Land of the Walking Dead

Character Name: Ethan Williams

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Appearance: 6'2, Caucasian, somewhat muscular, dark blue eyes.


Equipment: CZ 550 (A type of hunting rifle), Knife, Backpack, M1911, Camouflaged long sleeved-shirt with hood, jeans, walkie-talkie.

Personality: Although he use to be a nice guy, and helped whoever possible, several experiences have left him regretful and cold. Will kill with hesitation, if needed.

History:

I was born and raised in Australia... I had a somewhat normal life, nothing paticulary special that would catch your eye happened.
Pre-school, Primary school, Highschool, all uninteresting points in my life, that I would rather not go into detail about.
We defintly weren't poor, but not nearly rich either, you'd probably call us middle class. We had a decent home, two stories in a nice suburb. Because of this, I got most things I wanted and needed. Some would call me spoiled, rightfully so. I had a few great friends, however I wasn't poupular or anything.


Anyway, enough about my boring childhood. After graduating Highschool, I learnt how to shoot. My Grandfather taught me, and eventually I got all of my licences, passed all the tests, etc. My Granddad passed away a few years later, and his favourite gun was left to me; the CZ550, was quick to become my most prized possesion, and favourite gun. I acquired a hunting licence, as the CZ was a hunting rifle, and went hunting by myself for the first time in years. Needless to say, me and my mates had Kangaroo for dinner that night.

A year later, at age 21, I joined the ADF for a year. I didn't do much there, but it did wonders on improving my aim.

Then came a... darker chapter of my life. It was only a few months after I left the ADFs one year program. I witnessed the wrong things, fucked with the wrong people, so a certain gang wanted me gone. The gang hunted me for weeks, but I always escaped in the crowd or down an alley. It wasn't easy living like that, but I had plenty of money in the bank and could still buy enough supplies to keep me going.

They eventually cornered me in a secluded alley, with no way to escape.
Luckily I had a knife on me, and, well, there was one less gang member chasing me after that.

I sprinted back to my apartment, grabbed a suitcase out of my cupboard and packed the essentials, including my CZ and the legal documents for it. I managed to make it to the airport and took the only flight about to leave. I didn't even know where it was going until halfway through the trip; Queens, someplace near New York. Upon arriving, however, well... well all of this happened. I managed to get some basic supplies and make a run for it, at least, can't say that about the rest of the passengers though.

Character Name: Danny Vincenzo

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Appearance: 5"8", short curly black hair, stubble, olive skin (Italian), well built, muscular, tribal tattoos on arms.

Equipment: UMP .45 (ACOG Scope, suppressor), .357 revolver (S&W Model 586 4 Inch Barrel), Machete. Baseball cap (backwards) Blue overalls, black work boots, brown finger less gloves, white t-shirt, backpack.

Personality: Good humored, very protective of people he cares about, hates to talk about his past.

History: Danny is an American-Italian, from the docks of Red Hook, New York. His father and mother were both very poor, and Danny was forced to resort to petty crime and thuggery. Danny wanted to escape the life. He enlisted in the military at 18, and found a knack with vehicles. He joined a Tank regiment, but also worked a lot with trucks, humvees and more regular vehicles. He was wounded when he was 24, and decided to return home. He received a hero's welcome, and got a job in the local garage. He was approached by some of his childhood friends, who had all become connected with local crime syndicates. He started working on cars for criminals, changing plates, fixing bullet holes and even cleaning blood stains off of hoods, in return he gained a great respect in the community, as well as a very generous pay check.

When the apocalypse came, Danny called in a few favors to get some weapons he was more comfortable with, and was even able to get a Machete. He returned home to find his parents already turned. He immediately left the city, escaping to Queen, hoping it would be better outside of the city.

Character Name: Korbinian "Corbin" Fischer

Age: Forty-one years

Gender: Male

Appearance: Corbin's a man who appears a little younger than he is. He wears dirty blond hair long--often pulled back into a ponytail--and a rather scruffy blond beard, accentuating sharp green eyes and angular features. Standing less than five feet, nine inches tall, he's a rather short and slender man who weighs maybe a hundred forty-five pounds. The apocalypse hasn't exactly been good for him, nutritionally.

He covers a number of tattoos with a fair number of layers. A white undershirt, a darker long-sleeved shirt, a hooded jacket. Jeans are a mainstay, as are a pair of running shoes in decent condition - obviously replaced relatively recently. He often wears a pair of leather driving gloves, as much to protect his hands as for comfort, and a slim silver chain necklace with a cross, a key, and a ring dangling from it.

Equipment: Corbin doesn't normally carry much. He often keeps a composite bow in his hands with six arrows in a quiver at the small of his back and a relatively small hunting knife, one of those Gander Mountain affairs with the paracord around the hilt, at his left hip. In the way of guns, he keeps a Fabrique Nationale Five-seveN, a civilian model he purchased for defensive purposes shortly before everything went to shit, with a ten-round clip and no extra ammunition in an underarm holster. On his right hip, he keeps a scavenged Walther P99 - two extra magazines and an assortment of rounds in the backpack - and a little Glock 26 in an ankle holster. He usually relies on a rather well-worn one-strap backpack to hold most of his gear, keeps a handheld radio in the cell phone pocket at the front.

Personality: Just saying Korbinian is of the ISFJ personality type is about a billion times more in-depth than I could hope to be.

History: Korbinian Fischer was born a second-generation German-American in Baltimore, just new enough to the country that his parents and grandparents didn't quite speak the best English. They weren't the most affluent of families; in fact, most days Korbinian spent playing outside instead of with any of those newfangled technological devices like televisions or computers. He was a rarity in that sense, in those days. Didn't have many friends, but valued the ones that he did.

He was seventeen when both his parents died in a car crash, in the dead of winter. He'd been sitting in the back seat when his father had lost control, slammed through a light post and into a tree. Both of Korbinian's parents were killed either in the impact or the fire that raged shortly thereafter, unable to be extricated from the wreck; he'd survived, spent three months in a coma. When he woke up he found that his parents hadn't been able to afford or keep insurance, and so he was basically left out on the street. So he turned to stealing to make ends meet, served his time in prison when he was caught, and eventually moved on to bigger and better things.

By the time he was twenty-five Korbinian was deep into the criminal workings of Baltimore. High risk, high reward. That didn't last too long, though, before he was arrested for quite a few counts of quite a few very bad things - grand theft auto, manslaughter, larceny, breaking-and-entering, aggravated assault, conspiracy to commit anything applicable. He was the fall guy - his choice, figuring his buddies on the outside would try and wrangle the system into commuting his sentence.

They never did. He spent a dozen years in maximum security prison, before he was released on a parole deal that lasted basically the rest of his life. Korbinian learned pretty quickly he didn't want to go back to jail, so he eased up on the illegal stuff. Got a job bagging groceries in NYC and a relatively cheap apartment, eventually took a second job as an archery instructor in the summers - as soon as he figured out how to use a bow. Made manager after a couple of years. It wasn't quite the exciting life he'd lived before prison, but it beat the hell out of--in his estimation--going back. When the apocalypse hit, he took what he had and bunkered down for a bit - waited for all the other people to leave, then went out scavenging, then came back and hid in his old apartment-turned-fortress until the next morning. Rinse, lather, repeat.