Gender, Age, Orientation:
Female, 16, Bisexual

Height and Weight:
1.62 m, 46 kg

Life Before the End:
Even before the End, Ashley’s life was bad, very bad. She was the youngest of a family of 5, with a mother working 3 jobs and a deadbeat drunk dad who abused them after every bender.

Butch and Willow, Ashley’s oldest siblings, the twins, took care of the house when the mother was working. Their life soon turned even worse when another sibling was born and the father went crazy. In the years that followed, when Ashley was around 3, Butch killed their father after in a drunken haze, killed their mother.

Ashley can’t remember much about the time before the End but time passed and the first cases of the Olive Plague were detected

Life Since the End:
The Lost family, like countless others, were infected with the Olive Plague. Despite the initial hope that some might be immune or a cure will be found, the virus claimed all but three. Butch, the oldest brother, Willow, the eldest sister, and young Ashley were the sole survivors.

Butch, alongside a few of his new prison friends, escaped prison and, wanting to protect what remained of his family and take advantage of a world without laws, founded "The Butchers," a ruthless group of raiders. Composed entirely of former convicts or those who should have faced murder charges, The Butchers were relentless. They killed anyone that got into their way, enslaved the rest.

Under Butch's influence, Willow forgot her kind-hearted self and became a self-proclaimed torture master within the ranks of The Butchers, enjoying making others scream for hours upon hours before killing them. Ashley, still a mere child, grew up surrounded by the worst of humanity.

As Ashley grew up, she took her first life at the age of 10. A right of passage they called it to teach her how to be a “woman”. And by the time she was 14, Ashley found herself in charge of a smaller crew within The Butchers, a position that came with its own challenges. The members of her crew, underestimating the young girl, posed a constant threat, kept in check only by the fear of Butch.

By the age of 15, Ashley was a feared raider leader. Using her two blades to cut through anyone that even gave her a sidelong glance and bearing numerous scars, she was given the nickname “Killa’” by the Butchers after she cut down a family of 4, all on her own.

Sadly, for Killa’ her destiny seemed to be different than being killed by someone looking for food. One day during a raid on a farmhouse, a place that served as a home base for other survivors, Ashley found herself separated from her crew and found herself taken hostage. Her captors, wary of retaliation from The Butchers, kept her alive as an insurance policy.

As the group moved south, Ashley bid her time until an opportunity for escape presented itself. She managed to escape, by pure luck after a group of raiders attacked the group which provided enough of a distraction. Finding herself in Columbus, she was lost.

Not knowing where the Butchers are, she wandered around and found Mama Jones’s camp. With the survivors at Mama Jones’s unaware of her past or her reputation, this proved the perfect opportunity to scout this group, learn their weaknesses, numbers and hiding spots. Butch would surely come one day, after all and the best way for him to forgive her mistake, would be to offer him something good.

Personality:
Killa’ cares little about her fellow man with little to no empathy. Short-tempered and cunning, using her fellow man to get what she needs.

Spark:
Her family. From almost day 1, The Butchers were her family. Always ready to do anything she could to prove herself to Butch.

Skills:
Blade Combat: Killa’ has earned a name as a knife user. Be they throwing knives or straight up machetes, there aren't that many blades she hasn't used to kill or maim.

Con-girl: Before she became Killa, The Butchers were using her to join groups kind enough to save an innocent girl.

Fast: maybe not a skill per se, but Killa knows how to run. Her slim, toned body is a testament to that.

Role:
Scout: using her small stature and speed, the Jonesgroup uses Killa as a scout when needed.
Butcher: If there's no need for her skills, Killa uses her knife skills to skin animals or cut them into pieces.

Tools:
The only thing she managed to take from her captors was her family knife. It is a combat knife with the letters B.L. scratched on the handle.

Gender, Age, Orientation:
Male, 27, Straight

Height and Weight:
6'0 and 160lbs

Appearance:
N/A

Life Before the End:
The eldest of two, Cal was born to a family in Anniston, Alabama. Growing up, he had a good relationship with his family, especially his sister. However, he was somewhat bullied for being a "hillbilly" due to his family's status and his accent but tried to ignore them the best he could. Besides that Cal was always fascinated with aircraft and the night sky. An interest that was encouraged by his mother. But Cal was more curious about how they worked and how to make them. Eventually, this led him to want to make aircraft or even spacecraft for a career.

After high school, Cal managed to get a scholarship to Georgia Institute of Technology in Atlanta, and for a time, he was happy. Then the Olive Plague appeared, and he found himself in an increasingly worse situation before catching the plague himself while trying to leave Atlanta to check on his parents in Anniston. He does not know if it was luck or if God had a hand in it. But Cal would be one of the few to survive the Olive Plague.

Life Since the End:
Cal's first action after recovering was heading back to Anniston to see his family. Only to find that both of his parents had gotten the Olive Plague and had taken their lives instead of suffering a slow death. But his sister was nowhere to be found, along with his parent's truck. Cal tried looking for his sister for a time but realized she could be anywhere and had no clue of where she was. He stopped trying but hoped he would see her again, even if the chances were slim.

So, Cal stayed in Anniston for some years before supplies ran low, and he was forced to leave Anniston. After wandering, he found a settlement and ended up joining them. For a time, things were nice, and Cal was just glad that he was with people after spending years alone in Anniston. Then, a group of survivors calling themselves the Dixie Brotherhood showed up and offered Cal's settlement to join them. Most of the survivors, including Cal, were against this, and the offer was turned down to Dixie's displeasure, and they left the settlement alone. Only soon after, a group of raiders showed up and attacked the settlement. Most of the survivors were killed, and Cal and some others were captured. But Cal and the captives managed to escape into the night, but Cal lost track of his fellows as they ran from the raiders' camp.

Cal once again on his own and with nowhere to go. He wandered before ending up in a town called Bluffton and heard of Jonesgroup, and joined them. Now, with a place over his head and people to keep him company. Cal is just hoping that events will repeat themselves in regard to his old settlement.

Personality:
Cal before the Olive Plague, Cal was a curious and friendly person who enjoyed spending time with friends and family. Always wanting to learn more about things, especially about anything that could fly. Though he does enjoy his time alone with his thoughts and away from others. Often, spending time watching the stars at night and being optimistic about life.

After the Olive Plague and years of living in the new world, Cal has grown to be cautious and careful. First living on his own and later with a group. Cal had to learn the hard way how to survive on his own and without any safety net. Dealing with both friendly and hostile survivors. Even when he was apart of a group, he was still careful with people. Despite what has happened to the world and to his family, Cal can still be considered an optimist but will not always express or show it.

Spark:
Two things keep Cal going and sane. One is that despite getting the Olive Plague and being one of the few to outlast it. Cal knows that he needs to live to prove to himself that things can get better, and he survived the Olive Plauge for a reason. Two is that while he knows it is a slim chance and she could be dead. That Cal can find and be with his sister again.

Skills:
Studying as an aerospace engineer, Cal has knowledge about how aircraft and how they work. While this skill seems to be worthless in the post apocalypse. He does know how drones work and how to maintain them. Which he did managed to find and repair two drones and once the group set up a power source. Then, he can use them for recon and other scouting needs. Otherwise, Cal is good at driving and playing a guitar. Along with knowledge about the night sky.

Role:
Cal mostly does manual labor in the group, but once they find a way to recharge the drones, he has. Then he can focus on using them for recon and scouting. Along with repairing any drones they can find.

Tools:
Two drones and their recharging stations
Crowbar
Backpack
Flashlight
Beretta Px4 Storm pistol
Knife
Drone repair tools

Appearance:
Not one for grooming or for blending in, Richie has a brutalist red beard so thick that it makes you think of a brick. His red complexion and fit-fat physique also put you in the mind of a brick. "Brick-like," in general, is the best description of Richie one can have. The second best description is "A basement-dweller that robbed a homeless man and exclusively stole his clothes." His oddly dainty-looking glasses are held together by duct-tape and kept tight by women's hair bands wrapped around the joints.

Life Before the End:

Richie was a Troubled Child. That was the term used for him, by relatives and neighbors, and by his parent's fellow church-goers. It had made itself known by the time he was old enough to walk. It was the recurring theme of his life that there was "something wrong with that boy." He couldn't keep up in school, even with the simplest concepts. And there was the way he couldn't control his emotions: his sudden, flaming red outbursts of panic and rage. He kept his parents in a state of constant distress over his struggling grades on the one hand and over his actions on the other.

When he was in pre-school and kindergarten, they were told at least once a month that he had hit another student, cornered them and kept shoving them against the wall- like a game. His parents tried talking to their son so many times about why, but they could get nothing out of him. He would just stare at his shoes and give them simple, childish answers. "Because," he'd say, or "I dunno," or "I was mad."

When he was in middle school, he bit another student who said something mean to a girl Richie had a crush on. Not hit him, bit him. He clamped on to the skin of the poor kid's arm in pottery class and drew blood like a bulldog.

When he was in high school, another student sat in "his seat" in algebra class- a class he was perpetually failing- and, when they wouldn't move, Richie picked up his pencil and stabbed him in the hand. It wasn't sharp enough to cut deep, but he threw enough force into it to repaint the desk red.

The only escape was church. That had been the idea of his grandmother- an ancient Pentecostal woman, full of holy fire and good will. She knew her dear grandson was struggling, and she knew what the solution was. She decreed that he would start coming with her to church. There was no arguing with her: she was a Southern church lady of the old style, somehow both soft-spoken as a dove and with a iron will like all the holy men in the Good Book. She got her way.

That ended up being what saved young Richie. The church provided what other outlets failed to- a sense of purpose- and it never erased his problems, but it gave him a motivation to try. And the church his grandmother liked was really quiet. It wasn't like the overwhelming, loud halls of school or the aisle of Wal-Mart that put him on edge. It was easy to exist there; he didn't panic the same. He loved it.

When he started talking around the age of nineteen or twenty about being a pastor, his family wasn't surprised, but they were very cautious. The young man Richie been leveling-out for years, learning to reign-in his internal emotional tornado and keep himself wearing a mask of normality. He still came off a little slower on the uptake than other people, if you studied him closely- a little vacant in the eyes. His family's feelings at the thought of Richie behind a pulpit were deeply mixed. Except for those of his grandmother, of course, that old prophetess that was always the one member of the Bell family who swore she could see something in him. She was the force who pushed him onward, helping him get into Bible College and nearly covered the cost of tuition. He sold plasma and worked part-time to make up the rest.

Graduating Bible College, he spent years going through the usual motions of working with older preachers as their youth pastor, as someone who would cross-check their sermons ahead of Sunday, as an occasional fill-in when they were sick, and he'd work in factories and warehouses to make ends meet all the while. It was a hard life for him. The more stressed he was, the harder it was to control the angry outbursts that still plagued him. They succeeded in ending every relationship he began. There would be no Pastor's Wife for Richie Bell.

When finally managed to gather enough experience and enough support to break away and start his own church at the age of thirty- the same age Jesus began His ministry, his grandmother would remind you- the Olive Plague came knocking on the door.

Life Since the End:

He felt powerless to stop it. The Plague swept through Richie's new congregation, fifty our so souls that had- in his mind- put their faith in him to be their spiritual covering. They had come for his ferocious and thundering sermons, his shouted words of hellfire and brimstone that could make you swear you saw Heaven and Hades both right before your eyes. Richie was known as a loud and impassioned preacher. But soon they were asking him for prayers over their health. In the early days of the Plague, he prayed for the Olive to pass over his church. "No evil shall befall you, nor shall any plague come near your dwelling." In the midst of the pandemic, as it tore on through the Southeast like a dry fire and came to his flock, he had to switch to praying that they would survive it. "A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand; But it shall not come near you." When the Plague dragged on for months within those souls suffering from it and neither left them nor killed them quickly, he finally prayed that the infected could just have a swift death. "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

When every prayer seemed unanswered, all his pleas thrown up into Heaven never coming back down, something in Richie broke a little bit. There were soon no souls left in his church because there were no souls left virtually anywhere. In this world of corpses and quiet, Richie went wandering alone, and to be alone for a man with his history of emotional and mental trouble is certain to cause back-sliding. Somewhere in the silent black he lost his mask of rational and sanity, walking empty Bluffton roads by himself and talking aloud to God. He doesn't know exactly when he started to cry to himself, or when he decided it was a reasonable action to shout at stray dogs and flocks of birds.

He still preached, is the funny part. His wanderings took him outside of Bluffton, to other surviving settlements. Whenever he'd come upon the sight of a human being still alive in the distance, Richie would know what to do: he'd start up a sermon, preaching to them exactly as if they were part of the congregation he lost when the Plague came through, and he would preach it to its conclusion even if they walked away. They didn't always walk away. It was the local Dixie settlements who gave Richie the nickname "Preacherman." He became welcome at their tables. Once, he even met Sammie Hunter himself, out near Atlanta. He preached for him a sermon on pride.

Richie's memory is faulty, these days. He doesn't remember exactly when or why he decided to stay with the Jonesgroup. Maybe because it was getting too hard to find food on his own. But more probably, it was because they are but a block away from the church his grandmother took him to as a child, the one that salvaged his mind. For a time.

Personality:
Unstable, mostly. Unpredictable. There are times when Richie seems to feel nothing at all, dead-eyed and cooler than the water under a frozen lake. There are many more times when he is made out of fire and brimstone, screaming and bellowing, angry at something or else passionate about something different; he gets loud. At night, late at night, he'll be seen wandering around the grounds lost in his own thought, staring at the stars. He sobs and cries out to God alone in the church where he thinks nobody can hear.

How he acts towards others, how he comes off, it'll depend on what mood he's in. Your first impression of him is essentially randomized. But, as he's been with the Jonesgroup for some two years now, most everyone's had enough experiences with him to learn the final lesson: that Preacherman Richie is a Molotov cocktail of feelings, and you never know what you'll get. He is intensely tempestuous.

Somewhere down inside himself, there is the soul of a very gentle person.

Spark:
Faith. Richie has a strange feeling inside himself, resting at the bottom of his heart, which he cannot shake. The feeling that he was spared for a reason. An innate knowledge that it's not an accident he still breathes. It's what makes him open his eyes every day.

Skills:

Preaching!

But that's a given. Outside of his passion, Richie has no one specific skill. His greatest attribute is simply his power and his attitude. He is strong, relentless. He is capable of working from sun up to sun down, lifting up things made of metal or concrete and toting them to-and-fro across the Jones property without ever complaining. People are always comically astonished as his strength when they see him working.

Role:

Preaching!

That's his official role, at least. Every Sunday morning, he leads himself and a small group of others over to the First Assembly of God Bluffton, where he delivers a fiery and thundering sermon. Emotional and mental issues aside, Richie is still a very skilled, captivating preacher, who can make a clear point and hold an audience purely by instinct. He repeats the ritual again on Wednesday evening. He also leads a prayer at the start of every day (between breakfast and lunch), and hosts a Bible study on Friday. Bibles are provided. He raided a bookstore. Here again, he shows a way of leaping over the usual bounds of his mental functioning and is surprisingly insightful about finding new interpretations to scripture.

But unofficially, he's also present for essentially any manual labor the Jonesgroup does. Tilling soil, putting up fencing, repairing walls with Gorilla Glue and old wood. He's also known for showing up unannounced to other's work areas and offering to help with whatever they need done.

Tools:

Remington 870: Quick, imagine a shotgun! Congratulations, you just imagined the Remington 870. It's the classic shotgun, and it was an easy find digging through pawn shops after the End. A shotgun is Richie's weapon because, much like himself when he's in a fight, it is loud, messy and unconcerned with who exactly it hits.

Nelson's Study Bible, NKJV: A Bible full of annotations, explanations and footnotes running along the bottom of the page, explaining the history and context of the ancient Bible verses. (Very useful for not getting confused by the old language.)

Swiss Army Knife: Pocket knife, bottle opener, can opener, screwdriver, scissors...

2006 Chevy Colorado, Orange: Working, but just barely. It's an old pick-up that squeals in pain whenever you press on the brakes and shutters with misery whenever it idles. But, for now, it moves. The gas tank is half-full and unless you can promise you've got something to fill the tank with, Richie will not take you anywhere with it. It's only for events that constitute an "emergency," as defined by the eclectic mind of Richard E. Bell.

Various Workshop Tools: Stored on the back of the Chevy in aluminum chests, you've got wrenches, screwdrivers, jumper cables, hex screws, actual screws, a sledgehammer splattered with red stains in the shade of don't-ask-about-it, and more...