The Zeally's

The Zeally's
Abbreviation:	Zeally's, The Crew
Group Numbers:	A few here, a few there. Only a Zeally truly knows...
Leadership:	Direct Democracy and Consensus Process
Goals:	The Zeally's oft find themselves challenging hordes of Zeds to fisticuffs after one too many drinks while screaming the Zeally War Cry-described later. At the end of the day we are a fun loving group who are more family than anything else. We defend and take our name from our sturdy and adored pub The Zeally Arms.
Recruitment Policy:	We always welcome new members so long as you can hold your own against the Zeds after we begin 'festivities' and defend the Zeally at all costs. To join us drop us a line on our forum.
Contact:	Come join the Crew or send a diplomat to offer alliance!

Amongst the wreckage of a society gone mad, we thrive...

How long had it been since your safe house had fallen? How long had you been fleeing through ruined streets and buildings after the night the undead bought down the barricades? Your eyes scan the the decimated buildings that surround you, they could be there. Their eyes gleaming with that insatiable hunger that you saw that night as they devoured your companion; their breath fetid and sweet with the odor of old rotting flesh and blood.

A cold wind moans down the street breaking your surveying of the ruins around you. You shiver and pull your worn and ripped jacket tighter yet the cold bites right down into your bones. You are near a heavily barricaded bank as you take shelter from the sudden breeze. A graffiti covered sign takes a moment to understand but you realize it reads: Saint Johns Hospital. The moaning of wind has stopped and you continue your journey north, you heard from another survivor that there may have been somebody trying to pull together who was left up north. Then again, the man who had told you such had a necklace of preserved human ears and always appeared distant when he spoke.

You shiver again and hope the madman was right.

After slowly traversing for a short time through the wrecks of cars with burnt skeletons sitting in opened mouth terror you realize dusk is settling. A sudden urge to vomit grips you as you realize there is no where for you to stay. What ever buildings are open have blood stains on the walls and the barricaded buildings lack any entrance save perhaps trying to scale the wall. You begin to panic as you rush down the street and a very hungry moan drifts from a ruined house.

The sounds of feet shuffling behind you causes you to run faster.

It is then that you round a bend and see a two story pub in front of you, it is sturdy and well built with a large sign reading The Zeally Arms upon it's proud front. You see lights are on through the boarded up windows and a single fire escape ladder leading down to the street. You begin to pant. Perhaps if you can just reach that light, then you'll be safe and warm. The urge to survive overrides the thought that perhaps these survivors are among the rumors you heard of. Death Cultists, men and women whom served the Undead.

The shuffling turns into running and you hear a hungry hiss as a hand grabs at your head. With bared teeth you push your self to your limits and jump to the fire escape. A hand grabs your leg and you feel hot breath on the back of your calf as you get yanked and hold on to the iron rung with only your hands that are nearly numb from the cold. You kick and feel the grip tighten. Your eyes widen and you realize that it is over, you cannot escape.

A gunshot rings out and the grip disappears and you hear a wet sound and a heavy thud of a body hitting pavement behind you. Not hesitating you scamper up the fire escape and tumble over the edge of the roof, your chest heaving from the exertion of your fleeing.

"They just don't learn." A male voice says.

You open your eyes and look above you into the quickly fading light and see a man standing over you with a jacket that has a patch on it that reads: Dutchz. He offers a hand and helps you up and motions behind him to a door leading down into the innards of the pub.

"Go on in, you look tired."

You nod numbly and enter. Dutchz simply turns around and continues to survey the street as he takes a long drink from a bottle.

The atmosphere within the worn pub called the Zeally Arms seems almost heretical in a city gone mad. You see friendly faces trade stories of war and cheers over polished tables. At the bar several older members with names on jackets are discussing some half-mad, some would argue fully mad, scheme. It is warm and you finally feel as if you can rest, that you are safe. The screams of your companions are gone here.

An older lady in a faded dress with a name embroidered upon her heart, Aunt, and a warm smile offers you a steaming cup of tea and motions towards the bar as she makes her rounds refilling the cups around the room. You make your way over and see a younger looking man with tired stormy blue eyes in a studded black leather jacket motioning to the others and handing out pints of dark foam headed beer as he discusses something hurriedly, a Sergeant At Arms' patch is beneath his name, Mick.

You look around in confusion. There does not appear to be a single desperate or sorrowful face, in fact, they appear almost... content. Almost... happy? They all seem to adore the pub, The Zeally, and each appears completely at home here.

The air is friendly and warm with a heavy sense of sudden inebriation looming like the shadow of a mountain. One of the members at the bar motions you forward from the door and offers you a glass of your choice. The member smiles and leans forward and you see a pistol gleam from a holster under their vest.

"Care to leave your gear for awhile and join in?" They ask warmly. "We are always looking for new comrades and drinking friends."

You smile tiredly at his words. Yes, you decide, this could be home.

Of our policies- That which defines the Crew

To describe what this group is "all about" is about as easy as forcing one of our members to not drink. But we will try our best to describe our beliefs.

• We are Pro-Survivor
  • Despite this we do negotiate with Zeds if the chance presents its rotting self.
    • Pker's who kill one of the Crew are hunted down and the Zeally's.
      • "I gave him a very firm talking to." -PrudencesAunt, Mistress of the Kettle
      • That means don't come asking our favor in killing a PKer if you aren't one of us, take a stand and Do it yourself!
• We like to drink whether it be whiskey, rum, or beer.
  • Do not try and take away the almighty bottle from us, we do not parlay nor show mercy on those who try and take our barrels.
• We are here to have fun.
  • The Zeally's are here to enjoy the game.
    • "They make our days interesting what with their cannibalism. Bless your rotten hearts, Zeds!" -Fightin'Mick, Sergeant At Arms'

Where you can find the Crew

The Zeally's are located in their worn and dear Zeally Arms, in the best goddamn suburb in the Quarantine Zone, Shore Hills.

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	Rat Tactics
	Survive. Revive. Thrive.