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Description

REMNANTS of HUMANITY WRITING APP

Faction: Survivors

Name: Preacher

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Sexual Preference: Unknown

Race: Caucasian

--------------------------

Appearance:

•             Head:

    o             Hat: Black wide brim cowboy hat

    o             Hair: Dark brown

    o             Eyes: Hazel

    o             Face: Black sunglasses

•             Body Description: 6’ Tall, pale skin

    o             Upper Body: Long black preacher’s coat, black shirt and tie.

    o             Lower Body: Black suit pants

    o             Feet: Suit shoes

Personality: Preacher is possibly the most optimistic survivor around, while not very strong or stealthy, he makes up for it with his unfathomable courage and willpower. He’s also very friendly, has a likeable demeanor, and very helpful to those in need, and has a heart of gold.

Quirks: chews the inside of his cheek when nervous.

Back story: When everything was happening, Preacher took refuge in his church in the countryside with his flock. Many people came in search of help and aid, and being the kind soul he was, let them inside. Later on the church would be attacked, he fought valiantly to save and protect those he kept inside, only to fail and was forced to flee into the wilds. Not much is known about what happened during the year he was hidden away. Only that he came out of hiding, and joined the Survivors faction.

--------------------------

Stats: 0 points to spend.

Physique: 4/10

Stealth: 1/10

Stamina: 4/10

Intelligence: 6/10

Willpower (mental state): 10/10

------------------------

Accessories:

Armor – N/A

Hands: Black Gloves

Head: N/A

Mask: N/A (Has a Gasmask but doesn’t wear it unless there are spores present)

Weapons -

Primary Weapon: Cross Staff – (A long staff with a cross on the end)

Secondary Weapon: 9mm Beretta

Extra inventory (Not including items):

Slot 1: Bible

Slot 2:

Slot 3:

Slot 4:

Slot 5:

Ammo: 25 Ammo

Cans of food: 10 Cans

Respect: 0/2500

Writing example prompts:

  It was a dreary and cold morning in the trailer park, rain fell from above and collected in puddles on the ground. The trailers were shoddy, left and abandoned by a few during the end of days. The fences surrounding the park were broken down, with a few remaining upright. No infected wandered around, surprisingly enough. In fact, it was as if they avoided the park, the reasons were unknown to many why.

  Sitting on the steps of one of the trailers, was a man. He was short, old, and had a long graying beard and wore tattered clothing. His face was weathered, having seen much throughout his life. Rain fell down onto roof above him, falling onto the ground in front of him. Next to him was a young girl, who clutched onto the man’s arm with a sleep expression on her face.

  Both were family, and had sought out shelter and food in the park, only to find the former rather than the latter.

  “Grandpa,” The girl moaned. “I’m hungry.”

  The older man put an arm around the girl. “I know, I know.” He sighed, wishing they could have found some food.

  “Hello there.”

Pulling out a gun and aiming it at the newcomer, the man eyed the person standing in front of him. He was tall, very tall, and wore black clothing. Around his neck, he saw the collar priests’ use. The man himself looked like a priest in every aspect, right down to the clothing. “Who’re you?”

  The man smiled as the rain fell off of his hat. “My name is Preacher.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand. “I’m a Priest, if that much wasn’t obvious.”

  The girl shook as the man looked at his hand, hesitantly putting his gun down and taking it in his own and giving it a pitiful shake. “Jared…”

  Preacher smiled and eyed the two of them, still smiling as he asked, “if I may ask…” the man started, tipping his hat back a little. “I take it you two are looking for shelter?”

  Jared hesitantly nodded. “Maybe, but what’s it to ya?” He asked, a slight growl in his throat. He didn’t like the looks of this man, nor the staff that was on his back. Who the heck walks around as a fucking Priest?

  Preacher however took off his backpack slowly, and unzipped it. Jared turned his gun on Preacher, keeping his gun hammer locked back. What was he up to? Jared watched as Preacher reached into his pack, and to his surprise, pulled out a can of food. A can of baked beans, Preacher held it out to Jared. “I can tell the two of you are starving, and I have plenty of food to give you.”

  Jared and his granddaughter looked at the can of food, the young girl hungry just looking at it, Jared however… wasn’t excited. He pointed his gun at the man’s head, shaking. “What are you playing at?” He asked, a threatening tone to his voice.

  Preacher only smiled, staring down the barrel of the gun with nary any fear in his eyes. “You two must be starving, I can tell by your cheek bones and your ribs,” He held out his backpack, the clanking of canned food within. “Take this, I don’t need it and I’m sure I can find more.”

  Staring at the bag, Jared slowly grabbed onto it and pulled it away before looking inside. Indeed he saw nothing but canned food, can openers and even bottles of water. Looking back at Preacher, he asked once again, “why are you doing this?” He asked, the unexpected generosity making him shake.

  Preacher only smiled, standing up straight. “Because you two needed these supplies a lot more then I do.” He told them. “In this world, we need to help each other, not pull apart.” Another smile, “I’ll leave you two alone now, maybe I will see you again.”

  Both Jared and his grandchild watched as the priest walked away, disappearing into the downpour of rain.

- - -

  Preacher had walked away from the park, passing by what looked like a bar, garage a small motel and a gas station situated on the side of the road in a sort of mini-mall. No cars were sitting in the lot, the windows were left broken and wide open, the doors all broken into and the sign was not lit up. The bar was abandoned, broken bottles littered the inside and stools.

  He saw a sign out front that read Hope Tavern and Motel. He frowned, the area looked as if a massive battle had taken place, bullet casings were scattered out front with half chewed bones and abandoned clothes. He sighed.

  Maybe this place could be rebuilt? He pondered, he lacked the manpower and supplies to rebuild, but maybe someone else will come along and do so. This place was situated near each of the factions, was near the woods and had a good place to grow food if someone had the knowhow to build. Preacher kept moving, walking past the buildings and down the road.

  The rain had let up, becoming only a drizzle now. The road ahead of him was littered with trash, with a few cars careened off into the ditch. He noted those would make good barricades if pulled out and placed properly. No one would guess it, but he was an avid gamer in his youth, and played plenty of games, most of which were strategy games and real time defense.

  Quite odd wouldn’t you say?

  He kept walking, passing by a bus that had its tires shot out, the front covered in blood and the windows shattered. He had remembered hearing tell of a group of survivors that had taken a bus from the city and used it to escape. It was crazy to go into the city, but they did it anyway. To save the factions, he smiled, happy to know that even two separate factions can do something together for the betterment of the survival of everyone.

  Eventually Preacher came across another small gas station, the front was boarded up and the door was wide open. A police car sat out front, the door open. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, holding it at waist level as he calmly walked over. The smell of iron reached his nostrils, prompting him to scowl. The smell of blood was strong. He ignored it however, moving cautiously into the station.

  Inside he was greeted with the sight of empty shelves, torn posters and the smell of death. Preacher moved inside of the station regardless of the smell. He looked through the shelves, pushing aside empty bottles, cans and bags of food. A sigh escaped him as he found nothing. “This place has been looted already.” He noted, just like every other place.

  Turning around, he made his way over to the counter, and looked behind it. On the floor he saw a pool of dried blood, and an arm clutching onto a knife. The blood trail led behind Preacher, and to a room, one he didn’t plan on going into anytime soon. He looked beneath the counter, and to his luck, found two cans of food, both of which he grabbed and shoved into his coat pockets.

  Another sigh, “being charitable can be a pain sometimes.” He noted, turning around and leaving the station, heading down the road back to his faction.

Description

REMNANTS of HUMANITY WRITING APP

Faction: Survivors

Name: Preacher

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Sexual Preference: Unknown

Race: Caucasian

--------------------------

Appearance:

•             Head:

    o             Hat: Black wide brim cowboy hat

    o             Hair: Dark brown

    o             Eyes: Hazel

    o             Face: Black sunglasses

•             Body Description: 6’ Tall, pale skin

    o             Upper Body: Long black preacher’s coat, black shirt and tie.

    o             Lower Body: Black suit pants

    o             Feet: Suit shoes

Personality: Preacher is possibly the most optimistic survivor around, while not very strong or stealthy, he makes up for it with his unfathomable courage and willpower. He’s also very friendly, has a likeable demeanor, and very helpful to those in need, and has a heart of gold.

Quirks: chews the inside of his cheek when nervous.

Back story: When everything was happening, Preacher took refuge in his church in the countryside with his flock. Many people came in search of help and aid, and being the kind soul he was, let them inside. Later on the church would be attacked, he fought valiantly to save and protect those he kept inside, only to fail and was forced to flee into the wilds. Not much is known about what happened during the year he was hidden away. Only that he came out of hiding, and joined the Survivors faction.

--------------------------

Stats: 0 points to spend.

Physique: 4/10

Stealth: 1/10

Stamina: 4/10

Intelligence: 6/10

Willpower (mental state): 10/10

------------------------

Accessories:

Armor – N/A

Hands: Black Gloves

Head: N/A

Mask: N/A (Has a Gasmask but doesn’t wear it unless there are spores present)

Weapons -

Primary Weapon: Cross Staff – (A long staff with a cross on the end)

Secondary Weapon: 9mm Beretta

Extra inventory (Not including items):

Slot 1: Bible

Slot 2:

Slot 3:

Slot 4:

Slot 5:

Ammo: 25 Ammo

Cans of food: 10 Cans

Respect: 0/2500

Writing example prompts:

  It was a dreary and cold morning in the trailer park, rain fell from above and collected in puddles on the ground. The trailers were shoddy, left and abandoned by a few during the end of days. The fences surrounding the park were broken down, with a few remaining upright. No infected wandered around, surprisingly enough. In fact, it was as if they avoided the park, the reasons were unknown to many why.

  Sitting on the steps of one of the trailers, was a man. He was short, old, and had a long graying beard and wore tattered clothing. His face was weathered, having seen much throughout his life. Rain fell down onto roof above him, falling onto the ground in front of him. Next to him was a young girl, who clutched onto the man’s arm with a sleep expression on her face.

  Both were family, and had sought out shelter and food in the park, only to find the former rather than the latter.

  “Grandpa,” The girl moaned. “I’m hungry.”

  The older man put an arm around the girl. “I know, I know.” He sighed, wishing they could have found some food.

  “Hello there.”

Pulling out a gun and aiming it at the newcomer, the man eyed the person standing in front of him. He was tall, very tall, and wore black clothing. Around his neck, he saw the collar priests’ use. The man himself looked like a priest in every aspect, right down to the clothing. “Who’re you?”

  The man smiled as the rain fell off of his hat. “My name is Preacher.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand. “I’m a Priest, if that much wasn’t obvious.”

  The girl shook as the man looked at his hand, hesitantly putting his gun down and taking it in his own and giving it a pitiful shake. “Jared…”

  Preacher smiled and eyed the two of them, still smiling as he asked, “if I may ask…” the man started, tipping his hat back a little. “I take it you two are looking for shelter?”

  Jared hesitantly nodded. “Maybe, but what’s it to ya?” He asked, a slight growl in his throat. He didn’t like the looks of this man, nor the staff that was on his back. Who the heck walks around as a fucking Priest?

  Preacher however took off his backpack slowly, and unzipped it. Jared turned his gun on Preacher, keeping his gun hammer locked back. What was he up to? Jared watched as Preacher reached into his pack, and to his surprise, pulled out a can of food. A can of baked beans, Preacher held it out to Jared. “I can tell the two of you are starving, and I have plenty of food to give you.”

  Jared and his granddaughter looked at the can of food, the young girl hungry just looking at it, Jared however… wasn’t excited. He pointed his gun at the man’s head, shaking. “What are you playing at?” He asked, a threatening tone to his voice.

  Preacher only smiled, staring down the barrel of the gun with nary any fear in his eyes. “You two must be starving, I can tell by your cheek bones and your ribs,” He held out his backpack, the clanking of canned food within. “Take this, I don’t need it and I’m sure I can find more.”

  Staring at the bag, Jared slowly grabbed onto it and pulled it away before looking inside. Indeed he saw nothing but canned food, can openers and even bottles of water. Looking back at Preacher, he asked once again, “why are you doing this?” He asked, the unexpected generosity making him shake.

  Preacher only smiled, standing up straight. “Because you two needed these supplies a lot more then I do.” He told them. “In this world, we need to help each other, not pull apart.” Another smile, “I’ll leave you two alone now, maybe I will see you again.”

  Both Jared and his grandchild watched as the priest walked away, disappearing into the downpour of rain.

- - -

  Preacher had walked away from the park, passing by what looked like a bar, garage a small motel and a gas station situated on the side of the road in a sort of mini-mall. No cars were sitting in the lot, the windows were left broken and wide open, the doors all broken into and the sign was not lit up. The bar was abandoned, broken bottles littered the inside and stools.

  He saw a sign out front that read Hope Tavern and Motel. He frowned, the area looked as if a massive battle had taken place, bullet casings were scattered out front with half chewed bones and abandoned clothes. He sighed.

  Maybe this place could be rebuilt? He pondered, he lacked the manpower and supplies to rebuild, but maybe someone else will come along and do so. This place was situated near each of the factions, was near the woods and had a good place to grow food if someone had the knowhow to build. Preacher kept moving, walking past the buildings and down the road.

  The rain had let up, becoming only a drizzle now. The road ahead of him was littered with trash, with a few cars careened off into the ditch. He noted those would make good barricades if pulled out and placed properly. No one would guess it, but he was an avid gamer in his youth, and played plenty of games, most of which were strategy games and real time defense.

  Quite odd wouldn’t you say?

  He kept walking, passing by a bus that had its tires shot out, the front covered in blood and the windows shattered. He had remembered hearing tell of a group of survivors that had taken a bus from the city and used it to escape. It was crazy to go into the city, but they did it anyway. To save the factions, he smiled, happy to know that even two separate factions can do something together for the betterment of the survival of everyone.

  Eventually Preacher came across another small gas station, the front was boarded up and the door was wide open. A police car sat out front, the door open. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, holding it at waist level as he calmly walked over. The smell of iron reached his nostrils, prompting him to scowl. The smell of blood was strong. He ignored it however, moving cautiously into the station.

  Inside he was greeted with the sight of empty shelves, torn posters and the smell of death. Preacher moved inside of the station regardless of the smell. He looked through the shelves, pushing aside empty bottles, cans and bags of food. A sigh escaped him as he found nothing. “This place has been looted already.” He noted, just like every other place.

  Turning around, he made his way over to the counter, and looked behind it. On the floor he saw a pool of dried blood, and an arm clutching onto a knife. The blood trail led behind Preacher, and to a room, one he didn’t plan on going into anytime soon. He looked beneath the counter, and to his luck, found two cans of food, both of which he grabbed and shoved into his coat pockets.

  Another sigh, “being charitable can be a pain sometimes.” He noted, turning around and leaving the station, heading down the road back to his faction.