#tdowevent

 The moment he heard about the horde coming their way he wasted little time looking for Rooney. It had already been a few minutes for the news to circulate that by the time it got to him he knew he had to rush. Place by place, he searched for her, interrupting people gearing up and running to safety to ask if they’d seen her. Someone told him to check the bunker, but when he did, there was no sign of her. He turned to leave just as the bunker’s doors shut closed. “Hey!” He weaved his way through people towards the one who shut it. “Open that back up, I need to be out there to help fight them off.” And to find Rooney.

@perrycontreras

Ransacked. 

That was one word to describe the park ranger’s house: completely and utterly ransacked. 

Faust barely felt a thing as he stepped over the threshold into the home, only an odd sense of emptiness. He quietly took it all in- the layer of dust that was covering the furniture, the dirt and the cockroaches and all the broken things, and the places where things should be, but no longer were. And he felt that lingering sense of emptiness in the house, felt it in his bones.

He moved on to check the bedrooms.

He found himself in the one room of the house that was, somehow, mostly untouched. Everything seemed to be as it had been left; the old cluttered desk, the sagging bookshelf, the broadway posters.

It was a few minutes later when he heard the creak of the door behind him, and the telltale sound of footsteps approaching him. Perry was no doubt coming in to check whether or not Faust had found what they’d been looking for.

“I found the keys to the truck,” Faust said, “I’m just...” he didn’t know how to explain. He just shrugged and showed Perry what he was holding; a cracked frame with a family photo in it. His own family photo.

“I guess I should have explained sooner,” Faust said, “that I used to live here.”

The winter has been progressing along quietly, not including the blizzard, and most of the survivors are getting the sense that it seems to be nearing its end, something that everyone is looking forward to. It’s been a lucky winter, no one has died, and even though the farms have suffered, the food stores have been enough that with some rationing, no one has had to go hungry. The days are getting longer and warmer, and it wouldn’t be too long before the snow begins to melt.

And then, one night, as everyone lay sleeping in their bed and only a handful of guards patrolled the wall, a loud combination of a crash and snarls roused everyone.

A handful of infected had managed to approach the gates without notice, and, in a great show of strength, broke through Sanctuary’s defenses. Every willing and able body rushed to defend their home, and after a heart pounding twenty minutes, the infected were put down and the damage to the gates were revealed.

The posts, that had acted as structural support for the gate and the surrounding wall, have been broken clean in half and the wall around them has splintered. The gate itself is salvageable, but with nothing to hold it up, it’s become utterly useless.

No one may have died this time, but Sanctuary’s defenses have been compromised.

(OOC:) Welcome to our newest event! This event is designed to really kick off the start of our resources mechanic. You're more than welcome to write a thread during the invasion of the infect, but The Walls of Sanctuary have been damaged and will need to be rebuilt, see below for the mechanics.

Mechanics:

Runners will need to go on runs to get the bulk of the resources needed to rebuild.

   HE IS PERCHED in the lower branches of a tree, as carefully selected as time would allow, to maintain his weight, and with other trees nearby to climb to if need be. Ideally, he will sleep in the higher branches where they meet with the trunk, forming a natural cradling shape to keep him from tumbling to the ground in the night. He has no way of knowing how long he’ll be there, but the bark is edible if he needs to keep up energy. 

   He is settling into the crook of the branch when he heards footfalls distinctly human, something alive in the chaos of the unorganized, clumsy steps of the dead. Quietly, he sits upright, moves to a steady squatting position and nocks an arrow in his bow. There is a stray creature stumbling towards the source of the unmistakably human noise, and before it has the chance to get too close, Theo lets his arrow loose through the eye of the undead. He sits, watches and waits patiently to see what the other does before he decides what move is next for him to make. 

     He signed out the items he took from storage before stuffing them into his pockets and heading down towards the gate, his pistol lodged safely in the waistband of his jeans. As he approached the wall his body tensed, seeing the damage was way worse than hearing about it. He cast a sideways glance at the hole, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Uh, hey? I have some nails and stuff for anyone who needs them, I also have uh, hands... for helping and stuff.” Gabe called out, hoping that he would be answered by someone. 

 He came to all at once, consciousness slamming into him while confusion chased close behind. His name was Quincy Dubois, he was no longer in a Floridian prison cell waiting for the chair. He was, however, restrained, his hands tied behind his back to a metal bar so tightly that the plastic dug into his wrists and his fingers tingled as he wiggled them. “Hey,” he called out to the person nearest him, he recalled her name being something tree-like but couldn’t pinpoint which one, “can ya loosen these?”

                                               The Horde is coming.                                  Sanctuary lays wide open in their path.                                      You have thirty minutes to prepare.

The bunker was still as a grave.

Nobody dared make a noise for fear of what was out there, waiting for them. What might hear them and decide to come in.

Yes, the bunker was quiet. But Faust’s mind refused to shut up.

It’s your fault. Everyone is in danger and it’s your fault.

These words looped on repeat in his head, pounded in his ears- the words were persistent and vile and achingly true. Faust curled in on himself as if he could vanish into his little corner of the bunker. 

It didn’t work.

Footsteps approached him; Faust looked up and caught the eye of one of the others that were cooped up in the bunker with him.

It was the marksman. Faust struggled to remember his name...Cal, maybe?

“I’m not very good conversation right now,” Faust informed him. His voice still sounded ragged and hoarse from far too much crying.