Man...y'all have some lovely long detailed posts. I'm not sure if I'll be able to match. Intro coming tomorrow.
Don't worry, intro posts are generally much longer than the usual (at least in my case), and everyone has different writing styles :)
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- Old Guild Username: Heretic209
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- FortunesFaded 12 yrs ago
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Wow, I really missed this place
11 yrs ago
Shine on, you crazy diamond
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11 yrs ago
Back, after about 3 months of absence
Bio
Been around a while. Then I left a while. On and off for over a decade, and back for now!
Most Recent Posts
Don't worry, intro posts are generally much longer than the usual (at least in my case), and everyone has different writing styles :)
If we're still using google-maps and precise-ish coordinates to zoom-in on for tactical layouts/scenes then count me interested.
Yup. When I write my posts I have google earth on in the background. Would love to have you on board, friend.
Reserve please! :)
Gonna play either a child or a grown adult, please notify me if you are concerned about my decisions.
Sounds great! Either of those are fine!
Hope that's okay! I didn't proof read it and rushed it a bit in an hour or so cos I wouldn't be able to do another one til the weekend.
It's awesome! And that's perfectly fine, I likely won't be getting one up for a day or two, anyway.
To anyone else working on their opening post: Don't feel obligated to instantly meet up with Desmond and Scout. It's much more natural to group together along the way, or have small groups form initially, than to have 5 people come across each other all at the same time on the same highway.
It's up! For everyone who has been accepted here, please just port your character over to the "Characters" tab, and I'll add them to the roster.
Let's rock this shindig!
OOC: http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/86729-the-walking-dead-to-greener-pastures/ooc
Let's rock this shindig!
OOC: http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/86729-the-walking-dead-to-greener-pastures/ooc
Post your accepted character(s) here. In this opening post, I'll keep a running list of every character and their status -- be it alive, dead, or missing. Additionally, here you can see a list of all NPCs within the context of the story.
The Walking Dead: To Greener Pastures
Some nights, if I shut my eyes real hard, and drown out their groans with the musings of my fears, I can picture a world free from the grip of death. I've built barricades, reinforced walls, all to keep them out. Or perhaps this is my tomb: where I will lie in fear, and scream, and attempt to claw my way out but to no avail. Nobody is out there, and I am buried amongst the dead and the rotten. Oh, what could we have done in the eyes of God to deserve such a fate. I'm low on water, and food is bound to run out soon, but I have on valuable commodity.. I'm alive. I may just have a monopoly on that. I haven't seen another soul since the army left to find a brighter spot to call their tomb. I remained.
The man at the desk shuffled, drawing the chair a bit closer, and wrapping his jacket tighter around his frail body. He shook his ballpoint, and continued to write:
My wife left me when the army did. She took the kids, Lucy and.. was it Alex? She said that they'd have a chance out there. I told her that our luck had run dry a long time ago. And so, I remained within the walls of my fortress, among the pictures of those whom I've loved and lost and almost forgotten. Every night, I hear them clawing at the door. Every single night, slow, consistent. They haven't abandoned me, at least. I'm not alone in the world. I am one of many.
At the front of the house, the door -- which was unlocked and unbarricaded -- began to creak under the pressure of the undead. More walkers on the street turned in curiosity, then began to converge on the scene.
It won't be long, now. My time is almost up, my tomb is almost uncovered. I will be free, and safe, just like I told them when they left.
The door shattered open from the weight of the bodies, which began filing in and down the hall.
I wonder how their safe haven turned out, so far away from our home. I wonder if Lucy still plays with the doll I got her last Christmas.
The walkers found the study, spotting their prey in the dull light.
I wonder if I'll feel pain, or if they did, when the world caught up with them.
---
Two months earlier..
Desmond Williams
The rumble of an automobile engine choked to a halt, as the beat-up old Toyota Corolla rolled to a halt on the outskirts of a largely forgotten city. The car gave the impression that it was running on its last leg, anyway: two windows were shattered, the body was dented from fender to bumper, and there was a large gash running along the passenger's side, rendering both doors inoperable. The grill was covered in blood and sinew, and it looked like a genuine horror movie under the hood. The car which had carried its sole occupant across three states and away from immediate peril was no more. But it had served its purpose, in the end.
Desmond Williams, clad in genuine Italian thread, stepped out of the automobile and smelled the too-familiar scent of death. He paid it no mind; working methodically, he slipped the dead Corolla into neutral and pushed it to the side of the road, before grabbing his rucksack and slinging it over his shoulder. Reaching into the side pocket, he felt the metallic grip of his silenced Beretta, and he held the gun out in front of him in traditional Weaver form while proceeding down the deserted road. It's a different world, now, the ex-lawyer thought, as he eyed his pistol, and the various wrecked cars lining the street, and found a noticeable lack of anything breathing. One week ago, he was sitting in his office on the eighth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, drinking coffee and poring over the file of his newest client. Then New York City became a tomb, and hell would freeze over before Desmond allowed himself to be locked within. So he found the first working, abandoned car that he could, and took off -- primarily sticking to back roads and auxiliary streets -- down the east coast. He made it as far as Delaware.
Despite all the ways in which the world was different, Desmond remained the same man. Sure, he now carried his life on his back, and never went to sleep out of arm's length of his Beretta, but he had always been a survivor. He didn't lose anyone close to him during the initial outbreak, simply because there wasn't a soul living on Earth who could say that they were close to Desmond Williams. There were only smiling faces and ephemeral flings, but Desmond made no roots: which made it far too easy to leave the city he had lived in all his life. His parents were dead, he lost them long ago and in another life, it seemed. But they were spared from the end of the world, and Desmond was spared from having an emotional reaction to the apocalypse. And so, he trudged along.
It took ten minutes of walking before he encountered the first walkers. At first, he only saw the one: what remained of a middle-aged lady, still strapped into the wreckage of her destroyed SUV, which had apparently collided with a road sign and spun out into a telephone pole. She spotted Desmond when he saw her, and immediately began trying to claw her way out of the seatbelt. The lawyer slowed his pace and detoured to the wreckage, where he stood and stared at the women for a lengthy moment. Her skin was yellow and sagging and rotten, and her eyes held utter indifference. No malice, no emotion, only death. They locked eyes, and the lady briefly stopped trying to resist the belt. Then, she gnashed her teeth and drooled a viscous red-green substance, and Desmond raised his pistol and lodged a bullet in her brain. She slumped into the seat, and only then did Desmond dare to fully approach the SUV. He walked around the wreckage, searching it for anything useful, before coming full-circle at the windshield. With care to avoid the glass, he hoisted the street sign up and out of the impaled windshield, and stared down at the faded yellow letters: Welcome to Wilmington.
Some nights, if I shut my eyes real hard, and drown out their groans with the musings of my fears, I can picture a world free from the grip of death. I've built barricades, reinforced walls, all to keep them out. Or perhaps this is my tomb: where I will lie in fear, and scream, and attempt to claw my way out but to no avail. Nobody is out there, and I am buried amongst the dead and the rotten. Oh, what could we have done in the eyes of God to deserve such a fate. I'm low on water, and food is bound to run out soon, but I have on valuable commodity.. I'm alive. I may just have a monopoly on that. I haven't seen another soul since the army left to find a brighter spot to call their tomb. I remained.
The man at the desk shuffled, drawing the chair a bit closer, and wrapping his jacket tighter around his frail body. He shook his ballpoint, and continued to write:
My wife left me when the army did. She took the kids, Lucy and.. was it Alex? She said that they'd have a chance out there. I told her that our luck had run dry a long time ago. And so, I remained within the walls of my fortress, among the pictures of those whom I've loved and lost and almost forgotten. Every night, I hear them clawing at the door. Every single night, slow, consistent. They haven't abandoned me, at least. I'm not alone in the world. I am one of many.
At the front of the house, the door -- which was unlocked and unbarricaded -- began to creak under the pressure of the undead. More walkers on the street turned in curiosity, then began to converge on the scene.
It won't be long, now. My time is almost up, my tomb is almost uncovered. I will be free, and safe, just like I told them when they left.
The door shattered open from the weight of the bodies, which began filing in and down the hall.
I wonder how their safe haven turned out, so far away from our home. I wonder if Lucy still plays with the doll I got her last Christmas.
The walkers found the study, spotting their prey in the dull light.
I wonder if I'll feel pain, or if they did, when the world caught up with them.
---
Two months earlier..
Desmond Williams
The rumble of an automobile engine choked to a halt, as the beat-up old Toyota Corolla rolled to a halt on the outskirts of a largely forgotten city. The car gave the impression that it was running on its last leg, anyway: two windows were shattered, the body was dented from fender to bumper, and there was a large gash running along the passenger's side, rendering both doors inoperable. The grill was covered in blood and sinew, and it looked like a genuine horror movie under the hood. The car which had carried its sole occupant across three states and away from immediate peril was no more. But it had served its purpose, in the end.
Desmond Williams, clad in genuine Italian thread, stepped out of the automobile and smelled the too-familiar scent of death. He paid it no mind; working methodically, he slipped the dead Corolla into neutral and pushed it to the side of the road, before grabbing his rucksack and slinging it over his shoulder. Reaching into the side pocket, he felt the metallic grip of his silenced Beretta, and he held the gun out in front of him in traditional Weaver form while proceeding down the deserted road. It's a different world, now, the ex-lawyer thought, as he eyed his pistol, and the various wrecked cars lining the street, and found a noticeable lack of anything breathing. One week ago, he was sitting in his office on the eighth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper, drinking coffee and poring over the file of his newest client. Then New York City became a tomb, and hell would freeze over before Desmond allowed himself to be locked within. So he found the first working, abandoned car that he could, and took off -- primarily sticking to back roads and auxiliary streets -- down the east coast. He made it as far as Delaware.
Despite all the ways in which the world was different, Desmond remained the same man. Sure, he now carried his life on his back, and never went to sleep out of arm's length of his Beretta, but he had always been a survivor. He didn't lose anyone close to him during the initial outbreak, simply because there wasn't a soul living on Earth who could say that they were close to Desmond Williams. There were only smiling faces and ephemeral flings, but Desmond made no roots: which made it far too easy to leave the city he had lived in all his life. His parents were dead, he lost them long ago and in another life, it seemed. But they were spared from the end of the world, and Desmond was spared from having an emotional reaction to the apocalypse. And so, he trudged along.
It took ten minutes of walking before he encountered the first walkers. At first, he only saw the one: what remained of a middle-aged lady, still strapped into the wreckage of her destroyed SUV, which had apparently collided with a road sign and spun out into a telephone pole. She spotted Desmond when he saw her, and immediately began trying to claw her way out of the seatbelt. The lawyer slowed his pace and detoured to the wreckage, where he stood and stared at the women for a lengthy moment. Her skin was yellow and sagging and rotten, and her eyes held utter indifference. No malice, no emotion, only death. They locked eyes, and the lady briefly stopped trying to resist the belt. Then, she gnashed her teeth and drooled a viscous red-green substance, and Desmond raised his pistol and lodged a bullet in her brain. She slumped into the seat, and only then did Desmond dare to fully approach the SUV. He walked around the wreckage, searching it for anything useful, before coming full-circle at the windshield. With care to avoid the glass, he hoisted the street sign up and out of the impaled windshield, and stared down at the faded yellow letters: Welcome to Wilmington.
The Walking Dead: To Greener Pastures -- Always Accepting
"This is the end, beautiful friend,
This is the end, my only friend, the end:
Of our elaborate plans, the end;
Of everything that stands, the end;
No safety or surprise, the end..
I'll never look into your eyes, again."
- The Doors
Welcome to the end, friends. This will be a casual Roleplay set in the world of The Walking Dead, but in a different setting, with no canon character. To Greener Pastures will begin in Wilmington, Delaware (southwest of Philadelphia), but will move as the characters migrate. The timeframe will start at the beginning of the outbreak. As the name suggests, the characters will be looking for a paradise of sorts: rumor has it that rural New England is much better, comparably, but getting there would involve going through some of the largest cities in the country. Not everyone is going to make it.
This RP was inspired by one that I was a part of for years back on the old Roleplayer Guide site, called The Walking Dead: Northwards (it took place in Colorado and Washington state, primarily) though it shares no connection to that story, either. The zombies in this story will be consistent with the zombie in The Walking Dead, as will the deterioration of society and infrastructure. Characters will die. Everyone dies, eventually. This story likely won't end up being about the end, but about the journey.
We will always be accepting new characters. At some points, I may ask that a roleplayer waits to introduce their character into the story (if too many characters have been introduced at once, or if the group is in the middle of something important, where an introduction wouldn't realistically happen), but this RP is always open. If you want to apply, fill out the Character Sheet below and post it in the OOC. Once you get my O.K., port your character over to the "Characters" tab.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Age:
Occupation:
Nationality:
Appearance: (Pic w/ brief description or a detailed description is fine)
Place of Residence: (Region/City, Country)
Strengths: (You must have a minimum of two strengths. You can have one more strength than weakness, but for every strength past that you must have an additional weakness (ex: 5 strengths, 4 weaknesses)
Weaknesses: (You must have a minimum of two weaknesses)
Belongings: (What does your character have on them/with them almost always? Mementos, favorite book, jewelry, etc., as well as any weapons *within reason*)
Personality: (Who is your character, really? What makes him/her tick? Why?)
Other: (Anything else? Say so here!)
No biography, you ask? Why not?!
Well, kind sir or madam, because it isn't quite important for the purpose of the CS. I want you to think about your character's story, I absolutely want you to think about their past. Then I want you to work it into the RP itself: tell the story, IN the story, not in the CS. Let them develop from within.
---
With all that in order, let's all go out and fight a losing battle with our own fears and shortcomings! (And zombies, of course)
"This is the end, beautiful friend,
This is the end, my only friend, the end:
Of our elaborate plans, the end;
Of everything that stands, the end;
No safety or surprise, the end..
I'll never look into your eyes, again."
- The Doors
Welcome to the end, friends. This will be a casual Roleplay set in the world of The Walking Dead, but in a different setting, with no canon character. To Greener Pastures will begin in Wilmington, Delaware (southwest of Philadelphia), but will move as the characters migrate. The timeframe will start at the beginning of the outbreak. As the name suggests, the characters will be looking for a paradise of sorts: rumor has it that rural New England is much better, comparably, but getting there would involve going through some of the largest cities in the country. Not everyone is going to make it.
This RP was inspired by one that I was a part of for years back on the old Roleplayer Guide site, called The Walking Dead: Northwards (it took place in Colorado and Washington state, primarily) though it shares no connection to that story, either. The zombies in this story will be consistent with the zombie in The Walking Dead, as will the deterioration of society and infrastructure. Characters will die. Everyone dies, eventually. This story likely won't end up being about the end, but about the journey.
We will always be accepting new characters. At some points, I may ask that a roleplayer waits to introduce their character into the story (if too many characters have been introduced at once, or if the group is in the middle of something important, where an introduction wouldn't realistically happen), but this RP is always open. If you want to apply, fill out the Character Sheet below and post it in the OOC. Once you get my O.K., port your character over to the "Characters" tab.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Age:
Occupation:
Nationality:
Appearance: (Pic w/ brief description or a detailed description is fine)
Place of Residence: (Region/City, Country)
Strengths: (You must have a minimum of two strengths. You can have one more strength than weakness, but for every strength past that you must have an additional weakness (ex: 5 strengths, 4 weaknesses)
Weaknesses: (You must have a minimum of two weaknesses)
Belongings: (What does your character have on them/with them almost always? Mementos, favorite book, jewelry, etc., as well as any weapons *within reason*)
Personality: (Who is your character, really? What makes him/her tick? Why?)
Other: (Anything else? Say so here!)
No biography, you ask? Why not?!
Well, kind sir or madam, because it isn't quite important for the purpose of the CS. I want you to think about your character's story, I absolutely want you to think about their past. Then I want you to work it into the RP itself: tell the story, IN the story, not in the CS. Let them develop from within.
---
With all that in order, let's all go out and fight a losing battle with our own fears and shortcomings! (And zombies, of course)
Let's get this party started. Let's get this party started!
I'm working on the OOC and IC right now! The rest of my day is pretty much booked though, so Im just gonna go out on a limb and say that neither will be posted until tomorrow.
@Comrade Doge Accepted!
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