dragonprobably
The Poster Formerly Known as MartinLuther
(OOC: History added.)
The Stand
- Thread starter Sonereal
- Start date
Arrow Gamer
America's Dictator
Will woke with his head pounding and his heart racing. Nobody here. Good. He shouldered his pistol and patrolled the perimeter, checking each area for people. It was empty.
East. That one word. Burned in his mind. A decision. A turning point.
It wasn't long before he was cruising east in a beat-up ford pick-up truck.
East it is.
East. That one word. Burned in his mind. A decision. A turning point.
It wasn't long before he was cruising east in a beat-up ford pick-up truck.
East it is.
arya126
Squad Leader
May 23rd, 1980 (Continued)
The fire was all around me. I knew I didn't have the supplies or time to treat myself to burns if I ran through the fire so I investigated other exits from the city while continuing to search the city for signs of life. If I cannot find an exit from the city, I head to the nearby fire station and search for supplies there including a fire suit and medical supplies I can bring back with me.
Once safe I realize I must keep going. 'East' burns in my mind, but I know its not my own thought. I don't know what it is, but I resolve to move in the opposite direction. I fill up my truck at a gas station outside the city then follow roads around the city and continue west all through the day and into the night until midnight where I camp my truck into the woods and get to sleep a short distance away.
The fire was all around me. I knew I didn't have the supplies or time to treat myself to burns if I ran through the fire so I investigated other exits from the city while continuing to search the city for signs of life. If I cannot find an exit from the city, I head to the nearby fire station and search for supplies there including a fire suit and medical supplies I can bring back with me.
Once safe I realize I must keep going. 'East' burns in my mind, but I know its not my own thought. I don't know what it is, but I resolve to move in the opposite direction. I fill up my truck at a gas station outside the city then follow roads around the city and continue west all through the day and into the night until midnight where I camp my truck into the woods and get to sleep a short distance away.
Omega124
Challenging Fate
There was only fifteen seconds left in regulation. More than enough time for Sergei Zubkov. The game was 0-1 against these blasted Whalers, and if the Wings didn't score very soon, their run for the Stanley Cup would come to a end. The puck was squarely in the Detroit zone, so Vachon was still the goal. Sergei's body, taxed from the rigorous movement across the ice, felt as if it was going to collapse into the frigid air. The booming crowd, cheering for what seemed like the inevitable Whalers victory, served as hark reminder of the stakes the Russian faced. In, all, it was an average day for Sergei.
Suddenly, a Whalers offensiveman fired a massive slapshot at the Detroit goalie, but it veered off course and hit one of the poles. The puck, with a distinctive ping, ricocheted off the metal and crashed into the glass surrounding the rink. Slowly, the puck fell towards the ice, landing squarely in front of Sergei's feet. Almost instantly, the crowd's deafening cacophony silenced as time itself started to slow down. About ten seconds were left on the clock; ten seconds to save the game.
The Whalers, horror on their faces, charged at the Russian, hoping to slam him on the ice before he drives the ice towards the Connecticut team's goal. However, Sergei dashed in a red blur, leaving the white-clad players to crash into the glass with no target in between them. As Sergei started to drive towards the ice, he could hear the announcer's excitement over the ordeal.
"...And Zubkov, Detroit's hero from the east, is driving the puck easterly towards the more eastern team's goal. This game might go east into overtime if the puck goes eastwards towards the goal!"
No one was between him and Garrett, the Whalers goalie. Five seconds were left on the clock, and each heartbeat left even less and less time on the clock. The Russian brought his stick back for an even more powerful slapshot than one attempted ten seconds ago. He looked out towards the goalie, seeing the horrified crowd behind the glass. All horrified, except for two women standing with absolutely blank looks. Identical in appearance, they wore matching dresses as well; the only difference being one clad in white and the other red. Seregi stopped his slapshot, frozen in a fear he couldn't comprehend. The clock counted down to zero, and the Russian fell down to his knees.
A few seconds later, the desolate landscape of an abandoned Hartford replaced the hockey rink Zubkov was in.
"It was only a dream," the now ex-hockey player said with a disturbed tone, in a vain attempt to reassure himself.
These dreams haunted Sergei for the past few days as he was trapped in this foreign city, although few were quite as vivid for him as this particular dream was. No matter where he was or what he was doing, the world would just seem to vanish and he'd be thrusted into an alternative reality. The most recent one, to Sergei's confusion, was him going to some sort of American school, with an expressionless teacher greeting him as he walked into class. These dreams always had two things in common; expressionless women in red and white, and an urge to go eastwards.
There's nothing in the world that Sergei would want more than to go east, in fact. That is, Sergei would love to be able to go home, back to Leningrad. America had nothing for him ever since everyone on the Red Wings was dead except for him. Along with the Whalers he was trapped with, and basically everyone in the entire city of Hartford. They were all dead, except for him. Zubkov had no idea why he was able to survive, and he wasn't exactly sure if he was lucky to do so.
However, going back to Leningrad is an impossibility at this point. If this plague was able to decimate all of Hartford, and the plague was spread across all of America and even the world, there's no reason to not assume the entire world was destroyed by the very same disease. An entire ocean separated the lost Russian from his homeland, and its not like he could fly a plane without most likely killing himself at the landing. Stealing a boat at port might be more feasible, but he'd need to take enough food to survive weeks, if not months, at sea. Plus, he'd still need to cross all of Europe before winter set in; he didn't want to be trapped against General Winter like the fascists his father fought against.
Sighing, Sergei got up to his feet. The fact that he hasn't saw a living human in days was probably eating away at his sanity. These crazed visions were most likely just his mind trying to add some sort of human interaction within his life, to help him cope with the utter loneliness he felt while wandering this city. Maybe he'll even find some sort of purpose in America by finding another survivor; maybe he or she has some goals he could help them achieve or something.
Of course, though, who would want to be with me? I'll just a dirty, good-for-nothing commie to them, who's only accomplishment in life is being able to move a puck on ice. They'd consider me a liability at best.
Suddenly, Sergei felt his stomach growl. All of this dreaming and moping was cutting into time finding food to keep himself alive. Thankfully, Zubkov already found himself right next to a small convenience store. The good thing about being stuck in a city was that there is a lot of stores to loot for food. The bad news, however, is that most of these stores were already looted by other people, before they died. Still, the ex-hockey player never distinctly remembered checking this store out, so it wouldn't hurt to investigate.
To his dull surprise, however, his initial suspicion was confirmed. The entire place was for the most part already picked over. All the non-perishable food was picked clean, leaving only mounds of decaying fruits and spoiled milk behind. With no electricity powering this building's refrigeration for days, the remaining food was most likely rancid beyond belief. He'd probably be more sick trying to eat this crap rather than starving. Sighing, he began to walk out of the store, when a sudden noise stopped him.
Sergei didn't know what exactly he heard, but it sounded like a human greeting him. Instantly turning around, he didn't see any human, but a can of tuna that he previously did not notice was rolling towards him on the ground, and the door for an entrance on the other side of the corner audibly closed. Picking up the canned tuna, Sergei dashed towards the other door, hoping to investigate whether someone actually gave him the tuna or if his mind was going. Whether or not he finds the hypothetical person, Sergei also planned to raid other stores for food.
Suddenly, a Whalers offensiveman fired a massive slapshot at the Detroit goalie, but it veered off course and hit one of the poles. The puck, with a distinctive ping, ricocheted off the metal and crashed into the glass surrounding the rink. Slowly, the puck fell towards the ice, landing squarely in front of Sergei's feet. Almost instantly, the crowd's deafening cacophony silenced as time itself started to slow down. About ten seconds were left on the clock; ten seconds to save the game.
The Whalers, horror on their faces, charged at the Russian, hoping to slam him on the ice before he drives the ice towards the Connecticut team's goal. However, Sergei dashed in a red blur, leaving the white-clad players to crash into the glass with no target in between them. As Sergei started to drive towards the ice, he could hear the announcer's excitement over the ordeal.
"...And Zubkov, Detroit's hero from the east, is driving the puck easterly towards the more eastern team's goal. This game might go east into overtime if the puck goes eastwards towards the goal!"
No one was between him and Garrett, the Whalers goalie. Five seconds were left on the clock, and each heartbeat left even less and less time on the clock. The Russian brought his stick back for an even more powerful slapshot than one attempted ten seconds ago. He looked out towards the goalie, seeing the horrified crowd behind the glass. All horrified, except for two women standing with absolutely blank looks. Identical in appearance, they wore matching dresses as well; the only difference being one clad in white and the other red. Seregi stopped his slapshot, frozen in a fear he couldn't comprehend. The clock counted down to zero, and the Russian fell down to his knees.
A few seconds later, the desolate landscape of an abandoned Hartford replaced the hockey rink Zubkov was in.
"It was only a dream," the now ex-hockey player said with a disturbed tone, in a vain attempt to reassure himself.
These dreams haunted Sergei for the past few days as he was trapped in this foreign city, although few were quite as vivid for him as this particular dream was. No matter where he was or what he was doing, the world would just seem to vanish and he'd be thrusted into an alternative reality. The most recent one, to Sergei's confusion, was him going to some sort of American school, with an expressionless teacher greeting him as he walked into class. These dreams always had two things in common; expressionless women in red and white, and an urge to go eastwards.
There's nothing in the world that Sergei would want more than to go east, in fact. That is, Sergei would love to be able to go home, back to Leningrad. America had nothing for him ever since everyone on the Red Wings was dead except for him. Along with the Whalers he was trapped with, and basically everyone in the entire city of Hartford. They were all dead, except for him. Zubkov had no idea why he was able to survive, and he wasn't exactly sure if he was lucky to do so.
However, going back to Leningrad is an impossibility at this point. If this plague was able to decimate all of Hartford, and the plague was spread across all of America and even the world, there's no reason to not assume the entire world was destroyed by the very same disease. An entire ocean separated the lost Russian from his homeland, and its not like he could fly a plane without most likely killing himself at the landing. Stealing a boat at port might be more feasible, but he'd need to take enough food to survive weeks, if not months, at sea. Plus, he'd still need to cross all of Europe before winter set in; he didn't want to be trapped against General Winter like the fascists his father fought against.
Sighing, Sergei got up to his feet. The fact that he hasn't saw a living human in days was probably eating away at his sanity. These crazed visions were most likely just his mind trying to add some sort of human interaction within his life, to help him cope with the utter loneliness he felt while wandering this city. Maybe he'll even find some sort of purpose in America by finding another survivor; maybe he or she has some goals he could help them achieve or something.
Of course, though, who would want to be with me? I'll just a dirty, good-for-nothing commie to them, who's only accomplishment in life is being able to move a puck on ice. They'd consider me a liability at best.
Suddenly, Sergei felt his stomach growl. All of this dreaming and moping was cutting into time finding food to keep himself alive. Thankfully, Zubkov already found himself right next to a small convenience store. The good thing about being stuck in a city was that there is a lot of stores to loot for food. The bad news, however, is that most of these stores were already looted by other people, before they died. Still, the ex-hockey player never distinctly remembered checking this store out, so it wouldn't hurt to investigate.
To his dull surprise, however, his initial suspicion was confirmed. The entire place was for the most part already picked over. All the non-perishable food was picked clean, leaving only mounds of decaying fruits and spoiled milk behind. With no electricity powering this building's refrigeration for days, the remaining food was most likely rancid beyond belief. He'd probably be more sick trying to eat this crap rather than starving. Sighing, he began to walk out of the store, when a sudden noise stopped him.
Sergei didn't know what exactly he heard, but it sounded like a human greeting him. Instantly turning around, he didn't see any human, but a can of tuna that he previously did not notice was rolling towards him on the ground, and the door for an entrance on the other side of the corner audibly closed. Picking up the canned tuna, Sergei dashed towards the other door, hoping to investigate whether someone actually gave him the tuna or if his mind was going. Whether or not he finds the hypothetical person, Sergei also planned to raid other stores for food.
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
Leibowitz looked at the situation he was in. No gas, stuck in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't possible hope to survive this. Unless...
He checked his car for any supplies.
He checked his car for any supplies.
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You start walking, and find supplies along the way.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
Supplies found. You find a couple of survivors: Two women.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
3
You're shot in the head.
RIP
The old man shrugs and says, "This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future."
Armory unlocked.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
Police station found. Barricaded. Can't access.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
There were never any monsters as far you know, so this is no problem.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
You find one other person: A young girl.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
You do so.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
You do so.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
You do not find anybody, but you're sure there's still somebody in the area.
This isn't a significant order, but good enough.
Your car does indeed have supplies.
This isn't a "significant" order and does not require a roll. Please just roleplay in the future.
*****
This isn't Roll2Dodge, stop trying to make me roll for everything.
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Chapter 2
Real Life Hell Week
(28 May 1980 - 4 June 1980)
Real Life Hell Week
(28 May 1980 - 4 June 1980)
Nothing of note to add other than summer is coming, it is getting hot, and the urge to go east hasn't left any of you.
Also, significant orders only please. Everything else can be left up to RP. If you don't know if your orders are significant, assume they're not, unless they affect another player or a character in a another player's party.
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Not a significant order.
dragonprobably
The Poster Formerly Known as MartinLuther
You didn't tell me what happened to Dora. 
Troll the GM.
New char:
Action: Use boat to acquire fish in the Pacific Ocean. Also acquire saltwater there and build that thingy that separates water from salt, then use said salt to salt fish to preserve it and store the water for later.
Jesús ''El Martillo'' Castro de María
Age: 32
Occupation: Fisherman
Religion: Roman Catholic
Birthplace: Isla del Tiburón, Baja California, Mexico
Current location: Just outside San Diego, California
Bio: A mestizo fisherman who wondered into San Diego when the plague hit, he is looking for a good place to stay to survive. Has a boat.
Occupation: Fisherman
Religion: Roman Catholic
Birthplace: Isla del Tiburón, Baja California, Mexico
Current location: Just outside San Diego, California
Bio: A mestizo fisherman who wondered into San Diego when the plague hit, he is looking for a good place to stay to survive. Has a boat.
Action: Use boat to acquire fish in the Pacific Ocean. Also acquire saltwater there and build that thingy that separates water from salt, then use said salt to salt fish to preserve it and store the water for later.
- Joined
- Mar 31, 2008
- Messages
- 14,928
You didn't tell me what happened to Dora.
Will get to when I get home, or you can just RP it since it probably wasn't a significant order (which, from here on out, will just be ignored).
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
"ok, that looks like a wrench, I bet I can use it for something..."
Leibowitz took the wrench and found that that was the only thing remotely worth keeping on him.
Deciding that the car was all of a liability now, he stepped away from it and looked on.
Kanab, Utah. a little town in the middle of nowhere. Surely someone must have survived.
He entered the town, but saw mostly empty streets.
"I guess it could get warm out here. Maybe there are people inside?"
He continued to follow Route 89 through the town.
It seemed as if there might be a clinic over in one direction.
The idea was stupid, considering how many people had just died of a disease, but it was the best idea Leibowitz had so far.
He approached the clinic.
(is this significant enough?)
Leibowitz took the wrench and found that that was the only thing remotely worth keeping on him.
Deciding that the car was all of a liability now, he stepped away from it and looked on.
Kanab, Utah. a little town in the middle of nowhere. Surely someone must have survived.
He entered the town, but saw mostly empty streets.
"I guess it could get warm out here. Maybe there are people inside?"
He continued to follow Route 89 through the town.
It seemed as if there might be a clinic over in one direction.
The idea was stupid, considering how many people had just died of a disease, but it was the best idea Leibowitz had so far.
He approached the clinic.
(is this significant enough?)
Get loot in chest and anything remotely useful in the cave, then go outside and check all the cars for the one with the most gas and MPG. Then put my junk in it.
Ask old man if he wants to accompany me in a non-sexual way.
Ask old man if he wants to accompany me in a non-sexual way.
Robert Can't
Éponine
Elizabeth woke with a jump. Bad dreams hung about her like a moth to a candle. Not that anyone on this damned continent had ever used a damned candle for anything other than adding romance to an damned evening...
She wondered about the eventual ramifications of everyone dying: How were the farmers going to provide any more? What happens when all the food left in the city rots and nothing is left. How will anyone know that there are people still alive here?
Elizabeth decided there was probably a better chance of survival in the countryside.
She wondered about the eventual ramifications of everyone dying: How were the farmers going to provide any more? What happens when all the food left in the city rots and nothing is left. How will anyone know that there are people still alive here?
Elizabeth decided there was probably a better chance of survival in the countryside.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
Cheng and Ma found a young girl is the relative empty city of New York. The girl is quite beautiful, with long black hair and wears a red dress.
"Who are you?" Cheng asks.
"My name is Mary."
"Are you alone here?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you come with us, then?"
"Alright."
Suddenly, a fat Afro-American man, in his late 50's, along with a young Afro-American holding a gun, approach Cheng, Ma and Mary. The young man points at Cheng and shouts "Who the **** are you?"
"Relax." Cheng replies. "We are friends. We are searching for survivors."
"Alright. Sorry for my words, but just three days ago one guy tried to kill us."
"What is your name?"
"My name is Mike."
The other man, who seems to be Mike's father, says "And I am his father, George."
"Why don't you come with us? The more we are, the better."
"Good. We shall come with you."
A few hours later, after searching much of the city but not finding any survivors, the company discuss what to do. Cheng says "We should go East. I had a dream that we should head East."
"Well, let's go there." Mike replies. "We have nothing to lose anyway."
So, Cheng, Ma, Mary, Mike and George come to Cheng's house, equip with food, weapons and medicine and head to East, towards California.
"Who are you?" Cheng asks.
"My name is Mary."
"Are you alone here?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you come with us, then?"
"Alright."
Suddenly, a fat Afro-American man, in his late 50's, along with a young Afro-American holding a gun, approach Cheng, Ma and Mary. The young man points at Cheng and shouts "Who the **** are you?"
"Relax." Cheng replies. "We are friends. We are searching for survivors."
"Alright. Sorry for my words, but just three days ago one guy tried to kill us."
"What is your name?"
"My name is Mike."
The other man, who seems to be Mike's father, says "And I am his father, George."
"Why don't you come with us? The more we are, the better."
"Good. We shall come with you."
A few hours later, after searching much of the city but not finding any survivors, the company discuss what to do. Cheng says "We should go East. I had a dream that we should head East."
"Well, let's go there." Mike replies. "We have nothing to lose anyway."
So, Cheng, Ma, Mary, Mike and George come to Cheng's house, equip with food, weapons and medicine and head to East, towards California.
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