Afterlife

Syphon

A Smooth-Skin
In this setting, a hundred winters have past since a global war cast dirt and silt into the atmosphere. Most major US cities were blown to smithereens as did most of China's and Russia megapolises, and the majority of survivors are from rural parrishes and hamlets. (The only difference in this RP is the added ecological dangers. Everything in Fallout applies here except an added layer of terror and unpredictability.. think hardcore mode with another reason to stop and camp.)

Dark clouds engulf the Earth, as it clings to stability from permanent ecological damage. Ash and sut blanket entire states for weeks on end, harming all lifeforms from temperature lose and exposure. Rain also is rare under debris clouds but when it does, heavy metal is sure to follow. The remnants of nasty industrial chemicals, aerosol and dirt, in the densest of them can literally kill in hours. Lung tissue is bombarded and infection runs rampant. Rain is continuously dangerous from the sulphur and debris, and remains in the top 5 killers of human survivors. Also, radioactivity is still prevelant in the densest.

The temperature norm is now almost unbearibly hot. Hellish summers that live well into the winter spawn violent systems until about January where the northern winds freeze most of North America . With a lower pressure millibar, storms live all through the seasons. Raging storms of all kinds make living on the surface a hard place to thrive. Animals are in near-extinction as the varying climates, repetitive storm activity and drought, make adaption almost impossible.

As for man and his struggle to survive is matched with another threat , an unwlecome neighbor to the wasteland, the Mutants. We all know about them and their place is still fallout-esq.



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Again everybody, this is a very - freeform thread. Remember, RP's are what you make out of them. In this post apocalyptic thread, things can be fallout/steampunk/whatever the group feels is the best for the setting. Items and/or vehicles are preferred as long as their A)original 2)way creative/unique/foreward thinking. But try not to be overly exertive as a baron or ganglander if thats how you choose to play. Point is, I find that overpowering characters does not help the cuase of portraying a wasteland burdened that is bare boned.

Remember, you can be yourself here. Or a drunkard whose financial ruin from a history of self-destructive behavoir has left him desperate for a quick hustle? haha. how you ever see fit.





Name: Marshall Trenton
Race/Age/Sex: 23 Human Male
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 178lbs

Strength: 5
Perception: 9
Endurance: 3
Charisma: 8
Intelligence: 9
Agility: 5
Luck: 1


Tags: Small Guns, Speech/Barter(ill allow similar skills if special coaberates justification), repair
Marshall's general appearance:

Weird_Gas_Mask_Designs_10.jpg

Gew88_SFL.jpg

Picture_004_blk_vest_2_back.jpg

joneaa-cargo-pants.jpg

yasuyuki-ishii-patchboots.jpg

wildcard-gallery-05.jpg

+Tattoos
+Large Backpack, filled with shells, canteen, burlap sack of harvested tobbacco, small wrench set, lighter, skillet, binoculars, crude gas-station map of region, an engineering textbook, duct tape, spare jug of water.
Face: think James Franco from City by the sea with more of a tan lol. Look at google images for quick reference. The post of him skinnyed-out is the one lol.
 
Yes

Yes, and it was work to get all those to come out right. Again everybody, this is a very - freeform thread. Remember, RP's are what you make out of them. In this post apocalyptic thread, things can be fallout/steampunk/whatever the group feels is the best for the setting. Items and/or vehicles are preferred as long as their A)original 2)way creative/unique/foreward thinking. But try not to be overly exertive as a baron or ganglander if thats how you choose to play. Point is, I find that overpowering characters does not help the cuase of portraying a wasteland burdened that is bare boned.

Remember, you can be yourself here. Or a drunkard whose financial ruin from a history of self-destructive behavoir has left him desperate for a quick hustle? haha. how you ever see fit.
 
Marshall's Introduction

Marshall awakes to the greeting of harsh thunder, drenched in sweat apon his haggard mattress. It provided a nice comfortability, but the missing box spring didn't help his posture. He slowly popped the crick in his spine. Marshall's CB squeels in static as someone yells inaudibly over the airwaves until he makes out "28.50 millibars.. seek underground safety immediately!!! I repeat, confirmed- multiple, violent tornadoes are on the ground..", until static reintroduces itself to the frightened man. He turns it off, as he does most of the time, so he can tell himself it will be alright and nothing will happen.

Water dripped through the porous shed roof, ate up from decades of rust and neglect. He collected the precious rain, even though it was definately contaminated from the ash cloud, in clay pots he made from the abundant desert soil. They were overflowing onto the cracked concrete foundation. He frowned in aggravation at the loss of hydro.

He got to his feet and lit a morning cigarette, anxious from the pounding beat of a heavy thunderstorm. His lighter illuminates the murky hut. The strong wind pelted the shed with an omnious respiration, sucking in the walls, then contracting as the wind pulled the air from the not-sealed outhouse.

"Feels good though", he mumbled to himself as he inhaled deeply and simulatenously trying to coax himself that the storm wasn't a severe threat. He opens the primitive track double door, made of oxidized metal, and witnesses the intense system accompanied by pouring rain. Marshall closes one real quick, to hide behind it, for fear of acid toxicity.

It was maybe , seven in the morning, when the sun was usually just above the eastern horizon, but not this morning.

The sky was a black as coal, splattered with strokes of gray and white clouds that whipped across the sky at unnatural speeds. The wind from outside rushed in and blew against the back wall and shrieked the weak metal almost ripping apart the quant structure; Marshall frantically shuts the door. He began to become alarmed and slightly frantic. Thunder begins to erratically howl in constant moans. His heart begins to thump. Marshall sucks the last bit of tobbacco out of his smoke until the ember burns his fingers, going unnoticed.

Marshall sits down on his soggy mattress and gathers his belongings, until he is fully dressed. He takes a moment to recover his backpack's mo-mento's that are strewn across the poorly built shed, that is continuously bowing in and out now. The nuts and bolts, that are tremendously hard to scavenge since they have to match in size, that holds the walls to the posts begin to shake and loosen slightly. "Oh shit", Marshall gasps as he eyeballs the slow demise of his respectable home. Most people lived in bombed out buildings, under bridges, in the shells of vehicles, in dumpsters, and his was appreciated.. The howls of thunder are almost unbearable now, growing in intensity. He knows that a tornado might be on the ground, and staying here would surely be his deathbed. He decides to bail immediately.

But in his heart he knew that his week of hardwork was going to go bye bye. This was the real deal. Alot of violent systems come and go, but the sight of the hellish sky makes him believe that tornadoes are definately being spawn. Marshall is now becoming panicked and hurries any valuables into his pack. He feels around for his wrench, but restrains from tightening the giving fasteners, and instead put it in his backpack. Marshall plunges his face behind a black face mask and attempts to start his ancient dirtbike.

The nuts and bolts are barely holding now, and the holes in the rust of the whole building are feeding the violent wind. With each breathe, the wind is ripping the shed apart. The howls are continuous now and the lightning explodes with each second. His hands are jittery as the battery and sparkplugs refuse to ignite the gasoline inside the cylinders. Marshall curses out loud but he cannot even hear himself.

The roof rips off and is thrown from view in a second's time. The sky above illicits no light and is just as dark as it was when it was enclosed, no light. Thick rain pelts down on the vulnerable man whom is trembling and breathing too heavily for his health. Marshall tries again and the engine, thankfully, responds with a roar. He flicks the headlamp on bright-mode, and pulls the clutch, shooting him through the flimsy paneled door. After the aluminum gives way, which significantly slices his forearms, he scans frantically through the lightning illumination for any tornado..

"Thank god", he cries to himself as nothing is present, but epic shelf clouds and supercell formations. The wind pushed and veered the light vehicle at 70 miles an hour, making his venture overwhelming. He barely could control the craft, as he would be pushed one way and then another way. Marshall could hear his heart beat, racing in his malnourished chest.

He races toward town, guided by the constant electric discharge of the Earth. He takes one last look behind him as he watches the violent mega-burst (think microburst on crystal meth) rip his meager home apart.

(I'll let someone paint the creative picture for RAEON.. make it however you want, whether a fortress, slum, mining town, manufacturing, however you like.. just include a radio tower for the radar used by the eccentric but correct scientist Mr.Gibbs.. Thank you for reading :) Also my posts following this will be nothing more three paragraphs at most)
 
Marshall realizes his life sucks. But before he pours laquer thinner into his gashed chest wound from a flying piece of aluminum and gourgin on charcoal to purge his body of bile and infectionous bodily fluids, he stumbles apon a decrepit copy of Fallout New vegas. He violently pukes on the compact disk case, obviously from eating a shitload of charcoal, and then finds his stomach rumbling in sudden agony.

Marshall decides that he can no longer hold his shit on, and desecrates on the once-popular rip off of some ancient classic. the steaming feces blends in nicely with the dull cover that was just as original.

"I'm glad that CD was there to stop it from hitting the desert", Marshall laughs as he remembers talking to motionless/motiveless imaginaries chara-cters.

The paint thinner burns the wound. only slightly.
 
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