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Blackbird Dreaming - Forward The world finally came to an end, that was made abundantly clear across the media spread of pundits and talking heads, ticker updates and blogs--and those bedraggled men with cryptic sandwich boards had finally gotten their wish. Life ceased as anyone knew it, or ever cared to know it, in the mere matter of one summer afternoon. Heightening political turmoil, governmental dissonance, and the global market crashes of the major powers were simple catalysts for far more shattering consequences. There was no world war III, nor was there a nuclear apocalypse--at least, not like any foretelling ever laid out in times gone by. But the world as we knew and loved it is gone. Across the nation nuclear silos remain abandoned and unused--their buttons never pushed. No jets were scrambled, no tanks were rolled out. No offensive was staged. There was martial law, yes--for a time. But little by little, what structure remained in place was swept away like that much dust--a dryness, and desolation creeping over the landscapes. Bird flu? Hardly. But the birds definitely had something to do with it all--a madness took them, flock upon flock desperately trying to destroy themselves, as if to escape some looming terror. Tectonic activity off in the ocean, meteorologists parroting dismay--something about the Mariana Trench, of hurricanes and devastation. Has it been a year? You were lucky. At least, by some perceptions you were. Survivors, thanks to a bomb shelter and the practicality to stock it up with canned goods, and all the macaroni and cheese you'd need to repopulate the world once it ended. But those supplies lasted far less then you would have hoped--and what's worse, much of them seemed to spoil and crumble into unusable nothingness. In the early days, the Internet remained. You kept touch with others, each telling of their own situations. The outlook of the world outside grew more and more grim with each passing day. Eventually, the network was gone all at once, and you were left with older, more tried and true means-- a humble HAM radio. On occasion a crackle led to the comfort of another voice--but in time, those too became all but extinct. There is no law. No government. No order. Little seems to remained of any metropolis or major population as well. Time is short, as supplies are shorter. You had managed to scrounge together--and by some incredible endurance, survived each others' company cooped up for so long. The clock is ticking away, and there's little left for you to survive on in here--and frankly, being cooped up for so long has drat near driven you mad. It's time to leave, or it's time to die. ~~~~~ ~~~~~ Our Ensemble: Brandon Gray played by prussian advisor - A medical nurse among the staff at the Battle Creek Medical Center when stage 2 cerebrosus struck. John Markson played by Wutasumi - A librarian from a farming family, marooned into the shelter with fate's cast of the die. Raymond Tailor played by Mr. Horyd - A fairly successful horror novelist with a penchant for narrating his disturbing dreams. Jacob Benson played by Tindjin - A former marine honorably discharged for medical reasons, whose life took a turn for the worse. Evan Douglas played by Zenaida - A brilliant Electrical Engineer and hobby motorcyclist in the right place at the wrong time. Mike O'Neill played by Captain Rehab - A union construction worker and acquaintance of Marcus Chesterfield; helped build the shelter. ~~~~~ ~~~~~ For reference, check out the recruitment thread here. I will be updating this post to include ambiance, and once it is up and operational, an archival site with more background information for the audience and players to peruse. I particularly recommend checking out the news excerpts in the recruitment thread (pending their movement to a far more fanciful website) for extra background materials. This will be a survival horror game at its core, and as such may be unforgiving and perilous if care is not taken. Best of luck, intrepid cast. For those interested in playing but whom did not meet the original deadline, still feel free to post character concepts or other notes into the recruitment thread; should members of our cast perish, more characters may be introduced during the natural course of the story (though I will provide first dibs to existing players should they wish to persevere!) Blackbird Dreams - Introduction (Chapter 0) Three hundred sixty four days, eighteen hours, twelve minutes. The time since going into hiding, since that vaulted entryway reinforced with more than a foot of lead and steel came to a close. Into the wilderness some forty miles from Battle Creek, Michigan--further, from the Michigan Environmental Control offices. Each of the six of you had come under different driving needs, but the core remained unanimously the same; the world just wasn't safe out there, and it was going to get a lot worse. It was only supposed to be three months, long enough to give things time to blow over, and give Washington a chance to drive things back to order through Martial Law. But then, it was supposed to be twenty five of you. Somehow, only six had made it. When things started getting bad, reactions were varied, but the resounding call was to seek shelter among friends and family, to stock up on supplies, and to treat the circumstances encroaching on ordinary society as the equivalent to a nuclear disaster--not unlike what had occurred at Chernobyl just a month prior. A man by the name of Marcus Chesterfield had bought and renovated the bunker years ago for the Y2K scare, and most of the stock had been put into place then. Space and supplies sufficient to sustain twenty five people, thirty in a pinch, for a three month period. Some of you had come to know him, and to find your place here, then. More than half of the intended occupants would be his immediate family, friends, and their families; when things turned to be a false alarm, there was much relief, and the bunker had gone unused. When 9/11 came and went, there was a period of alarm where invitations were made--this time with some more new faces, new acquaintances. Again, however, it wasn't necessary. When cerebrosus hit its full stride, it was time to seek shelter again. Most did not make it to the shelter, including Marcus himself. There has been no word from them. The last time word was made with individuals on the outside was four months ago--a DJ in Gross Pointe. It had been the briefest of radio murmurs, before a man in an exasperated voice had quoted 'Can you hear me Major Tom?' before silence resumed. The time has come to return outside, and to face what has occurred. GaistHeidegger fucked around with this message at 21:32 on Jan 19, 2009 |
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Jul 3, 2007 20:33
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Blackbird Dreams - Preparing to Surface (Chapter 0) June 20th, 10:14 A.M. The generator humms quietly in the background, ambiance rumbling away as pooled supplies and resources are divvied out amongst the six of you. Sir Reginald sniffs plaintively at the small pile of MREs, grunting a quiet snort before wandering back off into another room. Today will boast an anxiety riled from the deepest recesses of one's psyche. A year, on the morrow, will have passed. Half that, perhaps, since the last snippets of information had trickled in--before the networks had finally gone away, the radios silent. The bunker's inner entry door looms of dark cold steel, untouched save for the few occasions where one of you has grasped at its opening mechanisms, debating the notion of resurfacing earlier, abandoning the shelter--braving the world beyond. Nervous energy fills the air, a cocktail of excitement, tension, fear and curiosity. The Geiger counter is silent. The radio has been silent for months. Not much longer now. Not much longer at all. What awaits beyond those doors? The question has plagued your minds even from the moment they came creaking and grinding shut. Perhaps everything is alright? That's not unreasonable. Outbreaks and pandemics have been dealt with before, public discord and revolution have been meted out. Certainly martial law must have had an impact on things. Whatever the case, the importance of utilizing the la Don't trust the albino rgues that caution and level-headedness are important to the safety of the group. ~~~~~ ~~~~~ June 20th, 11:06 A.M. With much of the equipment distributed, and a makeshift Geiger counter assembled, the lot of you feel reasonably better equipped to face whatever is in store in the world beyond those twin doors. For all the time that has been spent in this shelter, Evan returns to examining the protective barriers, attempting to discern any last minute details which may have eluded him previously. Innermost to the shelter is a large hermetically sealed breech door which appears akin to what one might find aboard a submarine--and for any regard of Mr. Chesterfield, that might be from whence it came. However, there is no viewing window in the heavyweight steel, replaced during production instead with additional protection. Marcus, it would seem, had no intention of throwing caution to the wind. In a similar precautionary effort, the air filtration systems feature, from what you have garnered during your year-long tenure, several redundancies and fail-safes. As the time has come to return to the world beyond this tomb of iron and concrete, effort is brought to bear with the innermost door, breaking the seal for the first time in a great many months with precisely the sort of airy spurt befitting a pulp science fiction novella. Beyond, there is a small antechamber ten foot squared, and the larger bulkhead-framed door to the exterior looms. On the inside wall adjacent to this door is a small turnkey system, to which your group possesses two identical keys. From your understanding of the system, the door remains operable so long as a key is in place within or without, through the use of a similar access on the exterior as well. The outermost door looks extremely heavy, and is cool to the touch. Most of the mechanics behind the door are hidden from perception in the reinforced frame, and by your recollection the door was nearly a foot thick. The room is bordered by a pair of long metal benches, and a set of lockers are in the corners. One of the lockers contains a spade trench shovel, similar to military issue, and a large courier bag.
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Jul 3, 2007 20:34
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Jacob OUT! OUT! We are getting out! Jacob was flipping back and forth from estatic, apprehensive and scared but through all of that one theme remained, OUT! The first month was not so bad, they had expected it to be over soon and would be back outside. As they started to realize that it might be a few more months Jacob had been a bit sullen and not all that nice, snapping at the other guys sometimes. When month three rolled around and it looked like it was going to be a while he was downright depressed. He had spent so much of his life outdoors, first as a kid in Colorado then in the Marines and finally the last couple years traveling around that the walls pressed in on him like never before. Without Reggie and the guys Jacob was sure he would not have been able to make it a year down here. But the end was in sight, they would be outside soon. Jacob continued his preparations making sure as much of the supplies were readied as possible despite Evan's feelings that they would just use the bunker as a point of exploration. Oh he would do this but he would make sure his pack and gear were sitting outside the massive doors, just incase. He made a vow that before he stepped outside he would take one last look at the remaining gear and pack as much as possible even if he only carried it a few dozen feet back and forth over the next couple days. He was drat sure he was not staying here very long. There was too much to find out about what had gone on during the last year and he was not going to stay in this bunker any longer than he had to once the doors were open. code:-Clothing (whatever each of you had packed) in addition to 3 ponchos and fatigues (2 sized large) -2 professional walkie-talkies (run off of 9-volt batteries) -75ct box of chemical break-lights -4ct duct tape rolls - rerolled -1 heavy duty mag-lite flashlights (run off of 4 D-Cells each) (Parts from 2 others) -1 household flashlights (run off of 2 D-Cells each) (Parts from 4 others) -1 small first aid kits -1 'Leatherman' multi-tools -1 pair of standard binoculars -1 backpacks -1 coiled length of nylon rope -1 compasses -1 gas masks w/ 5 air filters -1 sleeping bags -Batteries; 10 9-volt, 7 D, 10 AA, 10 AAA -15ct 'Bic' lighters -1 boxes 100ct matches -1 1" thick 5'long staff made from broken broom handle -1 Axe -1 machette -1 composite hunting bow w/ brace of 20 arrows -1 .357 magnum revolver w/ 6 rounds -3 tennis balls, covered in dried dog saliva -4 each of Forks, Knives and Spoons from kitchen -1 plate and bowl of a sturdy make from kitchen -2 Sheets from the beds folded and rolled Background See my posting on Page 1 here for background. Tindjin fucked around with this message at 17:52 on May 7, 2008 |
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Jul 3, 2007 22:33
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Wow, John thinks to himself, It's been a year since he's seen the outdoors, and the possibility for new books. Well, food and books. We have to eat to do anything, but the possibility alone is promising. Sure, there's the chance that we'll be shot down with a minigun the second we step out, but that's a risk we have to take at this point. "OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGod..." John starts muttering to himself as the door is prepared to open, his eyes closed, his imagination running through the worst things it can think of happening when the door goes up. John stops muttering long enough to think of something useful as a sudden vision of him being unable to get his pack off fast enough to get a good shot with his rifle enters his brain. "Hey, Jacob, could you help me out with organizing my stuff when you're not busy? I'm just paranoid about not being able to drop it fast enough to get some decent shots off with this rifle if anything goes wrong..." code:Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 23:23 on Sep 25, 2007 |
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Jul 4, 2007 02:56
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Mike O'Neill Oh please let the sun be shining, Mike thinks as he takes the shovel from the locker. For all I know there might not be a loving sun, but I'd give anything to feel the sunshine again. He makes sure everything that needs to be is packed and strapped down, grasping the shotgun in his hand. He looks at Markson and, trying to dismiss the little thrill of fear that runs through him as excitemnt, says, "Don't be too jumpy, if any sons of bitches had been waiting for us out there I reckon they would've given up a long time ago." He gestures to the courier bag and raises his eyebrows at the rest of the group. "Guess we'd better see what's inside." As he grabs the bag to open it up without waiting for an answer, he says, "I'd say we'd better put those drat gas masks on before we head on out, too." code:Captain Rehab fucked around with this message at 05:03 on Jul 4, 2007 |
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Jul 4, 2007 04:32
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Raymond Tailor "Um..h-have I got this thing on right?" Raymond asks, the gas mask sitting uncomfortably against his roughly shaved face. The blades on the razors had gone dull months earlier, and his face had a multitude of small nicks as a result to accentuate the large bags under his eyes Is there going to be anything out there? he wonders, or will we be swept away the moment we open that door? Dust motes that had been hiding under a cosmic sofa in some kind of spring cleaning? I wonder if crumlbing into dust will be painful. "Sss-s-so, have we decided w-where we're heading first? G-g-grand Rapids, or maybe hit Detroit for the Dream Cruise? Or j-j-just hit the nearest bar for a b-b-beer?" His mask hides a wan smile, though it might just be subdued because any more would pinch quite painfully. code:Mr. Horyd fucked around with this message at 20:31 on Jul 6, 2007 |
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Jul 4, 2007 22:55
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Brandon Gray "Here," Brandon says, reaching toward Ray Tailor's gas mask and adjusting it carefully before donning his own. Fortuitously, some of the hospital staff had been given some (extremely) rudimentary disaster training in the month or so before the cerebrosus outbreak, which had included a basic lesson in how to properly handle a gas mask. Jacob, the ex-marine, had showed him what little he had missed of this simple procedure, and had probably shown the others as well. It's likely that he's just nervous, Brandon thought about Tailor, and he could hardly blame him. Brandon struggled to appear enthusiastic about the prospect of leaving the bunker, as did the others, but internally he dreaded the prospect. Cabin fever had taken its toll on his psyche just as it had on the others, to be sure, but as the date that they planned to leave drew closer, his nightmares had continued to intensify. More than once he dreamed of wandering the surrounding countryside and towns--only in the dreams, they were blanketed with the corpses of birds, blackbirds, and as he walked he could feel the hundreds upon hundreds of their black, soulless doll's eyes as they watched him silently. Brandon felt a momentary stab of panic in his chest--what if the outside world is just as it was in the dream?-- and forced himself to suppress it. We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Just the same, he was cautiously optimistic about the prospect of finding other survivors. He allowed himself no illusions that most or even more than a handful of the people living in the area would be either alive or still around, but the possibility of finding someone else who had survived would be tremendously uplifting. Brandon forced himself to concentrate on that, instead, as the door slowly opened. Character sheet is here. Possessions: code:
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Jul 5, 2007 05:29
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Evan Douglas Evan stuffs as much as he can into the pockets of his fatigues, picking up a few extra 9V batteries to run the Geiger counter off of. He wraps the GPS receiver, the Geiger counter, his spare clothes and the first aid kit in his poncho. Struggling to get his gas mask sealed around his long beard, he looks quite comical. His pockets bulging with batteries, his fatigues bulging over his belt slightly from his paunch, a walkie-talkie on each hip, struggling to stuff his sizable beard into an army-surplus gas mask, which he finally manages to get it on with just a few wisps of brown hair crisscrossing the eyepieces. Only once he's gotten all his gear sorted, his poncho-pack hefted over his left shoulder, the .38 revolver ready in his right hand, does he begin to think about the outside. It would be nice to see the sun again. Maybe with a little luck his bike would still be in town. It would probably need a new battery, but there was probably an auto parts store around. It would sure be nice to ride again, and it'd be easier to stow all this gear on the bike. I hope we don't die. pre:Name: Evan Douglas Age: 34 Appearance: Brown hair and eyes, wears a long beard, slight paunch. Average looks. 6'1", 220 lbs Attributes [79] ST 10 DX 11 [20] IQ 14 [80] HT 10 HP 10/10 Will 14 [-5] [+5] Per 14 [-15] [+15] FP 10/10 Basic Lift 20 Damage 1d-2/1d (Thr/Swi) Basic Speed 5 Basic Move 5 Build: pre:1 spare pair of fatigues 1 poncho 1 Leatherman multi-tool (given to Alex) 1 "Portable" Geiger counter 1 walkie-talkie 8 9-volt batteries for the radios and Geiger counter 1 GPS receiver (run off of AA batteries) 8 AA batteries for the GPS 1 household flashlight 2 D batteries for the flashlight (given to Karen) 1 .38 revolver w/ 13 rounds 1 gas mask w/ air filter 1 box 100ct matches 1 gas-powered soldering iron 1 toolkit (automotive) 1 MP5 Submachine gun 2 Full MP5 magazines 1 can of bugspray Zenaida fucked around with this message at 23:12 on Feb 8, 2009 |
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Jul 5, 2007 08:17
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Blackbird Dreams - Sordid Soliloquy(Chapter 1) June 20th, 11:52 A.M. Six gather in the entryway, performing last minute triple-checks on gear and equipment, adjusting garments and gas masks. Sir Reginald snorts a quiet whine, standing back a ways and flagging his tail as he watches the human men prepare their departure. With a twist of one of the turnkeys and a strong three cycles of the door's handle, a hiss of air spurts into the room--the dog woofs a sharp bark, then retreats back into the inner shelter some five feet. A grinding series of rapid ka-chaks, and the enormous safety door begins to shriek open in protest on long unused hinges. Light floods the chamber with increasing intensity, a far cry from the dull fluorescent bulbs your eyes have grown accustomed to for the past year. As your gaze adjusts, the wilderness beyond the breach comes into focus--a pine forest sweeping downhill before vanishing into a faint foggy mist; the sky is dabbled in ashen clouds, and the ground immediately beyond the door is a dried cracked dusty affair littered with brown pine needles. So too do most of the trees appear beyond the threshold--largely browned, dry, and in more than a few places outright barren and dead. Some fifteen yards from the shelter several car-shaped shells of rust linger in a loose row where vehicles had once been. Several windows appear to have collapsed the rust beneath them to lurch free and shatter on the ground--the rest are covered entirely with dusty grime, with pine needles caking the exterior of the former vehicles like sprinkles. The outside of the shelter's breech door is a sickly copper, a layer of thick rust hanging there as well; atop the heavy earthen mound where your 'home' is hidden, as well as roughly thirty yards further along the rest, there are littered piles of small bones and a few errant black feathers clustered around the surface points to your air filtration system. It is extremely hot, hanging at 97 degrees Fahrenheit while being a very dry heat at the same time--already you can feel beads of sweat welling up uncomfortably behind your gas masks and beneath your clothes. Beyond the sounds of one another, it is perfectly quiet outside--no birdsong, scantly any wind at all, and nary a distant vehicle from the road several miles off. From here, a dusty dirt road trails a little over four miles winding downhill through the forest, where it meets a two-lane paved road one could follow back to 'civilization'. From your recollection, there was a small gas station and convenience store rest stop ten miles east down that road--some of your had passed it on the way to the shelter. Everyone is rested, fed, and is not thirsty. Nobody is suffering any ailments. Sir Reginald has failed a fright check, and will remain timidly behind until coaxed along, at which point he will remain extremely wary of his surroundings. You are roughly 44 miles away from Battle Creek, though doubtlessly closer to smaller townships along the way. Detroit is roughly 120 miles to the north-east away, Grand Rapids 130 to the north. Edit: Knew I forgot something--inside the courier bag are three road flares and a bowie knife in a leather belt sheath. GaistHeidegger fucked around with this message at 14:48 on Jul 5, 2007 |
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Jul 5, 2007 14:36
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Jacob Jacob is able to just barely keep himself from either flinging himself out the doors or hyperventalating at the though of leaving the bunker. As they get the first view of the outside area Jacob takes a step forward, stops then takes one backwards. He looks back at Sir Reginald and walks over to him, "You are a good dog Reggie, very good dog. Don't beafraid my friend." Jacob pets Reggie and scratches behind his right ear just like he likes it. "Come on old friend lets do some exploring." Jacob gets up and walks over to the tables where they left the remaining gear. "No telling what will happen once we walk out those doors." Jacob grabs the last walkietalkie, another roll of duct tape, the parts from the remaining flashlights, an extra compass, the remaining 9volt batteries, 10 more of the AA and AAA batteries and 5 more of the 'bic' lighters and straps the axe onto his pack. Jacob comes back up to the guys, "Sorry I just can't leave stuff behind, no telling what will happen once we get our boots on dirt again." Jacob looks over to Reggie and pats his thigh, "Come on Reggie, heel boy." Not caring if he goes up a weight range at this point since he is just carrying the pack outside while they check on things. Updated equipment list. Dog Handling 12. If Reggie doesn't heel Jacob cut off a 10ft section of rope from whomever has it and create a temporary leash for Sir Reginald.
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Jul 5, 2007 16:44
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Markson Blinded by the light, Markson shields his eyes, attempting to get used to it slowly; as he is able to look around, he looks in despair at the area around him. "What... what do you think happened?" Markson began slowly, "I know the rad levels went up quite a bit, but that was a bit after we entered if I remember right... What on earth happened?" Markson looks around carefully for any possible clues to what is going on, and seeing nothing, realizes something obvious. "Wait... do we have any sunblock? I don't know about you, but if we step out here for more then ten minutes, I know I'm going to fry like a crisp, and that could be dangerous. Maybe we should wait till night, and then go... hrm... I think I remember a gas station... maybe it'd have some supplies left. Or at least sunblock."
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Jul 5, 2007 19:19
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Jacob Hearing Markson while Jacob is picking from the remaining supplies, "Cut up some of the bed sheets and make a head wrap, it'll protect your neck also."
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Jul 5, 2007 20:55
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Markson "Good idea!" Markson exclaims, before running out to cut up a few bedsheets into 6 good sized headwraps, incase anyone else wants one.
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Jul 5, 2007 21:07
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Raymond Tailor So there's still a world out here. Raymond's eyes would be wide with shock, if not for the incredible glare of the sun. He covers his eyes with an arm. Everything appears as if the moisture, the vitality, has been sucked right out of it. The cars don't look like they'll be going anywhere soon- Evan may be a mechanical genius, but he's probably not a miracle worker. "E-e-e-verything just looks...dead. Evan, what does the geiger counter say? A-a-are we even safe out here?" He takes a few steps forward, feeling the heat of the sun make its way throgh layers of clothing and gear right up to his body, like jumping fully clothed into a hot bath. The sweat is uncomfortable, but it feels so very real, so alive. We're still alive. He looks down to Reggie, and is quite happy to see their canine friend still seems to be quite alive upon breathing the air out here. Still, best to keep these masks on for a while, until they knew for certain there are no ill effects from breathing this dry, harsh air of questionable quality. Reaching into one of many crude pockets, Raymond pulls out the GPS unit and turns it on, partially out of hope that they might have an easier time finding the nearest remnants of civilization, but mostly wanting to see quickly if it didn't work, and sparing himself another few ounces of weight to carry in this weather.
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Jul 5, 2007 23:50
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Brandon Gray "I have no idea what caused the rust," Brandon says, visibly relieved to find the landscape a fairly reasonable facsimile of its former pristine state rather than some blasted hellscape, "but it was widespread even before we went underground. It's probably a question for the scientists, presuming any of them are still alive." "Anyway," he says, leaning over Raymond's shoulder to have a look at the GPS machine, "we should be careful when looking for supplies. Water especially. Just because the radiation levels are safe out here doesn't mean fluids aren't still irradiated. We should check them with the Geiger counter to be sure."
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Jul 6, 2007 03:06
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Blackbird Dreaming - (Chapter 1) June 20th, 12:33 P.M. With coaxing, Sir Reginald exits the shelter along with the rest of you, and begins to tentatively sniff around the dry underbrush and foliage of the area. Off in the far distance there is the muted rumble of what could be thunder, before that smothering silence returns once more. The group's Geiger counter ticks every once in a while--but seems to indicate nothing particular dangerous about the radiation levels. Nonetheless, it -does- register some degree of rads in the area around you; it may stand to reason that it might be leftovers from that which soaked into the shelter's exterior some months prior. The G.P.S. lags for several minutes unresponsive--then suddenly flickers a single bar of connectivity, registering your location on the small green-screen display. If kept in operating order, you should be able to utilize a marker here, should you wish to navigate your way back to the shelter--similarly, markers could be left at other locations of note. With some finagling, the second G.P.S. hand-held seems to successfully synchronize with the same satellite connection. Donning makeshift head-wraps will alleviate some of the strain of the heat. Everyone should deduct a point of fatigue from their current supply as their bodies cope with the different conditions of the exterior world again. Between proper coverings, ventilation and water usage, you will be able to prolong yourselves--but the longer you push, the more you will become fatigued and exhausted, requiring rest and supplies somewhere which, ideally, is cool and comfortable.
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Jul 6, 2007 03:53
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Jacob "Keep hydrated but don't waste water. This heat is going to take some time to get used to. Make sure to.." Jacob stands at the end of the tunnel speachless. Everything is so different. He remembers hiking around the woods before, well before their seclusion and even in the heat of last summer the woods were still green and lush. It just looks so dead. "What could have caused this? It is all so different." Jacob shakes his head and steps out into the makeshift parking area and looks up towards the sun. "Well the clocks are still fairly accurate, it looks to be close to noontime. Markson that gas station was what about 10 miles? No way we would make it before dark." Still turning and looking at more of the area, "Should we scout a little? See if we can get down to the main road or wait for the morning and get an early start?" Jacob sees Reggie, "Reggie stay close boy." Tindjin fucked around with this message at 04:17 on Jul 6, 2007 |
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Jul 6, 2007 04:14
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Markson Markson thinks for a second before replying; "We could make it TO the gas station before dark, assuming we covered two miles every hour or so, it'd be getting back before dark which would be the pain. Does either GPS system show the location of any small towns near here? Something within three or four miles would be perfect." Edit: I'm going to keep a running HP/FP total on the bottom of each post. 8/7 Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 06:14 on Jul 6, 2007 |
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Jul 6, 2007 06:10
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Evan Douglas Evan strode out into the sun, not noticing the dog's fearful reaction to the doors opening. Seeing that there isn't anything immediately threatening, he tucks the revolver into his fatigue pants. Taking the bundle from his shoulder, he unwraps the Geiger counter and the GPS. "We're definitely above normal background radiation. Levels are significantly higher than they were inside, but it looks safe enough for now. Too bad we don't have a better air quality gauge than Reggie." Evan puts the Geiger counter down and picks up the GPS. Linking up, albeit weakly, with the satellite felt good. When the 'net went down it had been hard on Evan, who'd grown pretty attached to it over the years. There really wasn't a better tool for research. Making a connection to any kind of network was encouraging. Finding a human network would be even better, and Evan starts looking for likely places to find survivors, not hearing John Markson's request. code:
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Jul 6, 2007 07:22
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There is a small township seven miles further down the road east from the gas station, and westward, opposite, is another fifteen miles onward. Marcus chose a fairly remote location for the shelter's construction. It is worth a passing note that Mr. Chesterfield also owned some forty acres of wilderness surrounding the build site as well. Now that folks are preparing to actually move, I felt that it would likely be helpful to the narrative and to your own reference that I actually quantify a bit on the food and water ration situation for your usage and so forth. You have thirty M.R.E. packets left in the shelter; they are bulky, inefficiently shaped, and a touch awkward to transport--they're also not particularly tasty. Beyond the M.R.E.s, which were indeed the 'last resort' meals (the prior year having exhausted 'the good stuff'), there are the previously mentioned canned baked beans. Remaining water rations are kept in large water-cooler style jugs. However, on your persons, you will be able to distribute a solid usable quantity of these reserves among: -8 canteens -2 thermos -7 'sports' water bottles -1 large thermos w/ pour tap at bottom This should give you a general idea of exactly how much of the water you'll be able to carry with you with any degree of ease. Don't worry too much about determining who is carrying what among the above listed containers for now, I will presume that at the very least the group will be taking everything but the large thermos, fully filled, on their expedition. Finally, I will note that I will be performing three flavors of updates in this game: Core updates, which will feature prominent chapter names, a lot of content, and narrative for the entire party. Supplement updates, which will be smaller, continue the chapter, and address focused narrative for whichever players have acted since my last update (in this fashion, I -will- be updating at times for only a few characters, if others have not posted for a while--I'd like to keep things going for the folks who might want to push more than a post or two in a day for a given tidbit). Technical updates, like this one, which will just answer character actions, provide roll results, or otherwise expand details on things. That said, Evan's electronics for calibrating the GPS was successful on a 10.
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Jul 6, 2007 17:33
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Markson After hearing this information (presumably) Markson states "If there's a township 7 miles from the gas station, we could hike to the station, camp there for the night, and then trek to the township in the morning. There's a decent chance of finding supplies at the gas station; in addition there may be survivors in the township, and it's worth checking out. Sound good?" code:Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 20:53 on Jul 6, 2007 |
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Jul 6, 2007 17:50
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Brandon Gray Responding to Jacob's question, ("what could have caused this?") Brandon says, "If I had to guess, I'd say the acid rain. Probably enough to kill off most of the plants by their roots, and maybe even poison the water table. Let's make sure that we don't drink any 'natural' sources of water until we're sure it's not acidic." "I agree with John, though. Let's try to make that convenience store by nightfall. But let's try to stick to cover whenever we can. A flash rain shower could hit at any time, and I don't have enough supplies in my kit to treat full-body acid burns on any of us, much less all of us. code:
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Jul 6, 2007 18:41
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Jacob "If we are leaving here and you are worried there is acid rain still happening why don't you guys who only grabbed one or two ponchos grab a couple others. The platic would at least keep it off us if caught in it." Jacob looks around to see Sir Reginald sniffing around a base of one of the trees, "Come Reggie, heel." Once Reggie falls into step Jacob will start off down the road, "Rember nice and easy, especially in this heat." With that Jacob starts off an easy pace down the road. He uses the broken off broom handle that has become the training staff to help balance the load as he walks. code:Tindjin fucked around with this message at 20:04 on Jul 6, 2007 |
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Jul 6, 2007 20:00
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Raymond After making sure that his GPS has a waypoint set for their origin as well, Raymond pulls what protection he's been given over his head and beging to trudge with the rest of the group as they make their way to the nearest township. "W-w-what should we do if we see anyone? We l-l-look like miltiamen, and people may n-not be friendly to outsiders if resources are as scarce as they s-s-s-seem." code:
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Jul 6, 2007 20:31
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Blackbird Dreaming - (Chapter 1) June 20th, 3:26 P.M. Trudging your way down the path proves to be a more arduous expedition than you may have originally anticipated. In several places great dead pine trunks have presented obstacles to your progress, and most daunting and strange is the presence of a large sinkhole more than fifteen feet across and more than ten feet deep has swallowed up a large chunk of the path. Inside at the bottom is a pile of large bones grown over with fungus, which itself has dried out and formed a layer of brown dead matter. Jacob & Brandon's woodland survival skills pay off, helping to avert several points where a careless mis-step could have meant a broken ankle or worse. The G.P.S. portables also help with navigation a great deal, helping to keep on course during long stretches where the path seems to have been overgrown entirely. After several hours, an exit to the wilderness edge is in sight. By 3:26 you've finally reached the paved road, which is certain to provide far easier footing and pacing. The heat has been hammering down on you considerably, driving feverish thirsts to insist at your senses, and making it difficult to remain fully coherent at times. There is a large rusted out van in a ditch thirty yards east, in the direction of the rest stop--it's facing west, and looks to have swerved off the road some indeterminate time ago to avoid a smaller sinkhole in the pavement. This one is five feet in diameter, six deep. The husk of the van is hardly a vehicle anymore--though faint remnants of the seat cushions remain, long eaten away by the elements. A search of the van reveals a few items of potential use--there is a tool kit in the back; though the case itself has grown somewhat rusty, it seems to have largely been shielded by the van, and the tools, a complete layman's set, look to be in fairly good shape yet. In the glove box, there is a small first aid kit, a half-empty box of tissues, and a small assortment of loose items--a tire pressure gauge, an ink pen, and a pair of AA batteries. Something has eaten away the rubber from the van's tires, for they are practically nothing but rims now, save for a few errant scraps. In the distance, there is the muted sound of what might be thunder. The sky remains predominantly cloudless though, and the sun is ever the brutal antagonist on your battered bodies. Sir Reginald sniffs around the sinkhole, barks once, then trots a meandering wander east down the road. Another point of fatigue expended; it would have been two, three for some, but Jacob and Brandon did an excellent job, and both made some fantastically low rolls which I translated into much improved efficiency in your expedition. You've likely shaved two hours off of your trip to the rest stop thanks to them.
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Jul 7, 2007 01:20
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Markson Panting, John Markson is estatic when he finally sees the road, thankful that Jacob and Brandon have kept them from falling into any pitfalls... literally. He pulls out his canteen and takes a refreshing, and in his opinion, well deserved drink, then wipes the sweat off his brow to get it off his eyes. "Oh... thank... goodness... I don't think I've ever walked that much in my life... I'm used to sprinting away from rear end in a top hat kids with rocks... not long treks. I sure hope there's more supplies inside the acctual station though, we have to restock quickly.." John then takes his rangefinder binoculars out, and scans down the road, looking for any threats of any kind, now that there's a nice clear path to look down. He also looks to see if he can't see the gas station/rest stop/service center/whatever code:Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 01:45 on Jul 7, 2007 |
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Jul 7, 2007 01:35
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Jacob "Sink holes? I don't remember sink holes being a major problem in Michigan. If not people hopefully we'll come across a cache of newspapers or something that might give us an idea of what in the hell is going on." Jacob pokes around in the van, "The tools might be helpful if we can find anything that isn't completely rusted out. But they are heavy, maybe we should leave the bulk of them here and come back for them if needed. There might be a few that are useful though, maybe some monkey wrenches or plyers?" Jacob will separate out a couple of the tools that are smallish and adjustable, making sure to seal the lid again before they head off again. Jacob is trying to keep his thoughts on traveling safe and keeping everyone together. Tonight when it gets dark and he can't see the devistation is when he can think about the nightmare that they are seeing. It is just starting to be too much, too fast. Maybe they should have stayed at the bunker a little longer and scouted before going so far away. code:Tindjin fucked around with this message at 01:49 on Jul 7, 2007 |
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Jul 7, 2007 01:41
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Brandon "You know, Jacob," Brandon says, leaning carefully over the sinkhole to get a better look, "it reminds me more of an ant lion hole than a sinkhole, honestly." Brandon rummages through the first aid kit, looking for some spare bandages and/or antiseptic solution he can add to his own larger kit. Afterward, he takes the largest stone he can find and, on a whim, rolls it into the sinkhole toward the pile of bones to see what will happen. Assuming nothing does, he says: "Probably best not to waste much more time here than we have to. We should get to the rest stop as soon as we can, and get the lay of the place by daylight instead of fumbling around in the dark. We've made great some so far; we should be able to get there fairly quickly." code:
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Jul 7, 2007 04:07
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Jacob Jacob listens to Brandon and can't help but laughing a bit, "Okay if there are ants that large now I am seriously collecting all the food and water I can and barricading myself back into the bunker. Nuclear fallout, weird bioagents or the world trying to kill us, those I think I can handle. Aliens and bugs off of the big screen would be too much." refer to above post for actual actions
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Jul 7, 2007 04:28
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Brandon Perhaps it took someone else pointing it out to realize how absurd what he was saying was, or would have been under less trying circumstances, Brandon laughs along in spite of himself, but still steps back quickly after releasing the rock down into the pit. He looking sheepishly at the others while the rock rolls toward the center, and takes this moment to wring some sweat from his improvised head wrap.
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Jul 7, 2007 04:31
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Raymond Watching the rock roll down the pit, Raymond closes his eyes for a moment. The rock settles on the bottom of the cone, rustling a few bones, before coming to a standstill. Everyone has a laugh, and begins to walk away, when someone hears a soft scraping noise at the bottom of the sinkhole. He walks to the edge, peeking inside, when the entire hole grows wider and collapses deeper, his disrupted foothold leading the way as he plummets in. The chitinous spikes erupt from the center, piercing the incoming man and lifting him into the air. His screams are cut short as one of the spikes pierces his heart, and a set of mandibles wraps around him, pulling him into the sandy bottom, the impact against the ground breaking all his bones as he descends into the earth. Opening his eyes, and shaking his head, Raymond takes a conscious step further away from the edge. "B-b-be careful, that ground n-near the edge of the sinkhole might be u-u-un-nnnn..." He stops, takes a deep breath, and blurts out "Loose." He looks up to the sky, to the passage of the sun, and towards the distant rumbling heard some time ago. "A-at least travel at night would be cooler, r-r-right?"
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Jul 7, 2007 04:47
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Blackbird Dreams - Sordid Soliloquy(Chapter 1) June 20th, 4:52 P.M. After a scan with binoculars finds none of the aforementioned giant ants or other matinée monstrosities, the hike continues. Jacob is able to gather together some of the more useful tools from the kit and stow them among his carried belongings, and Brandon's foray finds, surprisingly, some particularly useful tidbits--particularly an assortment of pills ordinarily used to reduce rad exposure during extensive x-ray treatment--pharmaceutical know-how pays off. More than an hour of further walking--though now, with solid pavement underfoot, the ground covered in that span is considerably more efficient. A bit of joking around even manages to lighten the mood a touch, for some--with so many emotions pent up in a cocktail of brain chemistry, finally getting out and about from the shelter is boon enough in and of itself. At long last, as the sky above begins to turn orange and redden with dusk looming in the near future, the rest stop comes fully into sight after rounding a downhill bend. A small gas station / mechanic's garage combination, with a broad gravel parking lot littered with a half dozen vaguely car-shaped skeletons of rust. There are two 'classic' style gas pumps, the sorts that chipper youths once facilitated for the motorist passerby; now their derelict state is arguably a toss-up between simple age and the same rusting that seems so prevalent everywhere else. From the lot, it is difficult to assess the state of the 'convenience' shop of the main building. The windows are caked with a heavy layer of grime, dust and filth--and what little glass is exposed beneath such is plastered with deeply sun-faded advertisements and a sign warning off the criminal act of driving off without paying for gasoline tendered. To one edge of the lot are a pair of pay-phones in small half-booths, a moldy phone book dangling from a length of cord beneath one. There are deep furrows in the gravel where a heavy vehicle drove a hasty departure an unknown length of time ago--and it was sufficient, it seems, to send bits of gravel sailing off to shatter several of the windshields of the parking lot's rust heaps. Behind the main building is a small restroom structure, unisex, and doubtlessly host to some form of multiple choice condom dispenser. From a closer vantage to the convenience store, you notice now a small pile of bones and feathers which had previously been obscured by one of the gas pumps. Some six feet away, near the corner of the garage, the gravel is charred and scorched. The heavy door to the garage is shut presently, and looks heavily rusted--as does the small pinwheel on the roof of the building, a few tattered streamers hanging down from it. The glass on the door, near the handle, has been broken--and subsequently, you find the door itself unlocked. It would seem that you were beaten to the punch for retrieving usable goods from the place. Even wearing gas masks, for those who still are, the rancid stench inside of the small store building is retch worthy. The back wall, a row of cold beverage storage, has been without power for many months--and the dairy products therein have long spoiled beyond curdling. There is a sizable sprawl of fungus and mildew over most of that half of the store's interior. Most of the shelves have been picked clean. There are a few perishable foodstuffs which have long spoiled--but a search does at least turn up a single can of Ravioli which had rolled under one of the displays--slightly rusted. There is a turnstile postcard rack still mostly stocked, and half-empty boxes of various candy are still present--though the range of their edibility is dubious at a glance. The cash register has been pillaged, and is empty--and all of the cigarettes are gone. All of them. Not all of the store's stock is lost, as well--there are two pairs of 'work gloves', three rolls of electrical tape, a bottle of painkillers, and an assortment of 'party favor' class cheap plastic toys. There is a deck of playing cards as well. You find that the door to the garage is locked, and testing it--quite sturdily shut, as well. On the other hand, the door into the 'back office' of the store is opened with some insistent physical force, which will handily introduce a fresh assault of horrid odors into the building--a corpse is seated behind a cluttered corner desk, flesh essentially mummified--the corner of the ceiling is stained a dark dried blackish red, and a .22 revolver is in the right hand resting on the desk top. The revolver has a single spent round in it. Four .22 rounds are scattered on the desk. There is a rotary phone on the desk, with no dial tone. Most of the clutter in the office is of decidedly little use or interest--however, there is a small bottle of whiskey in one of the desk drawers, half empty. The edges of the windows have been duct taped shut, the vents have been covered over in duct tape, and the framing of the door has also been duct taped--though breached by the room's entry. It's getting darker outside, though at least the wind has finally decided to make an appearance, cooling things off a bit. The restroom is nailed shut, upon closer inspection, from the outside. Sir Reginald whines and tucks his tail between his legs, skulking about near the entrance to the store and pacing slow circles. One more fatigue point, but should not have difficulty recovering if comfortable sleeping arrangements can be made this evening. The gas pumps are dry, and are discovered inoperable if tested. The pay phones are also no dial tone. There is 35 cents in one of the phone change receptacles. None of the vehicles outside are in working order, and you cannot see inside of the garage. There are no windows on the restroom structure, though it smells rather awful as well. There is a stack of 'spare tires' behind the gas station, but their rims are rusted horribly. There does not seem to be any power to the gas station, and none of the lights work.
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Jul 7, 2007 05:28
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Markson Upon approaching and seeing the scorch marks, J.M. starts to feel a sense of dread about the likelihood of supplies actually being in the base, and unfortunately for him, his thoughts are soon proven correct. He really wasn't expecting the smell though. After watching the dog not die in an hour, JM had taken his mask off, and thus is *really* hit by it, having to run back out the first time he enters, nearly puking. By the time he managed to get used to the smell enough to seriously consider entering (after having put his mask back on), everyone else had seemed to start checking around. J.M. decided not to be left out, and when the cards were discovered, took them immediately, as their last pack had been ruined by one too many games of poker in the bunker. "Goddamn!" Markson exclaims "It'd keep us safe from the weather, but I seriously don't want to sleep in here if I get any other option. I see two doors we can bust down to check for more supplies, and the garage might make a better sleeping room. Who has the axe? I don't think we have anything we can use as lockpicks, so it's our only choice. Hope we don't startle any survivors too badly." code:Wutasumi fucked around with this message at 06:32 on Jul 7, 2007 |
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Jul 7, 2007 06:16
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Raymond Well, this doesn't look too promising, does it? Raymond thinks to himself as the details of the garage come into focus. However, getting to their first destination means a chance to rest, and that's something he'll gladly take advantage of. He helps rummage through the ravaged remains of the food section, breathing through his mouth the entire time. When the rusted can of ravioli comes up, he shakes his head. "W-w-we shouldn't bother with that. B-b-botulism is a nasty, nasty way to go. R-really, the only thing I think shows any promise around here is the garage, if s-s-something has survived this rusting." When the door to the back room is busted open, the smell seems to force its way into Raymond's nose, and the vision of the human corpse seems to throw him off his balance for a moment. "Ugh...I'll be outside." Oh God oh God oh God oh God... His hands tremble visibely as he crouches on the gravel, next to the front entrance. Reggie seems to share his sense of discomfort, so he leans over and rubs the dog's head, hoping the act might help calm the two of them. "D-d-d-don't worry boy, we'll only be here a sh-short while. Good boy, good boy." I really don't want to spend the night in this place. code:
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Jul 7, 2007 06:16
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Jacob Jacob had also taken off his gasmask after they met up with the road. He gives a bit of a "WOOP!" when they come in range of seeing the gas station/rest stop area. It is good to see some thing, anything roughly normal again. Even with the heat he has enjoyed walking in a straight line without having to make a turn every 40 feet. This is a bit diminished when they see the condition of the gas station, "Well," he thinks, "at least it'll provide some shade to rest in and some shelter during the night." Jacob's thoughts are interrupted as the door is opened to the store and the smell washes over him. "Oh god that is horrible! I'd forgotton how bad some things can smell." Jacob backs up and like Markson he dons his gas mask hoping to block out some of the smell. Entering the building proper Jacob barely keeps his cool making sure to grab the pair of gloves, hooking one set through his belt. He also grabs the rolls of electrical tape and pockets those, maybe one of the other guys can make use of them. Jacob helps open the door into the back room and the mask just doesn't help much anymore. "Oh drat, drat, sorry that is ugh.. Gotta go outside for some air. Gezus he sealed himself in here and commited suicide. What the hell? I'll be outside." With that Jacob heads outside taking off the mask and moving away from the entrance. "drat I hope we don't encounter too much of that, that is horrible. What would drive someone to do that?" After a while of breathing regular non-stench filled air Jacob walks around the building and sees Reggie reacting to the bathroom door. "What the hell? Why is that nailed shut? Reggie heel boy, get away from that door. Heel boy!" Moving back to the front of the building. "I'm not so sure of this place guys, the bathroom was nailed shut from the outside, the guy in there who cap'd himself. Gezus I hope the cities faired better, this is completely hosed up." Jacob takes a seat in the shade and pets Reggie who he has pulled away from the bathroom door if he didn't heel. "Lets take a breather and we can try and get into the garage itself. I've got the axe right here. Mike didn't you grab the crowbar? That might be a better tool." code:
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Jul 7, 2007 06:39
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Markson "Did... did anyone take the air freshener? Holy christ that'd be useful right about now... we might even be able to take a better look around, or at the very least, be half-way comfortable sleeping..."
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Jul 7, 2007 06:42
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Jacob Jacob laughs and can't help himself he hugs Sir Reginald trying to stop himself. "The air freshener? I joked about it but gezus never thought it was something we should really bring." Jacob wipes a tear from his eye and finally stops laughing, "drat I needed that. Who woulda thought.. air freshener." Jacob looks around at who ever is back outside, "Hey guess even after the last year and now seeing this if we can still laugh a bit we should be okay."
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Jul 7, 2007 06:54
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Markson Markson can't keep a straight face anymore, laughing with Jacob, though not quite as hard. "It is a great sign," Markson starts, but after seeing Jacob hug his dog, bends over laughing, needing to put his hands on his knees to support himself, but chokes out this between chokes of laughter: "Who would have thought that our most useless item would be the one I'd be willing to trade a day of water for? Little things like this I tell you... little things." Finished with his statement, Markson attempts to choke back the laughter, but then starts again after snickering the phrase "NATCAR rules!"
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Jul 7, 2007 07:03
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Mike O'Neill Mike has been uncharacteristically quiet for much of the time, trying to wrap his head around how good it is to be outside and how creepy the outside world feels to him. Its not just the obvious things - the fact that there's something strange going on is clear - but the fact that the familiar walls of the shelter are no longer there. He feels uneasy without a roof above him. He had known folks who'd been in jail, and they mentioned similar feelings after getting out. "Yeah, I've got the crowbar", he says to Jacob, as he hefts it in his hand. "I think I'd rather sleep in the garage, too, then tomorrow get the gently caress out of here." Mike's going to try to break into the garage with the crowbar
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Jul 7, 2007 07:56
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Evan Douglas Following Jacob into the building, Evan's attention is caught by one thing: the rotary phone. He carefully unhooks it from the wall and takes it outside, under the overhang by the pumps. Setting it next to the Geiger counter, he sets to work making the machine more compact. He takes wire from the phone cord to connect circuit board traces that he cuts in order to make the thing fit in a smaller space. He makes a comfortable carrying handle using the handset from the phone. The laughter around him goes unnoticed as he throws himself into his task. He nibbles on the food in his pack a bit as he works, so he doesn't go hungry even though he forgets completely about eating dinner. When the rest of the gang get the garage open, he begins requesting tools from them, a hacksaw to cut the casing down. A long flathead screwdriver to unscrew something in an awkward spot that the Leatherman's driver can't reach. A soldering iron to secure the wires he adds. Not all of his requests are met, but he keeps making them anyway, not really paying attention to anything else going on. code:Zenaida fucked around with this message at 08:17 on Jul 7, 2007 |
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Jul 7, 2007 08:12
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