ghost around at the same time would lead to trouble. Big trouble.
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Post by paradox on Oct 14, 2016 0:11:10 GMT
Arlo wished he had the right or even the courage to claim that he couldn’t have ever predicted that this would happen but if there was one thing he was good at then it was predicting outcomes, especially when he had experienced this exact situation years before. The conflict in opinions and belief, the alienation and “choosing sides” and the lack of resolve until an outside force intervened; he’s been through it all before. Or rather, he was there when Claudia went through it. What had once had been a mere butting of heads had evolved into a situation of two opposing powers between Claudia and Ghost; a difference in ideals over how to manage the group. Arlo had been trapped somewhere in the middle, caught between siding with his saint of a sister and the man he was certain that he was in love with. Constantly clashing with Ghost dissolved their once close relationship had taken an emotional toll on Claudia and most of the group saw her as no longer fit to run the group. She was forced to watch her own group fall apart by inner conflicts, deal with violent insubordination and other people packing up and leaving. When Viv left there was this brief moment of a “flashback” where Arlo felt a few years younger, back in his old camp and watching as Claudia practically begged one of her best friends not to leave. Arlo had tried to reason with Viv, not really concerned about getting set back a member in power but genuinely afraid that losing a friend was this easy. He had told Rowan that if it would make him happier, then he could follow and while this had only made Rowan angrier, the damned kid had stayed. Arlo wondered what it was about him that had stirred such devotion – or stupidity – in those that had remained, given the fact that this group had every right and reason to leave him. He deserved to be deserted, there was nothing here that said he deserved anything less than to be punished by abandonment since he refused to learn from past mistakes. Perpetual guilt and anxiety had made a home rooted deep in his heart for the long haul and he knew he deserved every waking moment of it, knew he had earned this load but knowing didn’t necessarily relieve the pain of it. Arlo was desperately trying to grasp on to optimism; he still had Rowan albeit distant and in a perpetual bad mood, still had Riley though he wonders where she would have been safer under Viv’s care than his own, and – although he is fairly hesitant to attribute this a bright side considering he was the reason this was happening – he still had Ghost, alive and relatively well. But, if the fact that he had listed all of it with every drawback was any evidence, Arlo was finding difficulty in getting a firm grasp on pure, unadulterated hopefulness. It was a slippery concept for him, beginning to seem as something more on the side of wishful thinking as opposed to a reachable goal. There was a heaviness in his chest, an emptiness in his gut – neither of which seemed interested in leaving anytime soon, and Arlo could only classify such feelings as emotional punishment for submitting to his own selfishness. As of right now, he had isolated himself on the edge of the farm, brooding after an argument with Ghost. The man had seemed the least bit bothered by the fact that Vivienne had left, which was expected considering he had never liked the woman (or anyone, for that matter) but he wasn’t the least bit concerned about how his presence was driving Arlo’s own group away from him – and Arlo away from his group, like a stubborn wedge firmly planted between the two. If Arlo didn’t know any better then, he would have guessed than that was what Ghost was purposefully trying to do. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” seemed to be the question that they were asking each other; Arlo killing Ghost seemed to be the only real solution to this situation and Ghost succeeding in killing Arlo those years ago would have led to this situation not have happening at all.
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Ritual and routine kept Alana Moons stable, grounded in an ever-changing and erratic world. Wake up (from whichever temporary sanctuary she had found herself in), read the aged note written by her mother shortly before she was born in order to coax herself to get up off the floor, brush her hair and wash her face with the nearest clean water source (old habits die hard), gather her belongings into the aged suitcase (an aged, maroon-colored thing that had been her trusty companion on the times when she was invited to lavish dinner parties and events across the state), then go through the motions of surviving the day. She had attempted to more or less structure it to how she had used to live her life years ago as some feeble attempt to hold on to the good old days, but rarely was she privvied to such an opportunity, considering she was forced to spend most of her time watching for potential dangers rather than browsing the crumbling libraries for any reads she might have wished when the building was still held together or perusing through the remnants left behind in neighborhoods, trying to piece stories together of families and friends with the evidence left in their wake. This was what she mainly indulged herself in, examining the relics created by human beings, whether it be through their published writings and documents or moments frozen in time by photographs. It was both interesting and saddening to look back on how the world once was and compare it to how it was at present, weighing the stark differences and the small similarities. One main difference was how human beings were equipped these days. The .38 revolver tucked into her pants was a light-weighted handgun yet its very presence was felt constantly as though it weighed more than it actually did. There was an extra box of ammunition stashed somewhere in her suitcase but it remained unused; the bullets in her revolver unfired and at more or less the same capacity it had been when she had armed herself with it. The revolver was used for little more than simple deterrence, only ever firing it at the monsters that got too closer to comfort but she had yet to ever wield it in the presence of another human being; typically, her words was more than enough to sway hostiles to the side of non-violence. Alana was a very articulate woman, both through her own intelligence and by her former occupation as a psychologist. She had more than enough means of getting into people’s heads and tilting the odds in her favor by a simple stringing of sentences together, which was preferable as opposed to conforming to violence as the majority seemed to have done. She did not have the strength nor the nimble skills required to survive in such a way. Before her venture into psychology studies, she had been a surgeon before resigning after losing too many lives but these days she is far more pliable to offer her experience to those in medical need. Plus, it works as a pretty good bargaining chip when her life is threatened. The foliage colors had changed, orange and brown hues as telltale signs that autumn had arrived and winter was not too far behind. Settled on the smooth surface of a fairly sized boulder located deep in the woodlands that she had found herself in, Alana idly wondered whether she had the clothing sufficient to get through wintertime. Nature was a far more pleasant environment than the run-down cities she had spent most of her life wandering through – both pre and post apocalypse; an open space, just bird singing and water running short of being completely silent. With not a soul to talk to nor a monster to outwit, Alana supposed now was a good a time as any to make up for the time wasted not relishing in the beauty of nature. Her bright navy blue coat stood out against the palette of the forest, like a blue jay's feather hiding within the branches of a tree, and while she was aware this made her far more noticeable by those she would rather not be noticed by, Alana couldn't bring herself to part with the coat. Her long, jet black hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back was as neatly brushed as she could mange it, but still left the hazard of being grabbed or getting in her eyes; she was clothed in a rather dressy blouse, a pair of black shorts along with slightly heeled boots. Overall, it was the outfit of an inexperienced person in the apocalypse and the mere look at the woman would make one wonder how she's managed to survive for so long. But the fact that there wasn't many scratches or scars on her snowy white skin could give anyone more than enough of an answer: Alana wasn't a survivor, just someone who had gotten by with sheer, dumb luck.
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Post by нσωℓ on Oct 21, 2016 21:11:04 GMT
Viv stopped in her tracks when she spotted the blue blazer sticking out against the background of a late fall. Shrugging the yellow zipper hoodie she had donned onto her shoulders she crept closer. Weapon drawn and ready to jump back if anything happened the turk peered at the stranger from her place in the foliage. This stranger appeared to be alone enough, but at the same time Viv had no backup with her. "Hey! Who's there?" Viv tried to sound confident, as if she wasn't a stranger to this part of the woods herself but the owner of them. "Are you alone?" Carefully Viv crept closer, her gardening tool drawn and extended, but not pointed at the girl. Instead she held it horizontally to guard if a blade came down on her, and her other hand lingered above her shotgun. "There a reason you're hanging around here, çomar?" The subtle accusation of being a watchdog was sure to fall short on a non-turk. The stranger didn't seem intimidating but Viv surely did. Or perhaps she looked more like an awkward deer with its legs sprawled out and poised to run, which is exactly what she was ready to do. Run and scout around for a camp would be the plan. Raid the camp if possible, no harm no foul if she never got caught, right? Maybe if the turk was lucky she had found a pleasant neighbor, and if she was unlucky? Something to run from. She didn't need another Roux tailing them.
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