User:DSGDarkRaven

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Description

A skilled zombie hunter, with a knack for getting out of trouble as often and as quickly as he gets into it. He was a resident of Scarletwood before the city fell into chaos, and currently maintains the fuel supply for the Garniss Border Patrol. A jack of all trades, some believe he may have formerly been employed by the military, or possibly as a mercenary. Whatever his shadowy history may be, however, his sharp mind and combat savvy make him a depenable ally.


Blog

05 Oct 2007

Scarletwood is trashed. It's all gone to hell, in a way that I haven't seen in months. Even worse than last spring. My head is still foggy from the needle somebody gave me this morning. They came during the night, to Bland's. I should have gotten suspicious when the radio was so quiet for so long, or when nobody stopped by all day. I got sleepy instead, and the next thing I know, I wake up in the cemetary at St. Rosie's in the middle of a mob. Doug, Dalt, Liana, and Musty were there too, just swaying in the breeze. Marc was on the ground next to me, but I didn't take the time to see if he was undead or alive.

I did steal his shoes, though, and after a quick prayer I started pounding pavement. Sometimes I'd round a corner and practically run right into a half-dozen of them. Complacency is a death sentence right now. Last week, people could go out in the streets in the middle of the day. Armed, and preferrably not alone, but everybody felt safe. I didn't see a single living soul for ten blocks. Not in Sealey, not at the Bentley, not even inside Garniss. Just rotters as far as the eye could see. Except for St. Spy's.

I was infected, and I could feel it. That sour feeling in the pit of my stomach was growing with every step. My eyes burned and my feet grew heavy as I trudged up the Basson building's fire escape and made the leap. The supplies were still in the agreed upon place in the fifth floor ICU, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I swallowed my first tablet.

There wasn't a survior signal in sight from the rooftop, and a twist of my radio's dial offered me nothing but static. I hit the Basson fire escape again and set off for the safest place I could think of: Fort Perryn.

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