P
player of games
Member
- Joined
- Sep 11, 2019
- Messages
- 34
- Points
- 18
Character Name
Jeremy Sykes
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
No
Age
41
Blood Type
O+
Personality
Jeremy is typically rational, level headed with an aura of wisdom and collected confidence. Inside, he is a mess of past trauma waiting to surface, having to battle with it every day to stay in control. He isn't outwardly friendly, often suspicious of those he does not know due to his wealth of experience in the wastes, though will typically treat everyone he meets with a respect he would expect to be returned - even if he's about to kill them.
Character Motivations
Jeremy wants to see his people prosper, to atone for his past. He seeks a fresh start, settling in Monroe to achieve it.
Physical Appearance
Jeremy stands at a height of six foot with a physically athletic build, clearly tempered by over a decade living in the apocalypse. His scruffy brown hair is accompanied by a similarly unkempt beard of the same color, his tired brown eyes completing the picture. His skin is a shade paler than most, with several visible blemishes and faded wounds indicative of a warrior's lifestyle this past decade.
He carries himself with a rugged demeanor, telling of his experience and lifestyle. The skin on his hands is rough and course, his fingertips home to no prints, but faded burn scars.
Character Image Link
Mechanical Occupation
Veteran or something. Whatever an ex-bandit would be.
In-Character Occupation
Whatever Monroe needs him to be. Formerly a History teacher at a High School in inner city Fayetteville.
Biography
========== PRELUDE ==========
Jeremy Sykes was born in Fayetteville, North Carolina approximately 29 years before the Oculurubrus - red eye, as it is known - took hold. He went through the motions in a relatively large family, two parents, two brothers and a sister. He worked his way through school and several low-paying jobs, eventually finding his muse as a history teacher, living a relatively normal life. At the age of 20, he found the love of his life in a woman named Caroline, marrying and having twins. His daughter, Abigail, and a son, Logan with her within a years of meeting. By the time red-eye rolled around and ruined everyone's lives, Jeremy was in a stable position with a loving family all around him. It didn't last long enough.
Loss came before the outbreak for Jeremy and his family in the form of his infant son's leukemia. Grief stricken as he was, Jeremy made his son's last days the best of both of their lives, taking his family on a cross-country road trip to see all the greats - Disneyland and Universal his son's favourite, the Grand Canyon coming in close. Logan never let his illness get him down, remaining a sporty, bright, active child who had a good sense of humor. It crushed Jeremy to bury his infant son, feeling cheated by god for the undeserved loss. It was a hard time for him and his family, but they persevered as they always had - but the bad times would only get worse.
========== LIFE'S RICH TAPESTRY ==========
They were all asleep when the loudspeakers of a military convoy woke them, driving up and down the street, soldiers banged on every door. They were given five minutes to grab their things and board a truck to Fort Bragg - no more, no less. Jeremy hurried his family along on the orders of a soldier, and they climbed into the back of a truck along with several of the street's families - all in a state of half-dress, duress, and exhaustion. The route was not calm, machine-gun fire ringing off constantly from the lightly armored vehicles in escort of the convoy, dozens of bodies lining the streets in their wake, the families in the back of the dozen or so trucks shivering in fear - their protectors now seemingly their captors, slaughtering innocents in the hundreds on their way to Fort Bragg. Explosions, sirens, screams and the stampede of hundreds of panicked feet rushing their way through the streets of Fayetteville in an effort to escape the 'innocents' that had been a seemingly endless tidal wave of assailment on the convoy were audible throughout the city, the pitch-black of the early morning offset by failing street lamps and headlights, fires and the flashing red and blue of sirens.
Jeremy could do nothing but reassure his family, holding them through the journey as they were packed like sardines in the back of the moving truck. He, himself, was nothing short of terrified.
The journey was halted numerous times to circumnavigate the packed highways, traffic jams and pileups on every other route out of Fayetteville - those they could nto get around, they plowed through. These soldiers had their orders, along with dozens of other similar convoys designed to evacuate the city in times of emergency. Jeremy and his family were in the fourth truck from the front, so they were saved when the driver of the fifth truck suddenly passed out, veering off and flipping his vehicle - killing most of those inside, the rest of the convoy travelling at breakneck speeds getting themselves into a terrible accident due to. It later became apparent the driver was suffering late-stage symptoms, having been bitten at some point - obviously discounting it. Jeremy could do nothing but listen to the screams as the driver re-animated, tearing the man in shotgun apart, watching as they climbed from the smashed windscreens - being put down by the drivers and escorts in his own truck. The soldiers did what they could to save the occupants of the truck, but it was too late for most. They were packed in even tighter with the wounded, the screams of agony drowning out the traffic and gunfire of the outside world - the convoy back on the move, most of the vehicles having been undamaged, but the occupants injured.
Fort Bragg was alive. Convoys returned on seemingly ten minute intervals, families with two children and up being prioritised over those without. Screening ensued, Jeremy and his family being pulled out of the truck and put through invasive swab tests to check for any signs of the 'virus'. They were clean. They were given quarter in a barrack with several other families. Jeremy pushed their camp beds together when his daughter started crying, sleeping with her between him and his wife - holding her in his arms. The fear gripped him and his family, uncertain of the events that had transpired that night, and the sheer uncertainty of their futures.
Life at the base didn't last long. In the week they were there, fewer and fewer convoys returned each day, the base being put on total lockdown. Rations were strick, one meal a day per person. The city's burning skyline was visible from the fence, the roaming, shambling infected just a few hundred feet from safety. The air was thick with tension, the soldiers and civilians alike fearful for themselves and relatives, mass desertion of soldiers from their posts daily driving the situation to breaking point. The base was becoming less and less secure each passing hour, and this would reach it's climax on the eighth day from outbreak.
In the middle of the night, the fence came down. Then the barracks were swarmed, and the people outside were slaughtered in the hundreds. Jeremy was in a panic, trying to locate his family - he rushed back to their quarter, finding them huddled in a corner, shaking with fear. He grabbed his wife by the hand, carrying Abigail, frantically rushing for the door. They hastily made their way out of the barrack, down the stairwell and out into the base, where chaos reigned. Everywhere around them, screams, gunfire - nothing but death and confusion. Running for a vehicle, his wife tripped and fell. He turned on his heel at the sound, rushing back to help them - but it was too late. Far too late. The infected were closer than they thought, and they were already on top of them by the time he got close. He dropped Abigail and rushed to her aid, tackling one of the infected on his wife to the ground - pummeling it's face with his bare hand. He rolled off of it as one of the others took a liking, frantically searching around himself for a weapon to use. He grabbed the Beretta from the infected on the ground's holster - a soldier, he hadn't noticed, trying to figure out how the firearm worked in a panic. He found the safety just in time, the barrel of the gun going through the infected's red-eye as he raised it - the poor fucker impaling itself on the nine-milimeter. Jeremy pulled the trigger desperately, sending three rounds straight into it's cranium. He pulled the gore-covered firearm from the skull of the infected as he felt the one on the ground grab at his leg. He started crawling backwards, barely shoving the dead one off of him before the red-eyed soldier had gotten it's jaw around his foot. He pulled the trigger, sending a round through it's shoulder, then another through the top of it's head. He kicked it's lifeless corpse away with his foot, hurriedly crawling over to his wife. He weakly grabbed her hand, frantically getting to his feet. He didn't have time to grieve, the adrenaline of the situation gripping him - he simply fired five rounds, killing both infected quickly before tossing the firearm away, scooping his wife up in his arms. She was bitten a number of times, barely breathing - the color running from her face almost as quick as the blood seeped from her wounds. Jeremy was covered in blood and gore, limping his way off with his wife in his arms, tears strewn down his face and an almost-fear paralyzed little girl at his heel.
They got out of the base, barely. It was only then Jeremy registered what had occurred.
He froze.
His wife stopped breathing.
He was gripped by fear, adrenaline and pure and utter panic. His crying daughter droned out the sounds of chaos they had barely escaped from as his mind rushed a mile a minute. He set his wife on the ground, kneeling next to her alongside his daughter - who was hugging her lifeless corpse, begging her to wake up. He simply knelt there, staring down at the love of his life, frozen in place, his heart and mind racing. He was woken from his trance when she 'woke up', neither he or his daughter realising the implications. Caroline ripped Abigail's throat out before Jeremy even had time to react, a mere scream escaping his lungs as he caved his wife's head in with a rock. He rushed to his daughter's side, wrapping his hand around her throat - squeezing tight in an effort to stop the bleeding, clearly not caring if he was literally strangling her or not. Her blood gushed out fast, the color from her skin escaping quicker than his wife's did. His eyes darted around her terrified, agonised face as she ceased to live - and all he could do was beg. Beg God not to take his family, beg her not to die.
Begging doesn't get a man anywhere.
========== DELUGE ==========
The first three years, looking back, are little more than a blur in Jeremy's mind. That night, though, he remembers like yesterday. Nothing could stop him remembering every intricate detail every time he closed his eyes, nothing could stop him begging for the vivid memories to stop. He had wandered around in the months since the base, finding himself up North, near Raleigh for a time - trying to go it alone, like he knew his wife would have wanted. He fell in with a community up there, running into the city for supplies on an almost daily basis, trying to support the dozens of survivors in the camp - his mind wandering numb in a land of misery and shit. It didn't last long.
When that place fell, there was another, then another, then another. There was a seemingly endless string of survivor communities popping up, each lasting shorter than the one before. Everywhere he went, he saw death, misery, nothing but chaos. He was found on the roadside by a group of marauders three years in, brewing the shittiest coffee he had ever tasted over a campfire. They tried robbing him, but he wouldn't give up. He sipped at his coffee, staring dead at the cup. He asked them politely to kill him, get it all over with - but they took him in instead. Their leader, Mitch, took a liking to Jeremy. He ran with them for six years, Mitch dying after two, Louis taking over, Louis dying, Bill taking the reins. It was survival, and he found something he could call home in the gang. Jeremy did some truly bad shit while running with them, but the personable leader Mitch justified it to him at the very start of his tenure as a marauding bandit - if it wasn't them, it'd be someone worse, or someone worse than that, so on so forth. He lived life on auto-pilot, living day to day for the gang, working himself up to be a trusted right-hand for every single one of the leaders following Mitch's demise. He learned to kill, he learned to fight - he learned to survive.
It came to an end in the winter of '24, the gang fractured and turned on each other over their latest loot. Jeremy was caught in the middle with his own group of loyalists - four of his closest friends who had been there from the very start, the new prospects padding out either of the other sides. Jeremy tried to form a rational peace treaty, put all this shit behind them and carry on as they had been, but neither side was interested. They wanted blood.
Blood they would get.
They were sat at a table, Jeremy in the middle looking between the two opposing prospects - some fucker by name of Joe from Tampa on the more radical side, his old friend Bill on the other. They hated each other's guts - this much was clear. Jeremy tried to negotiate, find some middle ground, keep the peace and keep the gang alive, but none of it worked. Jeremy reached boiling point around three hours into the pointless negiotations, where he unsheathed his knife, driving it straight into Joe's hand - pinning him to the table. He twisted the blade, rupturing several of the arteries in the hand as he sprung to his feet, pulling the machete from his sling. He drove it into the Florida man's neck, splitting his neck and damn near taking his head off. Joe's gang looked on in astonishment as Jeremy slaughtered their leader - clear there would be a battle.
Nobody expected what would happen next, least of all Bill - one of the originals.
As he sat there with a grin on his face, laughing, he looked up at Jeremy. They shared a glance only for a split second as the big angry fucker known as Jeremy pulled the machete from Joe's neck, driving it straight into Bill's eye. Both factions looked on in horror as either of the leadership figures were fucking slaughtered by the apparent right hand man, loyal to the gang and Mitch's original vision as he was. Guns were drawn, knives, bats, swords. Jeremy pulled the Machete from Bill's eye, taking a step back. He looked between either group as he wiped the blood from the blade off on his sleeve. He turned around, each group being too afraid or possessing too much respect for the man to kill him in such a way. Jeremy made way for the door, hearing the two sides charge at each other as he stepped out of the warehouse into the camp. The sounds of battle dominated the open air as he was greeted by his friends. They shook hands and went their seperate ways, Jeremy going it alone - taking a bag of supplies along with a good portion of the loot with him on his journey north, having heard a rumor the red-eyes couldn't function as well in the cold. He wanted peace, a normal life, something like that. He wanted to settle down.
He got his wish in New York state. He wandered through the barrens after the new year, in the spring of '26, nine years after the red-eye had destroyed the world as they knew it. He found a group of wanderers whom he had strongly considered murdering for supplies for his journey to Canada, but he decided against it in the spirit of turning a new leaf. He introduced himself, making idle conversation with the wasters about the state of the region and the rumors about Canada. They didn't know anything about Canada, but they offered to take him back to their settlement - Monroe. He went with them, the settlement's ins and outs being observed by Jeremy, he was offered room and board for the night along with trade for his journey.
Jeremy has served Monroe however it needs for the past three years for the price of two pieces of bread and a conversation, choosing it over a far-fetched rumor, living peacefully and mostly keeping to himself - serving as a stalwart ally to the townsfolk in time of conflict on numerous occasions, showing great skill at arms.
Would you like your character to start with any items?
box of matches and a machete.
Would you like to be placed in a random group at the start of the lore?
No
Is your character a member of a group application?
No
Jeremy Sykes
I Agree
Yes
Has this character appeared in a previous lore?
No
Age
41
Blood Type
O+
Personality
Jeremy is typically rational, level headed with an aura of wisdom and collected confidence. Inside, he is a mess of past trauma waiting to surface, having to battle with it every day to stay in control. He isn't outwardly friendly, often suspicious of those he does not know due to his wealth of experience in the wastes, though will typically treat everyone he meets with a respect he would expect to be returned - even if he's about to kill them.
Character Motivations
Jeremy wants to see his people prosper, to atone for his past. He seeks a fresh start, settling in Monroe to achieve it.
Physical Appearance
Jeremy stands at a height of six foot with a physically athletic build, clearly tempered by over a decade living in the apocalypse. His scruffy brown hair is accompanied by a similarly unkempt beard of the same color, his tired brown eyes completing the picture. His skin is a shade paler than most, with several visible blemishes and faded wounds indicative of a warrior's lifestyle this past decade.
He carries himself with a rugged demeanor, telling of his experience and lifestyle. The skin on his hands is rough and course, his fingertips home to no prints, but faded burn scars.
Character Image Link
Mechanical Occupation
Veteran or something. Whatever an ex-bandit would be.
In-Character Occupation
Whatever Monroe needs him to be. Formerly a History teacher at a High School in inner city Fayetteville.
Biography
========== PRELUDE ==========
Jeremy Sykes was born in Fayetteville, North Carolina approximately 29 years before the Oculurubrus - red eye, as it is known - took hold. He went through the motions in a relatively large family, two parents, two brothers and a sister. He worked his way through school and several low-paying jobs, eventually finding his muse as a history teacher, living a relatively normal life. At the age of 20, he found the love of his life in a woman named Caroline, marrying and having twins. His daughter, Abigail, and a son, Logan with her within a years of meeting. By the time red-eye rolled around and ruined everyone's lives, Jeremy was in a stable position with a loving family all around him. It didn't last long enough.
Loss came before the outbreak for Jeremy and his family in the form of his infant son's leukemia. Grief stricken as he was, Jeremy made his son's last days the best of both of their lives, taking his family on a cross-country road trip to see all the greats - Disneyland and Universal his son's favourite, the Grand Canyon coming in close. Logan never let his illness get him down, remaining a sporty, bright, active child who had a good sense of humor. It crushed Jeremy to bury his infant son, feeling cheated by god for the undeserved loss. It was a hard time for him and his family, but they persevered as they always had - but the bad times would only get worse.
========== LIFE'S RICH TAPESTRY ==========
They were all asleep when the loudspeakers of a military convoy woke them, driving up and down the street, soldiers banged on every door. They were given five minutes to grab their things and board a truck to Fort Bragg - no more, no less. Jeremy hurried his family along on the orders of a soldier, and they climbed into the back of a truck along with several of the street's families - all in a state of half-dress, duress, and exhaustion. The route was not calm, machine-gun fire ringing off constantly from the lightly armored vehicles in escort of the convoy, dozens of bodies lining the streets in their wake, the families in the back of the dozen or so trucks shivering in fear - their protectors now seemingly their captors, slaughtering innocents in the hundreds on their way to Fort Bragg. Explosions, sirens, screams and the stampede of hundreds of panicked feet rushing their way through the streets of Fayetteville in an effort to escape the 'innocents' that had been a seemingly endless tidal wave of assailment on the convoy were audible throughout the city, the pitch-black of the early morning offset by failing street lamps and headlights, fires and the flashing red and blue of sirens.
Jeremy could do nothing but reassure his family, holding them through the journey as they were packed like sardines in the back of the moving truck. He, himself, was nothing short of terrified.
The journey was halted numerous times to circumnavigate the packed highways, traffic jams and pileups on every other route out of Fayetteville - those they could nto get around, they plowed through. These soldiers had their orders, along with dozens of other similar convoys designed to evacuate the city in times of emergency. Jeremy and his family were in the fourth truck from the front, so they were saved when the driver of the fifth truck suddenly passed out, veering off and flipping his vehicle - killing most of those inside, the rest of the convoy travelling at breakneck speeds getting themselves into a terrible accident due to. It later became apparent the driver was suffering late-stage symptoms, having been bitten at some point - obviously discounting it. Jeremy could do nothing but listen to the screams as the driver re-animated, tearing the man in shotgun apart, watching as they climbed from the smashed windscreens - being put down by the drivers and escorts in his own truck. The soldiers did what they could to save the occupants of the truck, but it was too late for most. They were packed in even tighter with the wounded, the screams of agony drowning out the traffic and gunfire of the outside world - the convoy back on the move, most of the vehicles having been undamaged, but the occupants injured.
Fort Bragg was alive. Convoys returned on seemingly ten minute intervals, families with two children and up being prioritised over those without. Screening ensued, Jeremy and his family being pulled out of the truck and put through invasive swab tests to check for any signs of the 'virus'. They were clean. They were given quarter in a barrack with several other families. Jeremy pushed their camp beds together when his daughter started crying, sleeping with her between him and his wife - holding her in his arms. The fear gripped him and his family, uncertain of the events that had transpired that night, and the sheer uncertainty of their futures.
Life at the base didn't last long. In the week they were there, fewer and fewer convoys returned each day, the base being put on total lockdown. Rations were strick, one meal a day per person. The city's burning skyline was visible from the fence, the roaming, shambling infected just a few hundred feet from safety. The air was thick with tension, the soldiers and civilians alike fearful for themselves and relatives, mass desertion of soldiers from their posts daily driving the situation to breaking point. The base was becoming less and less secure each passing hour, and this would reach it's climax on the eighth day from outbreak.
In the middle of the night, the fence came down. Then the barracks were swarmed, and the people outside were slaughtered in the hundreds. Jeremy was in a panic, trying to locate his family - he rushed back to their quarter, finding them huddled in a corner, shaking with fear. He grabbed his wife by the hand, carrying Abigail, frantically rushing for the door. They hastily made their way out of the barrack, down the stairwell and out into the base, where chaos reigned. Everywhere around them, screams, gunfire - nothing but death and confusion. Running for a vehicle, his wife tripped and fell. He turned on his heel at the sound, rushing back to help them - but it was too late. Far too late. The infected were closer than they thought, and they were already on top of them by the time he got close. He dropped Abigail and rushed to her aid, tackling one of the infected on his wife to the ground - pummeling it's face with his bare hand. He rolled off of it as one of the others took a liking, frantically searching around himself for a weapon to use. He grabbed the Beretta from the infected on the ground's holster - a soldier, he hadn't noticed, trying to figure out how the firearm worked in a panic. He found the safety just in time, the barrel of the gun going through the infected's red-eye as he raised it - the poor fucker impaling itself on the nine-milimeter. Jeremy pulled the trigger desperately, sending three rounds straight into it's cranium. He pulled the gore-covered firearm from the skull of the infected as he felt the one on the ground grab at his leg. He started crawling backwards, barely shoving the dead one off of him before the red-eyed soldier had gotten it's jaw around his foot. He pulled the trigger, sending a round through it's shoulder, then another through the top of it's head. He kicked it's lifeless corpse away with his foot, hurriedly crawling over to his wife. He weakly grabbed her hand, frantically getting to his feet. He didn't have time to grieve, the adrenaline of the situation gripping him - he simply fired five rounds, killing both infected quickly before tossing the firearm away, scooping his wife up in his arms. She was bitten a number of times, barely breathing - the color running from her face almost as quick as the blood seeped from her wounds. Jeremy was covered in blood and gore, limping his way off with his wife in his arms, tears strewn down his face and an almost-fear paralyzed little girl at his heel.
They got out of the base, barely. It was only then Jeremy registered what had occurred.
He froze.
His wife stopped breathing.
He was gripped by fear, adrenaline and pure and utter panic. His crying daughter droned out the sounds of chaos they had barely escaped from as his mind rushed a mile a minute. He set his wife on the ground, kneeling next to her alongside his daughter - who was hugging her lifeless corpse, begging her to wake up. He simply knelt there, staring down at the love of his life, frozen in place, his heart and mind racing. He was woken from his trance when she 'woke up', neither he or his daughter realising the implications. Caroline ripped Abigail's throat out before Jeremy even had time to react, a mere scream escaping his lungs as he caved his wife's head in with a rock. He rushed to his daughter's side, wrapping his hand around her throat - squeezing tight in an effort to stop the bleeding, clearly not caring if he was literally strangling her or not. Her blood gushed out fast, the color from her skin escaping quicker than his wife's did. His eyes darted around her terrified, agonised face as she ceased to live - and all he could do was beg. Beg God not to take his family, beg her not to die.
Begging doesn't get a man anywhere.
========== DELUGE ==========
The first three years, looking back, are little more than a blur in Jeremy's mind. That night, though, he remembers like yesterday. Nothing could stop him remembering every intricate detail every time he closed his eyes, nothing could stop him begging for the vivid memories to stop. He had wandered around in the months since the base, finding himself up North, near Raleigh for a time - trying to go it alone, like he knew his wife would have wanted. He fell in with a community up there, running into the city for supplies on an almost daily basis, trying to support the dozens of survivors in the camp - his mind wandering numb in a land of misery and shit. It didn't last long.
When that place fell, there was another, then another, then another. There was a seemingly endless string of survivor communities popping up, each lasting shorter than the one before. Everywhere he went, he saw death, misery, nothing but chaos. He was found on the roadside by a group of marauders three years in, brewing the shittiest coffee he had ever tasted over a campfire. They tried robbing him, but he wouldn't give up. He sipped at his coffee, staring dead at the cup. He asked them politely to kill him, get it all over with - but they took him in instead. Their leader, Mitch, took a liking to Jeremy. He ran with them for six years, Mitch dying after two, Louis taking over, Louis dying, Bill taking the reins. It was survival, and he found something he could call home in the gang. Jeremy did some truly bad shit while running with them, but the personable leader Mitch justified it to him at the very start of his tenure as a marauding bandit - if it wasn't them, it'd be someone worse, or someone worse than that, so on so forth. He lived life on auto-pilot, living day to day for the gang, working himself up to be a trusted right-hand for every single one of the leaders following Mitch's demise. He learned to kill, he learned to fight - he learned to survive.
It came to an end in the winter of '24, the gang fractured and turned on each other over their latest loot. Jeremy was caught in the middle with his own group of loyalists - four of his closest friends who had been there from the very start, the new prospects padding out either of the other sides. Jeremy tried to form a rational peace treaty, put all this shit behind them and carry on as they had been, but neither side was interested. They wanted blood.
Blood they would get.
They were sat at a table, Jeremy in the middle looking between the two opposing prospects - some fucker by name of Joe from Tampa on the more radical side, his old friend Bill on the other. They hated each other's guts - this much was clear. Jeremy tried to negotiate, find some middle ground, keep the peace and keep the gang alive, but none of it worked. Jeremy reached boiling point around three hours into the pointless negiotations, where he unsheathed his knife, driving it straight into Joe's hand - pinning him to the table. He twisted the blade, rupturing several of the arteries in the hand as he sprung to his feet, pulling the machete from his sling. He drove it into the Florida man's neck, splitting his neck and damn near taking his head off. Joe's gang looked on in astonishment as Jeremy slaughtered their leader - clear there would be a battle.
Nobody expected what would happen next, least of all Bill - one of the originals.
As he sat there with a grin on his face, laughing, he looked up at Jeremy. They shared a glance only for a split second as the big angry fucker known as Jeremy pulled the machete from Joe's neck, driving it straight into Bill's eye. Both factions looked on in horror as either of the leadership figures were fucking slaughtered by the apparent right hand man, loyal to the gang and Mitch's original vision as he was. Guns were drawn, knives, bats, swords. Jeremy pulled the Machete from Bill's eye, taking a step back. He looked between either group as he wiped the blood from the blade off on his sleeve. He turned around, each group being too afraid or possessing too much respect for the man to kill him in such a way. Jeremy made way for the door, hearing the two sides charge at each other as he stepped out of the warehouse into the camp. The sounds of battle dominated the open air as he was greeted by his friends. They shook hands and went their seperate ways, Jeremy going it alone - taking a bag of supplies along with a good portion of the loot with him on his journey north, having heard a rumor the red-eyes couldn't function as well in the cold. He wanted peace, a normal life, something like that. He wanted to settle down.
He got his wish in New York state. He wandered through the barrens after the new year, in the spring of '26, nine years after the red-eye had destroyed the world as they knew it. He found a group of wanderers whom he had strongly considered murdering for supplies for his journey to Canada, but he decided against it in the spirit of turning a new leaf. He introduced himself, making idle conversation with the wasters about the state of the region and the rumors about Canada. They didn't know anything about Canada, but they offered to take him back to their settlement - Monroe. He went with them, the settlement's ins and outs being observed by Jeremy, he was offered room and board for the night along with trade for his journey.
Jeremy has served Monroe however it needs for the past three years for the price of two pieces of bread and a conversation, choosing it over a far-fetched rumor, living peacefully and mostly keeping to himself - serving as a stalwart ally to the townsfolk in time of conflict on numerous occasions, showing great skill at arms.
Would you like your character to start with any items?
box of matches and a machete.
Would you like to be placed in a random group at the start of the lore?
No
Is your character a member of a group application?
No
Last edited:
