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No Hope

I wanna post but it seems like I would have to wait until Tomebinder posts?

@SgtEasy

No, I don't think that's how the game works. I think the idea he likes is that you can create whatever you want. Move the story as you wish. He'll only step in when 1, the player hasn't posted in 3 days, or 2, there's been a lull and the GM wants to move the plot ahead, so he'll powerplay any or all characters as necessary. Otherwise, you can do whatever to the NPCs and the world. He doesn't always or necessarily dictates the consequences of your actions (if it's within the realm of the IC reality) if that's what you're thinking. So post if you want. :)

No Hope

His neck felt squashed and ached in a strain like he had been sleeping at an awkward angle. Evan opened his eyes and a wave of pain and nausea overwhelmed him. His head pounded in the most severe migraine of his life. He tried to speak, to call for help from the murmured voices around, but the effort needed proved too much to hold back a retch; with a leaden hand he reached for the car door, finding the handle in a strange position, and pushed it open. The world looked upside down but it didn’t matter. He dragged himself out and collapsed onto the grass and vomited.

He lay on the damp ground, breathing in the night air, which helped a little, and stared unfocused at the wavering stars in the sky, hearing the distant cries of zombies. He knew enough basic first aid course that he suffered from a concussion. Running was out of the question for a while. The vertigo persisted. He felt liquid drip down his ear. He touched it and saw blood coat his fingers. He wiped at his forehead - more blood - and down his chin. His head had split open on the side, where the source of hammering agony was. “Dammit,” he muttered. Evan chanced to sit up. His vision swam and he felt the rise of bile. It took many seconds before stability returned. The rest of his body felt fine. He removed the roll of bandage and aspirin from his backpack, popped four pills into his mouth and had a drink with it, then offered the medication to anyone who needed it. The zombies were shuffling closer to the smell of fresh blood. They had time but not much. “I need my head wrapped up, can someone please help me?” he asked, even though the driver looked like he was in far worse shape than himself. If there was enough time, he would help him after the flow from his head was stymied.

No Hope

lol, forgot about the sniper who saved our lives. LOOK! BIG NOISY THING IN THE SKY! What small running man?

And I like you, GM, I like you. You keep things going.

No Hope

In the relative safety of the car, on one end of the back passenger seats, Evan raised his head up from taking cover and peered out the window at the roaring helicopter. “Military,” he whispered incredulously. “They’re still alive and they’re helping us.” He looked at the dozens of fallen zombies, impressed by the sheer firepower the soldiers had. Evan strained to hear and make sense of the broken words shouted over the loudspeaker, washed out in parts by the violent noise of whirs; but as a DC local, he was fairly confident in his interpretation of the puzzle and told the fellow survivors, “I think he said: Fort Lewis is down. Easton is still operational. The roads are a no-go. Go to Fort Washington, they saw lots of boats.”

Heading out to sea would be a good idea to get away from the zombies, at least for a while, he thought. They could drive down the river and resupply through less densely populated areas to arrive in at military base. But he needed to know if everyone he cared about was gone or if they were still alive, he could bring them along too. “I need to go back home,” he said. “It’s a few blocks from the pier. Does anyone else have family in Washington?”

Mahz's Dev Journal

I would like to add my voice to being able to delete inbox messages. And secondly after that, to have the automatic jump to the latest page in PMs as the normal board threads do when you click on the title. Thanks for all your hard work, hard working people.

No Hope

Will post by tomorrow.

No Hope

Wah! Doris!! :'(
I was at work all yesterday and will be again today. May not get a post up till Monday night. Just letting you know.

For the players: Sophia will follow the others after someone pulls her away. I only got to skim through Doris dying this morning and now I'm late. :)

@whiteprophet

Sophia is on the floor, just so people know; reminder. Cos Evan will probably run away now.

No Hope

Do animals eat them? Are there zombiefied animals?

No Hope

I deliberately didn't describe the exterior if @TomeBinder wants to do it. Or somebody else can. Otherwise I'll get to it in my next post.

No Hope

The shamblers’ chilling moans echoed through the gymnasium and hallways. With a spare few seconds of respite, Evan caught his breath in the musty, long vacant school smelling faintly rotten. A map of the campus showed he would have entered from the western end, by the numbered-300s classrooms. He quickly committed the layout to memory and noted a likely emergency exit in either the cafeteria or theatre, then hurried behind the foreign woman at a safe distance.

Evan warily tailed the four survivors after the fresh incident with Mike. There was no makeshift weapon about that he could take for defence in the constrained space but the heavy switchblade in his jacket’s zipped pocket remained a comfort. He eyed the young girl holding hands with a fragile old woman, who appeared to bear no familial relation to each other but their clasp was tight and determined. Their bond was a sharp reminder of the kids who had trusted him, who saw him as an older brother, that he had abandoned. He followed the pair’s lead - nearly into a throng of zombies - they dashed left at the V-junction.

He could see the exit! A gunshot thundered - the old woman crashed to the floor. He reacted fast - he shoved the screaming girl down. They were protected by the short wall raised to waist-high that ran the corridor. A second shot burst a window; shattered glass fell on them. “Crawl!” Evan urged. He moved with elbows and knees above the ground, the quadrupedal training had been a staple diet, and was foremost towards the door. He stood up by a full wall at the exit. It was a narrow harbour. The shamblers were closing in. They were trapped. He pressed his hands onto the bar: the sniper would be watching the door and he didn’t know if the exterior would provide any protection from their attacker, but he had to risk it. He opened it - a small gap - to steal a glance at their surroundings.