SyrianHamster

The Walking Dead: Chicago (Dark, post-apocalyptic zombie RP - Always open!)

TWcross said
Yeah I will wait alittle longer see what happens then if it doesn't happen, I will post and attack or something which will separate us apart.

Kill them. Kill them and take their loot. That is the law of the zombie apocalypse.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

Stefan0620 said
Possibly just a consistency error, I described a large full moon in the night sky. So, it probably wouldn't be total darkness. Elves also are generally described in most lore as having excellent vision, and very good low light vision, so the elves probably wouldn't be blind. If you guys want me to remove the full moon mention from my post, I can, but I like the insanity posts I get to make.

Shouldn't be a problem. Mundhir's men aren't trying to sneak up on them, they're going to shoot arrows their way. The Elves will shoot back. People will die. Whilst that's going on, the would-be assassins can sneak their way in amidst the chaos.

Sorry for my lack of posting; I have few excuses other than just general business. Work. Home. Clean. Dinner. Shopping. Rinse and repeat.

Home from work at 12:30 tomorrow though, so I'll definitely get something up.

The Walking Dead: Chicago (Dark, post-apocalyptic zombie RP - Always open!)

Scenario #3

Scenario: Sunset Avenue
Scenario Type: Open
Scenario Post Frequency At least 1 per 48 hours, or I ask for GM’s approval on DayZing your char ‘n looting his/her stuff.
Max Players: 3
Current Players: SyrianHamster, Dragonbud
Loot Level: Don’t get your hopes up.
Walker Density: Heavy.
Bandits: Unlikely.

Hannah’s Group

Members: Hannah Banks, Camellia Morgan, Woodrow Hepburn, Oskar Rennold.
Weapon Pool: M14 (1 x 11), M4A1 CQCR (1 x 30), Winchester Model 70 (x20)
Equipment Pool: Apache helmet, military radio, 2 x can of baked beans, box of stale bran flakes, map of Chicago, protein mix, car battery.
Location:Escaping Sunset Avenue.

Camellia’s left leg felt like shattered glass and fire. It was broken, there was no doubt; she’d been so stupid! Suddenly Hannah’s constant barrage of strategies, weapon load outs, team plans and call signs made sense. Her impulsive nature had killed Woody, possibly the last man in the world she felt anything towards, and had probably doomed herself and the hapless stranger in the process.

“I can’t believe Hannah and Oskar just left us,” she whined, leaning heavily on the girl to prevent her damaged leg from literally imploding on itself. “We could have gotten out of there, why would she run?”

In truth, Camellia knew why. Hannah was a soldier, and had survived the last six months by obeying survival’s simple rules. When a situation stood to cost more than it would give, it was time to bail, and Hannah had followed that notion to its destined outcome. Woody was dead, but it wasn’t the former Apache pilot’s fault. It was Camellia’s, for going into unknown territory without alerting anyone.

She’d also fired her gun. She had to. The walker saw her, and she was cornered. Though now look; the street was thick with them, and they weren’t making enough distance to lose them. Not for the first time since her father’s estate got ransacked by those fucking bastards in their stupid red bandanas, Camellia wanted to die.

***

Hannah pulled pack the curtain, wincing at the clumps of dried gore spattered on the window pane. There was movement outside, and lots of it.

“That stupid girl,” she muttered under her breath.

Woody was dead, there was no doubt about it. She’d heard him howl in pain, and in rage. Had heard his gun go off eight times, before falling silent, then all she could hear was the rising chorus of moans.

Oskar was in the corner, having pulled an old dinner chair in front of him to freak out in privacy. Woody was a good man, the two had much in common, and got along well. Now he was gone, killed by his own selflessness, or perhaps his suicidal tendencies. Oskar had wanted to help, to turn back and save the old timer, but he had to find his family. To find his family, he had to survive. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, those who he had fought and lived alongside were little more than a means to an end. They offered protection from the dead, and a chance of him locating his family. They were expendable so long as he lived.

Hannah stepped back from the window, uttering curses and checking her rifle. “That bitch has got a car battery,” she snapped.

Oskar suddenly perked up, “so we could get out of here?”

“She – they – won’t make it. The dead are circling them,” she sighed, “maybe we could get them out of there, maybe not. IF the dead follow, then this shitty little suburban crap house isn’t going to protect us for shit. Fuck my life.”

“Perhaps we could get them in here quietly?” asked Oskar, pulling himself to his feet. “Wave at them or something?”

The former pilot shook her head. “The dead would see them and follow. We need a distraction.”

Oskar walked across the kitchen, and looked out the flimsy backdoor. “I could get into nextdoor’s garden and fire my rifle? That’d lure them away?”

Hannah nodded, “might work, might not. If we get surrounded here though, we’re gonna be KIA pretty damned quickly.”

“Then we run for all we’re worth. I – we – need that car battery,” Oskar affirmed, cocking his rifle. “I will go. You stay.”

“Negative,” Hannah shot back, “it’s too risky. We leave them. Once the dead are done feasting, they’ll get bored and wander off. That’ll be our chance to secure the objective and get ourselves the fuck out of FUBAR land.”

Oskar’s conscience wavered, if only for a moment, and as he turned to put his rifle down on the counter, he gasped.

Hannah was quick, knowing that sound for what it was: shock, surprise, danger. Her rifle was up before her brain had even registered what she was doing. A whole year in the Zulu Alpha had worn her down a little, whittled away the discipline that had kept her alive for so long, and without a millisecond for logic, she fired.

The walker’s head exploded as a trio of 5.56mm NATO rounds imploded its skull, covering Oskar in thick black blood, as well as other sickly substances. The echo of her rifle carried on for what seemed like moments.

The herd reacted with its usual enthusiasm for sudden loud noises. Dozens left the converging horde on the road, and collided with the house’ meagre picket fence. Hannah cursed herself over and over and over and over again, but it was no use dwelling on her lapse in discipline.

“Go loud,” she said, standing back from the window.

Oskar looked at her quizzically, still shaken by his near-undeath experience from the surprise walker. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, to clear some of the muck from his eyes.

“It means: FIRE!” She shouted, “kill them, kill them all!”

“We don’t have enough bullets!” Cried Oskar, fumbling with his weapon.

“No, but we’ll have enough to clear a path,” she said.

Hannah’s rifle released its pent up rage at the window, blasting the glass into nothingness. The undead on the other side, who had by now clambered to their feet, were obliterated from the jaw upwards. She was a good shot, collected and cool, and she took her time to pop each skull with the accuracy of a dedicated marksman. She’d never used her rifle much in her former life, but since everything went to shit, she was a natural.

She moved to the front door, and Oskar quickly followed. Opening it in one fluid movement, she found multiple shambling hostiles on the front porch. Six paced taps of the trigger sent them to the ground. Then she advanced at a casual pace, paying little heed to the dead as their faceless grey mass turned in her direction.

The girls were up ahead, almost enveloped and cut off. Hannah made quick time in quite literally cutting a path through the walkers, putting them down left and right; Oskar helped by shouting out warnings of dead on her blindside.

“Put them down then, God damnit,” she had yelled back.

Within a minute since they’d left the defunct safety of the house, Hannah and Oskar were with Camellia and the girl.

“We’re bugging out of here,” said Hannah to both of them. “We’re going to need to be quick though.”

She noted Camellia’s busted leg, and gave Oskar a hard glance. He complied, and quickly shouldered his rifle. He then picked Camellia up in both his arms, despite her squirming.

“I hope you can run, ma’m,” said Hannah, looking at the girl. “Because this is the last time I come back for you.”

The group moved off eastwards, following the road. The herd pursued them, howling their frustration.

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

You'll never catch me fanning flames, nor will you catch me publicly dragging people's names through the dirt. Just gonna turn around and walk away. *walks off into the sunset,*

The Walking Dead: Chicago (Dark, post-apocalyptic zombie RP - Always open!)

Dragonbud said
Dang it Woodrow was my favorite character, and one of my favorite presidents.

Yeah, nice selfless people don't last long in the ZA.

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

Rtron said
People who go, 'Oh, I'll post in this collab/RP tomorrow!' and then proceed to post in literally everything BUT what they said they would all throughout the following week(s).

I refer to these people as scourges. It's particularly bad when another player's character is mid-interaction with theirs. Destroys RPs, that.

Left an RP recently due to similar behaviour from a GM. They didn't post for ages, when everyone was waiting for clarification on things. I suggested someone else host the RP, assuming the GM had done a runner on us, then he/she suddenly (surprise, surprise) returned to the thread in a whirlwind of rage.

They cried the whole 'oh I'm so busy cus school' thing that's so common on here, but when I checked their post history it appeared they had plenty of time to post in other threads. I've seen that kinda crap so much on here, and it's got to the point now that if I sense that's the kind of person I'm dealing with, then I up and leave. Otherwise I risk being tied to a ship with no captain, also known as: a waste of my frickin time.

Seriously, if you're hosting an RP, decide BEFORE putting it up whether or not you're too busy.

The Walking Dead: Chicago (Dark, post-apocalyptic zombie RP - Always open!)

There are no heroes in my zombie apocalypse!

Dragon, you can do what you want, helping Cam is optional. Don't ever feel you have any obligations towards myself or my beautiful, precious characters.

The Walking Dead: Chicago (Dark, post-apocalyptic zombie RP - Always open!)

Scenario #3

Scenario: Sunset Avenue
Scenario Type: Open
Max Players: 3
Current Players: SyrianHamster, Dragonbud
Loot Level: Don’t get your hopes up.
Walker Density: Heavy.
Bandits: Unlikely.

Hannah’s Group

Members: Hannah Banks, Camellia Morgan, Woodrow Hepburn, Oskar Rennold.
Weapon Pool: M14 (1 x 11), M4A1 CQR (2 x 30), Winchester Model 70 (x20)
Equipment Pool: Apache helmet, military radio, 2 x can of baked beans, box of stale bran flakes, map of Chicago, protein mix.
Location:Moving down the road.

The third walker, despite the gaping hole in its chest from Camellia’s rifle, and the flap of skin hanging from the side of its head from the girl’s faltered aim, moved on Woody. He hesitated, knowing that it had come too close for the girl to get an accurate shot without putting him in harm’s way. He could kill it, he was confident of this, but to do so would mean dropping Camellia.

Other walkers were getting up, having remembered how to put their withered limbs to good use. Stopping to dispatch the threat would give them time to surge on him, and then they’d both be dead.

“Cam? You gonna take that thing out?” he shouted; his heart thudding into his ear drums.

Camellia shook her head, “I can’t, this piece of shit’s jammed.”

Woody took a second to note the irony; Camellia looked after that weapon well, always cleaning and polishing it with the passion worthy of a creepy red neck. The fact it had jammed was nothing short of the world laughing in both their faces. In the end, he resigned himself to pulling his trapped friend with everything he had. She was coming free from her prison of wood and rotted flesh, but not quickly enough.

“Come on, come on, come on,” screeched Camellia, turning her rifle around to use as a club; though in her prone, upright position, it would do little good fulfilling such a purpose.

The walker lurched forwards, and fell on Cemllia; she shrieked and smashed it in the face with the butt of her rifle, but then it was on her. Jaws snapping, it reached for her flesh with the terrible strength of someone who felt no pain or exhaustion. Woody reacted.

Dropping Camellia, he grabbed the walker by its wiry hair and hauled it from her. A pair of hands grabbed him from behind, but his ancient biceps, swollen with a lifetime of dedication, shrugged them off.

His forehead collided with his foe, sending it sprawling to the ground. Then he turned, picking up a part of the ruined fence as he did so, and swung it at the zombie that had grabbed him. Its head made a sickening pop as the wood caved in the side of its skull, spewing black liquid and pink porridge onto the grass. He had only a moment to savour this small victory, as a dozen of the walkers’ comrades pounced on him.

Woody was strong for a senior; he’d benched iron since the age of 14. A steel worker for most of his adult life, his lungs were no stranger to exertion, and the muscles that hadn’t been perfected in some immaculate San Francisco gym had been hardened through the nature of his work. A man a third his age would struggle to best him in a feat of raw physical strength, and this was something that often stayed the old man’s pride as he edged ever nearer to his own funeral.

Walkers were strong too though. They felt no pain, they never tired, and they were always intent on getting what they wanted. He smashed the skull of another, breaking his impromptu weapon the process, and resolved to shoulder a second head over heels. Then they got him.

A searing pain caught his right upper arm, and Woody howled in both terror and rage. He crushed the creature’s face with his two large fists, and went about unleashing a ‘dead man’s’ resolve on several more. Again and again, he launched his God-given weapons into the heads of rotting flesh, pummelling them; cutting his skin and mingling his blood with theirs. There was no turning back now.

With eight or nine motionless on the ground, he had created breathing space. His body ached all over, and not just from the exertion of killing so many walkers with nothing but his own muscles; the infection had gotten him. Fire pulsed from his arm, and the split skin on his knuckles stung as if someone had poured vinegar onto them. There was nothing for it now.

Turning, he heaved aside a corpse holding down the fencing on top of Camellia. Then he pulled up a fence panel, and another, until the girl’s badly bloodied legs were visible. Another walker grabbed him from his blindside, sinking its teeth into his neck. Without looking at his attacker, he reached back with his hands, grabbed the waxy flesh of its head, and pulled hard; there was a gurgling pop, and the zombie fell minus a brain.

Camellia had already scrambled away, picking up the black box she’d risked so much for. Upon seeing it through hazy eyes, Woody understood why: it was a car battery, and in good condition too. With that, the group stood a chance of commandeering one of the many abandoned husks dotting the neighbourhood.

“Good girl,” he wheezed.

The moans of the dead answered him, not just from behind, but also down the road where the pursuing horde had multiplied into a hundred strong. They saw his weakened form, and they hurried their shambling pace in anticipation. Once more, Woody acted.

He moved forwards, seeing the girl from the ambulance wobbling on her feet; not from an injury, but from exhaustion and probably hunger. He had erred in trusting her with his life, but then, he couldn’t have carried on in this nightmare world knowing he’d left Cam to get eaten alive. That was a fate he reserved for himself.

Snatching the gun from the girl’s trembling hands, he looked her hard in the eyes. “Don’t waste what I’m giving you; help my friend, get away from here, and LIVE.”

Turning to face the walkers surging through the ruined fence, and across the road, Woody howled at them. He fired his pistol at any that tried to grab him, and used it as a club when he was able.

Camellia limped to the girl’s side, clutching the battery under her arm. Breathing heavily, and with tears flowing from her eyes, she looked at her pleadingly.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” she croaked. “Please help me.”

The sickening state of the world, and the things it had done to her, hadn’t made her the iron maiden she thought she was after all.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

No worries. I think this has taken a relaxing stride anyways.

I'll look into making Jazeer's next post tomorrow, or Mundhir's skirmish with the Elves. If you can't get anything in before then, then please don't worry about it; we'll hide Kylmi in the background noise.

EDIT: My condolences about the child, my cousin had that same thing, back in like 1985 when computer keyboards and mouses were the same thing. Long story short, he turned out okay!

Of Steam and Ambition - A Steampunk Nation Roleplay - Interested Check

Rare said
Well, I see that someone is trying to shove me out. Well, Skylar, if you're going to make a Steampunk NRP, go ahead. I don't need anyone that can't wait a few hours or so and I'm for such wouldn't want anyone in my RP, that goes behind my back and stabs me. That's childish and rude as hell in my books. I was at school, in the 11th grade, and was busy learning about shit. Plus, I would never give up on a RP unless I have personal issues, which I don't have any. So will you all stop making a NRP, that you'll 'based' on my work. If you want a Co-GM, I already got one in my mind, I might just ask him if he is willing to take on the task. And, what do you all need to clarify? The timeline of tech would be . Go up to 1850 and that's where we are with the tech issue.

*Raises hands*

I surrender.

I'm busy, he's busy, she's busy, we're all busy. I appreciate you can't be around 24/7 to answer questions, but I mean, c'mon, you couldn't find half an hour in three days to check in on us?

Truth be told though, we had no idea if you were even paying attention. You've been active elsewhere, but left most of us in the dark and we've sat around waiting for some guidance. That concerns me. Not judging you or saying you're a terrible GM, as it appears that you are obviously busy; I'm just not sure if I'm comfortable being part of an RP where the main man/woman is gonna vanish for days on end without warning.

I'm not fuelling any argument here, I'm out. You wont hear a peep from me beyond this post, but I thought I'd better clarify why I'm leaving rather than just walk off without giving a reason. No one's at fault here, it's just my preference for GM availability, or maybe I'm a little impatient - if so, then I'm sorry.

Nor will I be making any steampunk NRP, or any other NRP for that matter, so don't worry about me hatching evil plans to poach your flock.

All the best, hope this gets off the ground and that you guys have a great time.

See y'all around.