Shadow Fall

Discussion in 'Roleplaying Board' started by Stompie, Aug 22, 2011.

  1. Stompie

    Stompie Mildly Dipped

    Apr 2, 2006
    Night falls.
    A man sits atop a rocky outcrop. Sixteen days have passed since he had seen another living human being, and fifty-two days, six hours, and thirty-two minutes since the world went to shit. There wasn't anything anybody could do, Nobody saw it coming. A new plague washed over civilization, spreading like wildfire. At that point, the Brotherhood, the NCR, The Legion, they were washed away. Any semblance of order, structure civility deciminated into chaos. The only directive of the immediate survivors was just that- survival.

    "Follower" Said the man to himself. "Follower of the Appocalypse." He scoffed; Knowing that any level of understanding or reason wouldn't save his life in the long run, yet- he found a sick calmness in the certainty that he'd die clinging to the bastardization of his ideals. "Thirty-Two notches" He said, staring at the stock of his .308 bolt-action rifle of unidentifiable make, where a notch for each life had been carved.

    The first one was the worst one, as it always is. It was a mercy killing, he knew he could cling to that. The man was dieing a slow death, A combination of Plague and a spear to the stomach. The second kill was a split second descision - more or less his finger slipped. A man with a knife acosting an unarmed farmer. The full metal jacket over-penitrated, puncturing the farmer as well; however he survived- Only to be eaten by cannabals, but the two are unrelated. The third was a raider, He had it coming. Not because he was attacking the fallower, but simply because he was an asshole, Also, his finger slipped. The fallower never claimed to be a trigger man- He's a doctor, a scientist, and more than that - only human.

    The question remains - How did a man with no combat experience or survival skills survive fifty-two days of living hell? It all began with his outpost being burned to the ground by the Salvitore of New Reno's men. Alot of people died that day, but that's beside the point. Anyway - Fallowers escaped, they were on the run being hunted by mafioso because they were cutting profit by encroching on turf, and educating citizenry, who then decided to use that knowledge to better themselves.

    The remaining fallowers from the new reno outpost were already in the boonies when shit hit the fan, it had taken nearly three weeks for them to hear any news of it. There were nine, they were reduced over time, until one remained. One remained to die.
    He had contemplated eating a bullet, but when it came down to it- he couldn't pull the trigger. He had thought about feeding himself to the wild fauna, but let's face it - nobody want's to waltz into a gecko cave and let the little hellians have a few cracks at themselves, that just sounds grizzly. So, He decided to continue walking his lonesome suicideless road.

    The plague was fast acting, cheracterized by loss of motorskills, vomiting, intense perspiration, and then experation. It burned itself out rather quickly, but nobody ventures to the plague lands in less than a biohazzard suit, or a death wish. Death wasn't always fast for the infected though, Some just wandered, as if something was forcing their actions, they could go weeks without food and had been seen leaking bile into watersources. They were thusly named Plague Barers. The worse abomination to come from this plague were the Death Walkers. They were the gray area between the infected, and the plague barers. These were those resistant to the plague, however infected - They cling to morbid ideals, some kind of cultish insanity. The Fallower had his run-ins with these freaks before.

    He had one objective in his mind - It was a longshot, but he HAD to reach San Fransisco, He NEEDED to know what this virus was. He NEEDED to find a cure.

    Six days had passed since he realized that he was traveling in a circle, upon discovering a molerat that he had killed with the butt of his gun, hand then gutted and pelted. Surprisingly, it smelled the same as it did when he killed it. a testimate to the the foulness of those creatures. He figured he was about 30 miles south of broken hills, but his map and compass were inside of a gecko. It's the shits, isn't it?