-Most photos in this initial post are concepts from the "Last of us" game series, they do not hold any weight in the game, only I have found them to resemble quiet a few descriptive scenes
Cold winds and a brewing storm has forced you inside tonight, the thought of being under a sheltered roof weighing both in favor of good and favoring of bad. Life has changed a lot lately and the majority of the time it wasn't for the good. The rickety door hangs half on its hinges leaving just enough of a small gap for you to squeeze right through. In these days you needed to be silent, you needed to sneak about like a mouse, all for your own safety, for the unseen is what kills you. When the pandemic broke out people ignored it mainly, like they do everything else. If it didn't happen there, then it wasn't any of their business, of course until it happened to them, then it was an issue. The rash spread quickly and silently, unseen to many, many not knowing or understanding what it was. Within 6 months of the outbreak nearly a quarter of the worlds population took ill and passed on to death. Some were inflicted with the rash, yet for some reason never caught the fever that followed. It became a sort of branding on them, and those that were afflicted but not killed soon held a far worse fate.
Segregation for the afflicted became all to real, and human rights were stripped of them as they were tested on by legal and many not so legal means. The world fell into a dark depression and wars skittered about recklessly as whole countries began blaming one another for what caused the incident. Most of the afflicted who weren't initially killed or turned into lab rats became victims of hate crimes, often murdered and left about as messages to the rest. The world was a dark place since the two years had passed before the rash appeared unseen. In the winter of 2017 things got worse, utterly worse. Another quarter of the population fell ill, and died quicker then the first. However, this time they came back, and they seemed angry. Soulless pits of a body, their red eyes would glow, they hungered for death. "The unseen" they had been dubbed, mindless and quick moving zombies hell bent on killing all living things. Wars broke out once more, and this time the nukes had arrived. In six more short months the planet earth was a decollate wasteland, still haunted by the Unseen.
You shake the memories from your head as you climb the stairs quietly to find a bedroom to barricade. The house moans and creaks as the winds of the brewing storm seek to tear it apart. As you level off on the second floor a small door lays open, the color pink shinning brightly in your eyes. Making way for the room you stealthily make sure it was un occupied. You know to be quiet, you know the monsters out there aren't the only things that could kill you. Besides the feral animals or the bitter cold nights, the world is still haunted the human plague. Humans still exist in bands, sometimes as simple survivors like yourself. Mostly though they are either bandits or even worse cannibals. So precaution is never a lax luster item.
The sight however turns your stomach sour as you enter the room. On the bed lay a man, motionless and blood covered. His face was unrecognizable as he lay there clutching a small pink diary in his right hand. Pulling the booklet from his cold dead fingers, you proceed to thumb through the pages.
Date: May 23rd
I know this is silly, my daughters diary, but where else will I write, and I need to scream my words, but no one listens. So I'm here, writing in this pink bock, good if Susan would see this. Mary isn't doing any better, her fever is still high, but the rash has stopped, so maybe that is some sign, I just pray to whomever listens, please make her feel better, she's all I got since her mother passed from this damn thing.
Date: June 17th
Mary seems to feeling better, she is smiling, though she doesn't eat much, the doctors say she might have actually kicked this and can probably come home in a few days. Thank you! Plus I watched CNN today, did you know they're waiting our tax dollars recreating viruses from the 1800's? Maybe one of them assholes has an explanation for what the hell is going on!
Date: June 26th
She wont wake up, her lungs are still moving but she wont open her eyes! The doctors said she'd be fine, then last week another huge amount of the population caught it! I caught it! my damn right hand! why wont she wake up! Where are the answers! The news is screaming of war, They say its chemical war fare and they blame china! Wait, I hear her mumbling.
There are many pages in the diary, but as they words progress towards the last page of June 26th, the writers hand writing got worse and worse and sloppy. As you set the diary back down you feel sad for the dead man on the child's bed in front of you. You often wonder why this happened yourself as you look at your own rash wondering why you were never affected like the rest or never became apart of the Unseen. As the words flow through your skull, the all to familiar sound clutches at your essence. Shivers rip across your spin as your stomach sinks. The soft gurgled clicking sound that they make, echoes in your head as you turn to see red sunken eyes staring back at you from the stair case. The worse part is, The unseen are never alone. Rushing the door, you slam it closed as it slams into the other side clawing and screeching to get in to you. The wood shakes violently as you know it wont stop until it has you, and as you back from the closed door, you hear the shuffling behind you. Turning you find the dead mans limbs slowly twitching to life right before your eyes.
The Unseen is a free form post apocalyptic game that is open to everyone and anyone. All I seek is ambitious souls looking to write and enjoy a good and dangerous adventure. Where we start off will be a small band of survivors has held up residence in an old Wal-Mart. Most of the supplies is spoiled or stolen, yet a good majority of it is still useful. What id like to see is unique characters of various different backgrounds coming together to survive....or selling their friends out to survive. Yes it is the end of the world. yes guns and other weapons are on the table. However, you are not some super ninja who uses bazookas and machine guns whilst having a cup of coffee. You are not some supreme ex military personnel who has a stock pill of grenades and an unlimited amount of ammo.
Lets be real people, you are humans. Keep it realistic, be the car salesman who is getting a divorce when this happens. Be the college student who was fretting over student loans before she finds herself part of the afflicted. Be realistic, that is all I ask.
There will be some among us who are afflicted, they are the ones with the rash but have not died or gotten sick. And then there will be some of us who are normal, un affected by the disease that has desolated this planet. Id like an even mix or a mix favoring more normal then afflicted. The band of survivors will be about 20 to 25 however most will be NPCs. I'm looking for a decent group of about 8 to a max of ten including myself, so I need 9 total players. All are welcome to apply, yet I will choose who will stay and who will go.
Posting, id like for us to post at the very extreme minimum of once a week. I have been guilty of this, and I have seen rps die over and over because of this. If for some reason you loose your muse or are to busy, please let me know and we will adjust accordingly. I'm an upfront guy and respect bluntness over all, and I have been guilty of fearing the lashings of not being able to play. trust me I understand that. Yet when in doubt, be blunt with me.
Once I've gained enough interest ill post up a character sheet. I hope to keep this to one thread, maybe branching off into 1 or 2 more if necessary.
any questions please feel free to post them here or PM me :)
Thank you for your time and dedication to reading all this!
-use real photos and the more the merrier
-starting gear, you won't be starting with a hundred things. Think items that'll fit in or on a backpack.
-weapons, common melee items like bats, crowbars, and knives are your main weapons. However I will allow guns, guns like 9 mm pistol with only one clip left, a .22 hunting rifle with a small box of ammo, a shotgun with 6 slugs, a crossbow or compound bow with only 3 bolts or arrows. It's all just low enough to make you think wisely on all your shots.
-looking for maybe 3 or 4 afflicted, I will be one of them.
-sex, it will be a regular thing from outsiders raping to friends doing such to relax. Love might even be found. However sex will be common it isn't the main plotline.
-age, follow E rules anything from 16 up
-Personality, give a small description of how your character acts, is he cold hearted? is she klutzy? Is he secretly a narcissist? simple things like that to help set the mood of your character
-Feelings towards the Afflicted, remember I said there was one point where those who were afflicted were segregated and experimented on, some of them, there is a hatred towards them, could be because they have the rash and survived it? or a hatred towards the rash itself and you're just the host to the virus.
-Additional Photos, this one is simple, if you have any extra character photos post them away, also if you wish to add photos of sexual organs, scars, tattoos, photos of the gear or weapons, anything you see fit to help describe said character
Afflicted or Unafflicted:
Feelings toward Afflicted:
Name: Christopher Phoenix
Afflicted or Unafflicted: Afflicted
Feelings toward Afflicted: Indifferent
Personality: very quiet and nice, yet has a darker driven side to get the drugs and drink he needs to sleep and forget the voices in his head (its become a huge issue lately and he's become kind of odd from it)
Sexual Orientation: Straight, Bi-Curious
Bio: Christopher grew up in a troubled household, His father was a drunk, his mother popped pills, and often enough they forgot about him and his little brother. Life continue on this way for 14 years until Christopher's little brother was found dead from an over does of pills, his mothers pills. As CYS came in to relocate him as his parents were arrested Chris was adopted by his grandmother. She was a God loving, kind hearted woman, and she became the only reason Chris seemed to mellow out. See over the years of a bad childhood Chris was known to be a trouble maker and a fighter. Often he would tussle with kids who claimed he wasn't strong enough or cool enough. Often running with the bad crowds, a noticeable drop in his grades arrived. However upon the move to his grand mothers, and a start at a fresh new school Chris was given a second chance.
His gram taught him the ways of the church and how to control your anger so that it didn't eat you alive like the poison it is. When school wasn't involved the nice old lady had him working to keep himself out of trouble. Her husband who had passed, owned the local book store. She was the soul owner and soon Chris would find the store as a second home. While kids drank and did drugs, the young man found himself buried in books to occupy his time. His love of books only grew and after graduating college he decide to become an armature writer hoping to make it big with a big selling novel. Due to his secluded nature Chris never found the right girl only seeking friendship in the books he came to love. As the first outbreak came, devastation hit and after the passing of his grandmother, he became owner of the book store.
About 6 months after the first outbreak he noticed the red rashes spreading across his neck and his left arm, fearing the worse he set to praying and bathing daily as if either would stop the virus. However after the two week period when normal people would die, he survived, and to his amazement never felt any different due to the rash. The markings were horrific, and they were something he couldn't bare to see, so he had a local tattoo artist ink him up to cover the markings. The faith based tattoos son covered the rashes nearly complete, however a few small patches of red irritated skin can be seen. Soon the world came crashing down, and the Unseen appeared almost as if they were ghosts. He locked up shop one fateful night as he was soon ambushed by two of those things. The news said his area was safe, that they quarantined the issues. Boy were they wrong, and after a long drawn out run down he was able to loose them.
When he world came crashing down to nothingness his town was being pillaged and destroyed. He did the best he could to barricade the doors to the small book shop hoping no one wanted to break in. Soon enough he set his moving north of the city into the hills where they went to church to seek refuge. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he couldn't stay there. When he arrived at the church he found the practitioners, or what was left, were dead and dying. The Unseen had gotten to them, and the screams of the dying filled the air as he tried what he could to save them and mend their wounds. When shit hit the fans and life became worse his dreams turned into nightmares. Often he couldn't sleep, waking up from the screams for help in his head of the people he's seen die. The same images of the church play over in his thoughts, and after 6 months of traveling on the road he found himself turning to alcohol and pills to quiet the noises in his head.
Weapons: Baseball bat, .22 long barrel rifle with no bullets left
Gear: Backpack filled with a few small books, canteen of water, small used first aid kit, zippo lighter, cross necklace given to him by his grand mother, small thin blanket and towel wrapped together on backpack. Small bottle of Jack Daniels with only a few swigs left, Small bottle of sleeping pills.
Fears: The darkness, he knows those things move quickly and silently, but in the darkness they are virtually undetectable. The night mares he has been having. His drug and Drink abuse getting worse like his parents.
Casual ons: loves to read and write
Casual offs: darkness, drug users (even though he is sort of one)
Sexual ons: Girls with some hair down stairs (shows a sign of non high maintenance to him), feet, , Asians and Gingers
Sexual offs: scat, gore, vore