Journal:William Raker: Difference between revisions
No edit summary |
m (Reverted edits by WHITE POWER SKINHEAD (Talk); changed back to last version by Mrangers2) |
||
| Line 1: | Line 1: | ||
[[Image:WR-Scetch.jpg|thumb|200px|right|The self portrait of [[Rolt Heights]] based survivor [[User:William Raker|William Raker]] drawn on one of the pages of the journal]] | |||
Returning to [[Rolt Heights]],I visited a local school. Whilst I found some spraycans, I also found some booklets. I decided to grab one to write down my experiences from this unlikeliest of all events. If I don't make it, maybe someone may find this journal, and find some awnsers | |||
Happened so far: | |||
My name is [[User:William Raker|William Raker]]. That is not my real name. It's an alias. For certain reasons, I choose to not reveal my real name. I am from Finland. I had just recently ended my civilian service, I had some spare money, and felt like going on a trip. I knew some people here in Britain, over a [[Newgrounds|website]] I go to. Well, used to. Hardly possible now. We met in Scotland, actually. Later,after the beer and bad joke-soaked weekend (of which I only took part in the bad jokes part, as I don't drink alcohol), I came to Malton, as I had been in contact with local Socialist Youth and activists. We were going to do a demonstration, against the Iraq war, and the ludicrous anti-terrorism laws in the UK. By definition, anyone protesting too near a [[Fort Creedy|military base]] would be a terrorist; no matter what the cause. I volunteered to become a "terrorist" I carried a sign saying "Make Love Not War" just over the line where I were too near, and the rest carried way more aggressive and violent signs, just on the better side of the border. Unfortunately, the police didn't really share our sense of humour, and I had to disappear for a while. I joined some of my comrades in [[New Arkham]], and that's when It happened. | |||
... | |||
I didn't feel safe in New Arkham, now that the dead had begun to walk. I headed north-east, where I knew some of my friends would be. In Rolt heights. After few escapades, I finally arrived to the industrial area by edge of the quarantined area. But was soon chased out by a strong group commonly called the RHR. After a short exile in [[Pashenton]], I returned to help reclaim the suburb from the horde. | |||
I am currently inside a bank, wounded by the raging beasts. I clinch hard on my axe. I hope, some day, I can escape this hell on earth. | |||
''The following page details [[Lex Scientific Freedom (Lexicon)|a recent law on Scientific Freedom]]'' | |||
''The following page is titled [[New Arkham (Lexicon)|New Arkham]]'' | |||
''The following few pages have blood spilled on them'' | |||
[[Category:Journals|William Raker]] | |||
''quickly scribbled on a page side:'' 29th of May: I cannot find a way to enter any building in the area. I'm exhausted beyond reasonable point. I must hide away, but I cannot get any real shelter. | |||
June 1st, Rhodenbank. Due to some... I don't know what, I am alive, despite dying just few days ago to the claws and teeth of the undead. I've seen it happen before, the so called "[[Revivication]]" As I stood up, I felt all sick, it must be the odd infection people are talking about. I dragged myself into a nearby hospital, which was barricaded, but not beyond the point of entry (unlike many of the surrounding buildings) I was lucky to find some survivors inside, now hoping someone with some knowledge in medicine would aid me. I had to sit down, and stop doing anything exhausting, as it seemed to worsen my condition. I took out this journal, and continued writing it to keep myself busy. Even searching for medical aid would seem too exhausting, and dangerous. | |||
''Between two pages, you find an xerox of a newspaper [[Tunnels (Lexicon)|article on Tunnels]]'' | |||
June 2nd. since the airlines opened, and someone set up a radio transmitter/receiver in our safehouse, it has been receiving messages constantly. distress calls, attempts to contact people and so on.It is unsettling to hear these cries of help. I hope the people on the outside will reach our cries for help, and act out. But it seems the waves cannot leave the concrete prison we're in all that good. | |||
June 5th. North-west Rolt seems to be free of Zombies, I've started to make myself at home in my safehouse, and writing over some ugly old graffiti in the area. | |||
June 13th. Boredom kicks in with the lack of activity in the area. I ran by one of the nearby libraries to pick up a few books. I found some horror books, I suppose they make some education in this situation, I already learned a bit about un-obvious entrypoints into seemingly safe houses. Good to know. | |||
[[Category:Roleplaying|Journal:William Raker]] | |||
Revision as of 08:57, 30 January 2011
Returning to Rolt Heights,I visited a local school. Whilst I found some spraycans, I also found some booklets. I decided to grab one to write down my experiences from this unlikeliest of all events. If I don't make it, maybe someone may find this journal, and find some awnsers
Happened so far: My name is William Raker. That is not my real name. It's an alias. For certain reasons, I choose to not reveal my real name. I am from Finland. I had just recently ended my civilian service, I had some spare money, and felt like going on a trip. I knew some people here in Britain, over a website I go to. Well, used to. Hardly possible now. We met in Scotland, actually. Later,after the beer and bad joke-soaked weekend (of which I only took part in the bad jokes part, as I don't drink alcohol), I came to Malton, as I had been in contact with local Socialist Youth and activists. We were going to do a demonstration, against the Iraq war, and the ludicrous anti-terrorism laws in the UK. By definition, anyone protesting too near a military base would be a terrorist; no matter what the cause. I volunteered to become a "terrorist" I carried a sign saying "Make Love Not War" just over the line where I were too near, and the rest carried way more aggressive and violent signs, just on the better side of the border. Unfortunately, the police didn't really share our sense of humour, and I had to disappear for a while. I joined some of my comrades in New Arkham, and that's when It happened.
...
I didn't feel safe in New Arkham, now that the dead had begun to walk. I headed north-east, where I knew some of my friends would be. In Rolt heights. After few escapades, I finally arrived to the industrial area by edge of the quarantined area. But was soon chased out by a strong group commonly called the RHR. After a short exile in Pashenton, I returned to help reclaim the suburb from the horde.
I am currently inside a bank, wounded by the raging beasts. I clinch hard on my axe. I hope, some day, I can escape this hell on earth.
The following page details a recent law on Scientific Freedom
The following page is titled New Arkham
The following few pages have blood spilled on them
quickly scribbled on a page side: 29th of May: I cannot find a way to enter any building in the area. I'm exhausted beyond reasonable point. I must hide away, but I cannot get any real shelter.
June 1st, Rhodenbank. Due to some... I don't know what, I am alive, despite dying just few days ago to the claws and teeth of the undead. I've seen it happen before, the so called "Revivication" As I stood up, I felt all sick, it must be the odd infection people are talking about. I dragged myself into a nearby hospital, which was barricaded, but not beyond the point of entry (unlike many of the surrounding buildings) I was lucky to find some survivors inside, now hoping someone with some knowledge in medicine would aid me. I had to sit down, and stop doing anything exhausting, as it seemed to worsen my condition. I took out this journal, and continued writing it to keep myself busy. Even searching for medical aid would seem too exhausting, and dangerous.
Between two pages, you find an xerox of a newspaper article on Tunnels
June 2nd. since the airlines opened, and someone set up a radio transmitter/receiver in our safehouse, it has been receiving messages constantly. distress calls, attempts to contact people and so on.It is unsettling to hear these cries of help. I hope the people on the outside will reach our cries for help, and act out. But it seems the waves cannot leave the concrete prison we're in all that good.
June 5th. North-west Rolt seems to be free of Zombies, I've started to make myself at home in my safehouse, and writing over some ugly old graffiti in the area.
June 13th. Boredom kicks in with the lack of activity in the area. I ran by one of the nearby libraries to pick up a few books. I found some horror books, I suppose they make some education in this situation, I already learned a bit about un-obvious entrypoints into seemingly safe houses. Good to know.
