The Return of Jumpy's Haven
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Lady Blade


"Look at the fleshy nuisances… free, alive… so damn sickeningly peaceful," a Demon hissed, red hellfire eyes burning with fiery hatred, shadowed tendrils rolled off his beastly inhuman form from his volcanic rock perch.

"They should come down here… where the real party is," another demon cackled, shadowy clawed hands clapping delightfully.

"Yeah, yeah! Show them the power that they can't have!"

"I'd rather feast on their flesh," a yellow eyed demon growled savagely, "devour them all, too long have our kin been sealed by the ansestors of those puny little humans...…" he punched his fist right into the volcanic wall, which crumped under its power. Lava spilled out and the demon hissed, spreading suffocating black wings to dart to another perch.

"How right you are Dogarius," another demon murmured, pale blue eyes staring coldly up at the middle plane… "Humans don't deserve to live for their crime against the shadows… all these millennium, trapped here… no longer."

"Lucifer wouldn't allow-"

"Lucifer doesn't have power over us," another demon cut off, snarling up a fit, he stalked back and forth like a caged animal.

"We'll make the descendants pay! We'll feast on their flesh! Bath in their blood!"

"... Hell Break?"

"Of course we're breaking out of here you moronic idiot!"

That night – all hell literally broke loose. Hell revolted, the gates broken, the screams of humans echoed throughout the night as demons possessed the dead… and rose as corpses of devastating destruction.

The Zombie Apocalypse has started....


Welcome to Little Hangman Village, literally in the middle of nowhere despite it's fairly large population. Nearest cities are thousands of miles on the other side of the country. Surrounded by desert, large uprising hills, and canyons…. The place is minus zero at night and scorching hot during the day.

What most don't realize – Little Hangman Village is the Hellmouth. Every night demons pour into the village – and only the toughest have endured – and are still enduring…In this town live the descendants of those who destroyed the Demon revolting last time – nearly a millennium ago. Now it's time for the Descendants to pick up their Ancestors mantle.

(This town is a mix between old western and city urban style – cars and trains (though those are pretty much destroyed) are floating around the village, farms and such do exist, skys the limit. Be creative – though the tallest building is the church/town centre.)

---------------------- About the Zombies ----------------------

They are demons who possess the dead; as such they contain their demonic power: merging in the shadows even in a physical zombie form, becoming all but invisible as they hide behind the shadows of an ally-way – or perhaps the shadows behind that door….

How do they die? Well the demonic essence in the blood of the dead is ignitable – slash the zombie open and throw a lighter in – Ka-boomy! Problem is – they heal… very quickly. Better slash you them open, till they can't even move. (No – guns are not going to cause much damage, and considering this is centred in a small country town in the middle of nowhere – your character is gonna have to be in the military to own a gun that does considerable damage to a body hosting a demon.)

Don't get bitten while you're at it! Their bite is infectious, it'll kill you – and you'll rise as a zombie yourself…

Another problem – even animals can get infected, rabid, untamed and mutated… watch out for them!

Remember these words – better safe than sorry. If you do not think it's dead, then kill it. If it is dead, kill it!

But don't worry! Ignitable demonic blood isn't their only weakness – sunlight makes them weaker, slower… and dumber. As a result these Zombies have quickly learnt to retreat into the shadows when the sun rises… and come out for the blood bath under the moonlight.




Your destiny is to save the world by battling for survival; finding the entrance to hell's mouth, battle your way into hell and reseal the broken gates… before the demonic Zombies find a way to cross the country and destroy human kind…

Good luck with that.

-------------------------0o0- Character Sheet -0o0-------------------------






Choice of weapon:


8/28/2012 . Edited 8/28/2012 #1

(Pssst, you forgot to mention how much time has passed since the zombie outbreak ;)

Name: Rosie Wright

Age: 14


Though you can't see it, her skirt has hidden pockets that she keeps matches and lighters in for setting the zombies on fire.

Personality: Rose at first appears to be a very happy young girl with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. But Rosie is not all that she appears. One wrong word or action and this sweet and innocent little girl grows a wide, unsettling Cheshire cat grin and an insane light to her otherwise beautiful blue eyes. Generally happy, bubbly, and enthusiastic at all she does, over the top is something she doesn't understand and so will go there often, if not always. Unusually intense the little things, then carefree about the things that really matter, she can be rather annoying for the short-tempered or a source of fun/WTF-factor for those with higher levels of tolerance. Unpredictable and unstable, you never know what she's going to do or say next, or what's going to get your in trouble.

History: Rosie was born in Dublin, Ireland, to a rather wealthy couple that had pretty such everything in life, beautiful home, lots of money, and now a darling little girl. One problem with this otherwise perfect family…the little girl was insane. She would walk around the house, eyes and smile wider than normal, talking to herself, her toy rabbit, or otherwise making strange comments. Her parents bought the services of the best people in the medical industry to try and treat their daughter but to no avail. When she became 'too much' for the parents, they had her placed in a mental hospital, but that didn't last long. Rosie screamed, and screamed, and screamed, she didn't stop screaming except to take a breath, only to scream some more afterwards. The doctors suggest placing her in a care home in a small country town somewhere, far away from large groups of population were she could be freer and hopefully calmer.

The only such home willing to take in the insane girl was a man living in the small Alaskan town of Little Hangman Village. Rosie met with the man and instantly liked him, as he gave her sweets and treats to eat and answered her questions without giving her funny looks. He also said hello to Mr Floppsy, her rabbit toy, treating him like a person. Rosie was 9 when she went to live with Mr Ray. She was introduced to the people of the town, most of whom quickly learned to stay away from the girl simply because they were not capable of dealing with her. Rosie and Mr Ray lived in a cottage styled home away from the main village where Rosie spent her time playing board games with Mr Floppsy and Mr Ray, drawing, watching movies, or playing her Xbox 360. Her favourite movies were zombie and horror movies and her favourite Xbox game was Lollipop Chainsaw.

When the zombies started to come, Rosie felt like she was inside a mixture between her favourite games and movies, instantly finding herself in need of a weapon. Going out to the back shed, she found the chainsaw that Mr Ray owned and claimed it as her weapon, running most of the way from her home to the town. When she got there, Rosie used the chainsaw with terrifying skill against the zombies, learning from watching another villager that she had to burn the zombies to kill them. When the first few waves were over and the sun had risen, she stopped fighting and started walking around the town. At this time, zombies were still coming out in the sun as they didn't realise just how much it effected them, as such the girl couldn't tell the difference between zombies, and the villagers. She killed 10 people on the first day, including Mr Ray, and set them all of fire. She learned over the next few nights –after many more murders- that zombies didn't come out during the day, and so she stoped killing during the day, spending the time sleeping, cleaning her chainsaw, or finding supplies. Her favourite spot is the highest point of the town –the bell tower of the church- where she spends most of her time now, her home to far away for her liking. She will sit and wait for the sun to go down and the zombies to attack every night. On the wall of the bell tower are scratches in groups of five, a tally of how many zombies Rosie has killed….there are LOTS of these.

Choice of Weapon: Rosie has a long chainsaw that is mostly black and steel silver in colour. On each side of the chainsaw's body she had painted a red rose using a stencil and spray paint; it's not very neat and flecks of red paint litter the black body but the picture is still distinguishable. The saw belt of the chain saw has two which move in sync with one another, filling the gaps between each of the other belt's blades so that there are no gaps when the chainsaw cuts. Rosie keeps the weapon squeaky clean during the day but you can bet it'll be dripping blood everywhere by the end of the night.

Other: Has a toy rabbit named Mr Floppsy which goes almost everywhere with her, usually tied to a ribbon by the neck then tied around her waist, almost like a belt. This is so she can 'keep an eye' on him, while not having to hold him, freeing her hands up for her chainsaw. She talks to him regularly and if often heard having one-sided conversations.

At night time, if you do not have candy, Rosie will try and kill you. In her mind, a person at night without candy is a zombie and must be killed.

Rosie is also very good with numbers and can keep count of how many zombies she's killed in her mind without miscounting or forgetting the number.

8/29/2012 #2
Lady Blade

(Accepted - I intended to write how much time had passed in the opening post, :P but for those who do want to know, it's a year)

8/29/2012 #3
HUNK of Chernobyl

Name: Dale Miller

Age: 68

Appearence: Dale stands at around 5'8, though he seems to stand at only around 5'6 due to having to hunch over because of his back. His build is surprisingly athletic, surprisingly so due to being 68, the only mark of age is the "beer keg" stomach that he seems to possess, also known as beer belly. Dale's once black hair had changed over the course of the ages, now his hair appears to be an extremely pale grey, though having long since retired from the military he still keeps his hair short and in regulation. He has begun to grow a beard, mostly due to lack of finding a razor in these trying times, though it's about an inch and a half in length Dale considers the facial hair too long and wishes to rid himself of it. The Vietnam Vet's dark brown eyes tend to be half closed, scanning the area for any of the undead that wish to feast on his ancient jerky-like flesh.

Clothing wise Dale wears nothing that the average man would be seen wearing in the open on any given day, oh no, over the course of the last year he's outfitted himself with equipment that he's scavenged and built to suit his needs. Wearing a set of home-made armor he tends to move rather slowly, but with added protection that's hardly an issue, thick metal plates ripped off of large vehicles designed for transporting special goods makes up a large portion of the armor, while the layer beneath is made of leather that he'd scavenged from a hobby store. Strapped to his back is a rather cumbersome motorcycle gas tank, not from one of those small motorcycles, but a rather large Harley Davidson, it's strapped to the back of his armor with the use of fine stitch work as well as leather strips. Over his head Dale wears an old-styled filtration helmet, it's basically just an old gas-mask, the eye lenses are a dark grey while the entire mask is a copper color. The whole outer layer of the armor is coated in a spray usually used to keep christmas trees from lighting on fire.

Personality: To put it simply, Dale is not a very nice person that prefers to have his peace instead of having everyone shove their way into his life. He is by no means a family man, always having preferred the joys of solitude instead of 'Blessing himself with a family', so his 68 years had been rather lonely-though he somehow enjoyed that. His opinion on the afterlife had drastically changed after he went to Vietnam, at first he had believed in a god and hoped to go to heaven someday, but in his twilight years as he got to thinking he figured that a god couldn't allow wars like that one to go on. Normally when people see Dale for the first time they believe him to be the grandfatherly type, when they get to meet him people realize that he's the complete opposite.

History: "Alright children, allow me to tell you a story of a time that I don't exactly like to remember, but I'll tell you for the sake of annoying you-just as the other elders do. I was born in a better time, the 50s, when the only real fear was of the Russians as well as those damned Mafia gangers-or whatever their called- so in other words it was a simpler time when you knew who to fear.

Around my 19th birthday I enlisted with the military, they were supposed to bring me some form of patriotic pride, but of course they failed at that. Got shipped of to 'nam with a plastic gun in my hand and a few buddies at my back. Boy, was that place hell, Vietcong around every damn corner, men hiding in the bushes, I tell you, that wasn't a place for a kid just starting to get a couple of chin hairs. But I pressed on nonetheless, I wanted to see the end of the war just as much as the next guy, day after day I killed so that I wouldn't be killed, hell, the Vietcong brought children onto the field-killed them with no remorse. They were the enemy, so that's how it was, the objective was clear 'Liberate the Country', fucking politicians.

Ah, what am I talking about, you kids like to hear about the now, with all those, mini hand-held computers, nosephones, and whatever it is you young people use. As you're all probably aware the undead came back to life, I was just as surprised as any other individual in this town, nearly jumped out of my skin when one of those guys came into my home in the middle of the night. Unloaded three full 1911 magazines into the things head-it didn't die like in the movies mind you- to no avail. Jumped out of the window and went to town, quite literally, not like going to town as in destroying the creatures before more can arise.

I've seen those movies, I know what a bite does, so instead of taking any of the things on I kept marching onward intent on getting out of town. But one of those hooligans... Butch... Briar... Putch... Something like that, set the thing on fire with a flare gun, a flare gun I tell you. I expected it to grab him and set him on fire too, but instead the creature seemed combust with the flare, so these things were weak to fire then.

My mind racing a thousand miles a minute I head to a convenience store, grab a hairspray can, and a lighter and began my treck back home. I spent a shit load of my retirement money on that house, you can bet your ass I was getting it back. Lighting any bastard stupid enough to get in my way I made it back home in one piece, it seems that even though I'm old I can still keep up with the youngsters. Getting to work I pulled out some of my old and more favorite books designed to suit the needs of every PTSD madman out there. Designing my armor and weapon I took to the streets to get myself more gasoline for when I needed to make more of my beautiful napalm. I siphoned vehicles for more gasoline, got petroleum from stores, and grabbed gas cans whenever I could. I'm pretty sure I'm set for the next 80 years, and you can bet that I'll live that long."

Choice of weapon: "My first choice of weapon was my grandpapie's shotgun, his good ol' fashioned fishing aid used to blow the brains out of many hundreds of deer... But that shit wasn't workin' so I cannibalized the gun to make traps around my home. What I use now is my pride and joy, improvised flame thrower. After some of those hooligans from the town began burning the undead to death I figured 'Why not just light them on fire from afar instead of risking my ass?'. So, that's when I got to work, digging up a few of my old books, Anarchists Cookbook, Homemade Semtex, etc, etc. Now I've got this propane tank on my back filled with homemade napalm, I spread the napalm around with this hose-usually used with weed-killer- and then the lighter beneath the barrel lights the napalm on fire. It's a simple design, but it works like a charm. Oh, and did I mention the semtex set up around my home as the universal sign for 'Fuck off'?"

Other: "Billy Joel didn't start the fire, that was my job."

9/1/2012 #4
Lady Blade

(Accepted!!!!!! :D )

9/3/2012 #5
Agent Krivins

Name: Kenneth Royce

Age: 28

Appearence: Kenneth isn't a big fellow but is capable of holding his own at 170 pounds with a height of 5'11. His toned, but small build gives him the stamina to move quickly and avoid hazards when needed. He's dark skinned with raven, black hair and a bit of a goatee to distinguish his features, making him seem older than he really is. His clothes usually consist of coal black classsic cargo pants, Bates combat boots adorning his feet, and a black T-shirt with a navy blue bomber jacket covering his upper half. A bandolier of knives surrounds his abdomin covering his right shoulder and extends down to his left hip.

Personality: An ordinary guy with a means and will to survive. Self preservation is something he holds true to and after seeing countless people die to the merciless demon zombies after they made attempts to help each other, it only strengthens the concept. A team worker but never the team saviour, Kenneth will lend a hand if it feels appropriate. There's a reason he's using distant weapons to attack the threats. Sarcastic at times and a bit bossy, he usually means well and doesn't care for any confrontations, human or demon, so he will avoid any if and when possible. Quiet and reliable is his motto and he tends to stick to it. This also applies to his choice of weapons.

History: Things got pretty bad when hell came to earth, but Kenneth held himself together mentally in order to survive. He spent a good five years as a minimum security prison guard before the Break, and it makes all those guard details seem like a soap opera with overused lines and bad food. His younger bother was also in law enforcement and one of the inital officers tending to the scene when the biblical beasts made their big debut. That morning prior marked the end of their sibling relation. Now the only Royce left in Little Hangman Village, Kenneth spends his cold nights on guard duty with what militia they have left and his warm mornings reminiscing about the past.

Choice of weapon: It didn't take long for Kenneth to come up with some counter-measures in dealling with the demon zombies after finding out their own blood detonates their carcass when in direct contact with a lit flame, like black powder to a match. An Excalibur Crossbow fitted with custom flaming arrows seemed appropriate to avoid being bitten. A bandolier of knives with a plastic ignition cord attached to the blade has became a favourite as well. Knowing full well he might not have the mere seconds to ignite the fuse on the blade during a potential threat, especially if he's holding his bow, he clipped ends of the cords to ignitors next the the sheaths on the bandolier. In one swift motion, he can light them by removal and throw them allowing the demon blood to do the rest. However, being very limited with quivers and knives, he keeps a 26 inch, steel, expandable baton on his belt pouch.

Other: N/A

9/7/2012 #6
Lady Blade

(Agent accepted :)

(Um, Luigi - you do realize that pistols will do very little damage against these types of zombies right? because a tiny bullet hole wound will heal within seconds it's inflicted - so the zombie isnt at risk of combustion. And how did your character get pistols anyway? the History part of the character sheet is meant to explain these things - esspecally with a small townish city in the middle of nowhere, pistols are hard to come by.)

9/8/2012 #7
Lady Blade

Name: Jennifer Stacy - 'Jen' or 'Jenny' for short

Age: 38

Appearance: Jennifer reminds many of a mother tiger, with her sharp brown eyes rimmed with rectangular black glasses, short and spiky orangey-brown hair. Her skin is unblemished besides a few laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Her skin is fairly tanned, but not noticeable - and under her eyes are dark sleep deprived rings as she often opts to staying awake since the Zombies arrival. She often sports a black laced apron that belonged to her mother.

Personality: Because of the rough housing when she was little, she developed quite the charismatic 'girls are tough too' attitude. Though she comes off as the 'sweet Auntie' kind of attitude most of the time - especially when you count her hobby of cooking (which goes into overdrive when she is stressed). She can become very protective, and fierce in the heat of danger.

History: Jennifer Stacy was born in Little Hangman village, and lived a go with the flow life with her six brothers (also living on a farm). Being the only girl besides her mother in the family. Her mother was a baker, and Jennifer was taught by her mom at a young age how to cook. Her father was the chief of police and a farmer, and she learnt a few defensive techniques by her overly paranoid officer of a parent.

However, she cherished these traits she gained from her parents when they died in a car accident when she reached the age of 17. With her six brothers they managed to maintain the farm to support each other before they slowly drifted into their other lives. Jennifer sold the farm and moved to the inner town, to begin her job as a Master Chief.

Her cooking becoming very popular in the town that she made a restaurant to boost her money making business.

She hasn't seen her brothers since the Apocalypse, except for Daniel Stacy – Chief of Police.

Choice of weapon: assortment of kitchen knives that are held in a satchel hung around her shoulder.

Other: Jennifer owns a black cat named Onyx


Name: Daniel Stacy

Age: 41

Appearance: Dark brown windswept hair with a bit of silver in there, lighter honey brown eyes, weathered tanned skin with laugh lines and a few worry lines on his forehead. He sports a white scar across his left cheek from a previous night on the job involving a few car-jackers. He has a tough appearance despite his shortish height – this being his noticeable muscles – add his officers uniform – you get the drift.

Personality: Daniel is serious when need be, but for most part he is a jokester and appreciates anyone who can bring humour into a deadly situation. Even if he has a bad joke on the ready, you can bet it will bring a smile to someone. His serious nature tends to be more focused, always having a backup plan if things go sour. While Dan is a man of action, he knows he cannot save everyone – like his wife and kids he lost to the Zombie apocalypse. (to which he is absolutely guilt ridden about) He has a deep bond for his younger sister, as she is his only remaining relative left.

History: Daniel lived with six other brothers and a younger sister on a farm; he was awestruck by his father and wished to follow in his footsteps. Rough housing was a common occurrence and he could admire his little sister for joining in and even winning a few times. He followed in his father's footsteps to becoming a police officer after his parents died in the car crash.

Daniel was the second last to leave the farm (as in Jen's profile, the siblings helped on the farm for a while) to Jennifer when he got married to his wife.

During the first few nights of the zombie attack, Daniel lost his wife and two kids when they attacked.

Daniel continued on however, driven by revenge.

Choice of weapon: primarily it would have been his trusty gun, but when that didn't work; he found his dad's old farming Scyth.


9/8/2012 #8

Name:Mavrick locklift 'mav'


Appearence: Having at first sign of the zombies gone to extreme lengths to protect himself from being bitten very little of mavrick's skin is shown hidden under a thermal a shirt followed by a buttoned up brown leather trench coat, the arms are tucked into his gloves to prevent him exposing his skin while attacking the zombies. His face is covered by a light breathable material balaclava and a gasmask/helmet. (the gas mask in case of other uninfected attempting to tear gas him or use other chemicals to attack him.) He also wears a pair of jeans and light magnum boots its a brand of boot good for people who run up uneven slopes . Under all his clothes he has black short cut hair and greenish brown eyes which a bloodshot and almost scream of sleep deprivation.

Personality: Mav is on of those people whos the creepy quiet keeping to himself not saying more then the odd 'hello' or 'thank you' when in town. He is consider abit of a loon to the younger members of the town some of the older members who knew him when he came to the town say he fought in a war in his homeland and that he fled here to escape it.

History: Paranoid with a capital P Mav had plans for everything that could would or might possibly happen, if he was in an army or now he's never said. but through his actions and lifestyle it's clear he's got some dark past, for a time the police were watching expecting him to be a fugitive of the law. While he actively took steps to prevent them from following him and kept his house locked up like a fortress with Iron bars and razor wire fences, They never found any evidence to support the idea that he was a fugitive. Dropping the case it was unofficially decided that he was just a nutter. Lucky for him and his extensive preparations for the worst, which included gather huge supplies of non perishable foods, weapons and tools and constant practice with a hunting crossbow which he's now modified to enable him to superheat the metal tip of the bolt enabling it to act as a fire starter. The past he doesn't speak about is dark and too horrid to go into full detail about. Born in a backwater country he ended up fighting a guerrilla war against the dictator of his homeland the war waged for years never breaking the new in the world. With each day both sides committed crime after crime against their 'people' some done by Mavricks hand other stopped by it, after almost 5 years of fighting his side lost and he was face with to choices face the fate the dictator had planned or flee.

He chose to flee expecting to be followed he became more and more paranoid until he became who he is today.

Choice of weapon: Crossbow with a electrical charge running through it's bolt creating ample heat, runs off batteries.


9/9/2012 #9
Lady Blade

(Accepted :-)

9/10/2012 #10
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