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Post by ♠Rafiki♠ on Mar 29, 2008 19:51:37 GMT -5
WTF: Naturally with the title given, this here be an Rp based on the arcane art of Zombie slaying. Since all hell usually breaks loose in a Complete Zombie Apocalypse, the rules for this Rp will be a bit lax. This is not to say that ALL rules are done away with; they aren’t. So, let us begin with the settings:
Time period: Exactly 17 days after the outbreak of Zombies
Setting: Hatchet Hills, Minnesota (A Hole in the wall mt. Town; characters will move to another, large, more zombie infested city with time)
Zombie Ecology: -Do not require food to live -Are not only obsessed with brains, but infecting anything else possible -Do not have any bodily functions -Are technically alive; the virus is cored in the brain -Can only transmit zombie virus via bites/scratches/ichor landing on an open wound -Can only be killed via. Severe trauma to the brain -Are exceedingly stupid; they cannot use tools, or climb ladders, etc. -Cannot run; it is possible to out-power-walk a hoard of zombies -Possess excellent sense of smell/hearing
Rules:
-No Godmodding!! -If your person dies, they will unavoidably become a zombie. -Control of a zombie must be remained to a limited command array -Be realistic. (No being an ex-military proff. Zombie killer!!) -Normal home made civvies only. No stars/celebs. -The military is your enemy in this Rp, as well as the zombies themselves. -If you Rp your person being bit/scratched by a zombie, you have no choice but to make them one. -You can be yourself in this Rp. H00muz only!!
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Post by ♠Rafiki♠ on Mar 29, 2008 19:51:54 GMT -5
……-e repeat ,Again. We are urging people to stay calm, and stay put. Looters and rioters may well be confused with simple mobs of scared people; both will be fired upon without a moment’s notice, or hesitation. The president is doing all he can to try and quell this catastrophic turn of events as best he can, and that requires full military support and access to the supplies they need to complete the successful quarantine of infected regions. Likewise, we are asking you cooperate should you be asked to remain in a quarantine zone; we need allies, not enemies in this time of Armageddon. The U.N. has agreed to an emergency meeting, to discuss the proper measures necessary to deal with the spread of the virus……
*Message continues for several minutes; Repeats*
…. My Fellow Americans…. It is I, the secretary of defense, Ronald J. Harding. It is unfortunate I must contact you all in this manner, for the turn of events preceding us have gone in a sour direction. While we cannot divulge the entire story, nor the sequence of events that lead up to our present day, we can tell you that we may well be looking at the end of life as we know it. Outbreaks across the world are being reported, and we are doing our best to react in a way that safely and completely deals with this turn of events. Recently, people have taken to the streets, either in response with anger or fear, and the National Guard has had to resort to enacting a state of martial law. People have been arrested for violating curfew, or other illegal activities that do no contribute to the strength and unity of our society as a whole. The Guard has full authorization to fire up anyone exhibiting violent behavior, at their descretion. We repeat again. We are urging people to stay calm, and stay put. Looters and rioter may well be confused with….
Hatchet Hill, Arizona…. as desolate as a 100-person town could be, the little rat hole was. 100 miles south of Vegas herself, even that wasn’t enough to attract more than 100 visitors a year… Usually the dumbasses that got so lost, drunk, or a combination of both, that they blundered across the town by accident. She wasn’t on many maps, and her location was as away from civilization as most. No cell phones operated out here, in this little 1 horse burg. Hatchet Hill managed to stay like something out of the 30’s western expansion, sealed away from most the rest of technological influence. She wasn’t much to look at…
1543 Old Grimmington Place… 4th house from the corner, with the dilapidated white picket fence, and the rusting ’87 El Dorado rusting in the front yard of the house next door. The house was something to look at, although only by the local standards…. The one lone soul that lived there used to be some old spinster they’d found dead one day, the day he didn’t come outside to visit with the local neighbors like he usually did. Eventually the house went south, gathering rats, and of course, snakes, festering in the Arizonan sun. Sure ‘nuff, along came Eric Santana, a boy of about 16, so say the records at the local general clinic. Eric was a boisterous guy, who’d gotten plain fed up of living with his 9 brothers and sisters not because he hated them, but because his folks just couldn’t handle the 10th mouth to feed. So, he struck out for his own, and came across the house.
Even in the tight-knit community, noone could remember who it belonged to. Likewise, no one disagreed with Eric when he rode up one day on his bike, stood in front of it, scratched his nose once as he stared at it, and claimed it for his own. With the help of several of the neighbors, he’d resurrected the silly thing, and brought it the honorable appearance it hadn’t gotten since it’s construction. He had to live there out of necessity; mom and dad were expecting another little one in 6 months. And now, this…..
“Settle down, Duke.” Eric soothed. Duke, his 1-year-old German Shepard, was whimpering incessantly, and had been acting funny for the last 2 weeks or so. It unsettled Eric himself; what was Duke aware of, that he as a human, couldn’t be yet? The news was grim, and set Eric’s stomach all up to working itself into knots, that kept him or his food up. Even as young as he was, he couldn’t ignore the signs of bad things in the air. So many people had seen… funny. They didn’t look natural… Almost, as if they was sick. An unnatural kinda sick…. One that promised woe and misery upon all them what caught the blight. A coyote howled in the distance; he instinctively grabbed the .22’s he kept on the side-table next to the recliner he was on. “Mebe I should settle down too, huh duke?” He mumbled, setting down the .22 rifle, and the .22 magnum on the table once more. It was already 10:30, and he had work in the morning. He sighed; he would try again to go to sleep, even though their little town was so close to one of the danger zones the government pratted on about: Vegas.
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