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[Girlinhat]

For those who may stumble here blind: Cataclysm is a zombie survival roguelike currently being developed.  It's focused heavily on the individual and actions, with very little regard given to the overworld and more "global" actions.  It's almost an FPS in roguelike terms, leaning heavily on action and less on deep planning or tactics.

So someone a little bit ago said "I want a crack whore character, fit with nothing else than her miniskirt, heels, and butcher knife offering herself for a line and a place to sleep."  I thought about it, and decided that I didn't want to do that.  But I did want to try a super lightweight character.  So I made a character, Cindine.  She's designed as a very lightweight scavenger, quick on her feet and carrying enough on her to survive the hour, maybe two hours!  This will be a very active scavenging build, focused almost entirely on running out and finding one item and consuming it - like carrying a chunk of meat and trying to find a fire.

As I'm not sure how well I'll survive (I assume I'll do pretty good) this may end at any time, but it's meant to be an LP of what might happen in a (not so) normal game.  But without further ado, the story-driven tale of Cindine...

Also, because this is an LP and by design will include many images, they will not be in spoilers unless sufficient people demand it.  And posting this on the Cataclysm board.


Cindine had never had the best luck in life, short as it was.  At the ripe old age of 20, she'd not had much luck in the "real world" and many described her as a bit... poorly focused.  Though a bit more intelligent than others, she wasn't always the sharpest, rather capable of understanding things but having a slow time reaching that point.  It didn't help that she had a bit of a hoarding instinct, the compulsive desire to own and keep things that often put her in awkward situations.  Over the years she'd even directed her 'disability' into a gift, of sort, and had learned how to pack things into tight places, letting her carry a bit more than others might think possible.  And despite how much she would be able to carry, she was still pretty quick on her feet.  Her obsession with acquiring and keeping things went well into places that it probably shouldn't, and she'd learned a few tricks to her body, letting her eat a bit less, keep a hold of the food she'd gathered for a bit longer.  Others were so wasteful, shoveling down whole meals where a simple snack would suffice...


(Not Pictured: Hoarder and HP Ignorant.)

When the apocalypse came, she wasn't ready.  No one could argue that she was prepared in any way.  Aside from everyone being very well dead by now and, more recently, undead, the evidence was clear.  She'd wound up wandering the neighborhood wearing little more than a pair of jeans and a Tshirt, doing well to even wear her perscription glasses.  It was only her dog's faithful following that brought him along, something she felt bittersweet about...  She was glad for a companion, the recent carnage and bloodshed had left her a little numb and a friendly face and wagging tail was, comforting... yet at the same time, she'd almost wished he'd run off and gotten himself killed somewhere.  Then she wouldn't have to deal with it so immediately.  With how closely he was following her, and how protectively loyal he was, she had no doubt she'd bear witness to his eventual death.  After all she'd endured, did she have to watch that happen as well?

Morning came, she tried to recall what day it was but the days of the week meant nothing anymore.  That didn't matter much anyways.  It was Day 1, the first day of the rest of her life.  The first day of hell on earth.  The house she'd slept in was still intact, though she now had to wonder why she thought it was a good place to stay at all.  Maybe the others were right when they said she wasn't all that bright.  After escaping town and running blindly into the fields, she'd returned at night to find one house on the edge, and the thick webs and deep shadows looked inviting, nothing could find her in all that!  So she'd crawled in, deep and dark, and rested.  But now, on waking with a clear head, she realized... something must have made these webs, and judging by the size of the silken walls...



She moved through the house, silently.  She didn't hear anything, but that wasn't unusual, her hearing wasn't the best...  Still, it sounded like the house might have been abandoned, whatever spiders had made the webs had left for richer feeding grounds.  She swung her arms through a few webs as she worked her way along the outside wall, finding the kitchen and discovering the refigerator underneath a particularly thick webbing.  Even without power, there was a meat sandwhich in a paper wrapper and a plastic bottle of apple cider, certainly the best way to start the day!  But she'd no more than tucked them into her oversized pants pockets before she heard barking and dozens of tiny feet across the hardwood floors.  Turning quickly, she realized that the house wasn't abandoned at all, and that three enormous black widows had emerged from hiding and found her as simply as you please.  They blocked the door, her dog in the other room as she could hear him growling and snapping, but two black widows were stuck with her!  A few swings of her fist reminded her that she had never been an athelete and had failed basic self defense classes, and that these spiders were far too agile for her to even touch, not that she was sure that she could hurt them through the thick black chitin.  Changing tactics quickly, she ran, blundering through the webs blindly until she found a window.  Bites on her arms and legs convinced her to charge through, bare fists striking glass and shattering it, letting her climb through less than gracefully and hit the patchy, unkept front lawn.  Sprinting was in order, her body urging her forward and down the long stretch of straight road, two enormous spiders chasing after her relentlessly and her dog following as quickly as it could.  At the end of the road was more fieldland, easy to run across, her feet keeping her just barely out of reach of the monsterous arachnids.  She turned, never losing speed as she saw her faithful dog's teeth rip into one spider, bringing the creature down as the dog looked up, seeing his master still in danger and running after her.  Not quickly enough, though, she rounded the corner and left his view as she dare not stop moving.  But for once her mind was quick, and she turned again, circling around the building as quickly as she could and around to the back side where the dog caught sight of her again and ran to her, setting upon the spider instantly.  As the mutt tackled the beast, she turned to fight with him, fists striking out at thin air as the spider easily dodged all of her strikes, but failed to dodge the dog and was quickly dispatched.

She panted out, exhausted, as she watched the dog happily wag his tail and stay right beside her.  She slumped to the ground beside the black widow, pulling her dog close and hugging him appreciatively.  He'd just saved her life from a trio of monsterous spiders, any of which could have killed both of them.  Yet it hadn't been a complete victory.  Taking stock, she realized that her shirt and jeans were both riddled with holes, deep gouges marring the fabric and revealing the deep cuts in her arms and legs.  Pain radiated out from each deep wound, making her painfully aware of the venom that coursed through her veins, setting her skin on fire and tensing her muscles into a knotted mess.  Yet she forced herself to stand, the unhurt dog following after her as she moved to the spider corpse and took a closer look.  In all the fighting the hard chitin had come loose, and she plucked a piece of the rounded, black material free.  It was lightweight, very strong, and she wasn't sure what she could do with it but if felt sturdier than her fist and might make do as a weapon.  Looking about, she recognized a liqueur store nearby, and decided some booze would help combat the intense venom.  Walking over, she moved through the back door, but something caught her eye.  In the dumpster something was sticking up, and she looked in.  It was a heavy steel pipe that had been propped up by an empty aluminum can.  The can was useless, but the pipe was sturdy, thick, heavy.  Heavier than chitin and easier to swing.  She hefted it experimentally, and decided to tuck the chitin away for now, keeping the pipe as her makeshift weapon.



(Currently inside the liqueur store, looking for some booze.)

[Girlinhat]

A bottle of tequila went in her pocket, dropping the chitin to make room.  As useful as the chitin might be sometime in the future, tequilla was very useful now.  A swig left her feeling lightheaded, but the pain dulled.  Not gone, it was still almost unbearable, but dulled a bit.  Thinking better, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and took a drink.  Potent stuff, she was having a little trouble walking perfectly straight, but the pain was much more bearable with some booze in her.  She also had a little baggie of marijuana that she must have picked up in the black widow house, she didn't remember clearly through the poison.  Not that she'd ever touched the stuff before but she certainly knew what it looked like.  A good puff might help with her situation... not that she had a lighter anyways.

Stepping outside she tried to get her bearings, it was the same town she'd always known, but it looked so different.  So silent, motionless, empty.  Her faithful dog's claws clattering on the pavement sounded like firecrackers in the overbearing silence.  The bright sun radiating off the asphalt was a bit warming, though it was still a brisk day.  It wasn't hard to figure out where she was, although it looked different from the front of the liqueur store.  She'd never been one for booze much and the different perspective left her a little unsure, but she knew the area of town.  Her tattered clothes reminded her that she might need to change into something... a little less ripped, but she wasn't aware of any clothing stores nearby.  There might be some spare clothes in houses nearby, there was a neighborhood not far off, but, eh...  Something about that just didn't sit right with her.  Still, she knew of a few stores nearby, particularly a pawn shop just a half block away that always had something curious for sale, and set off stumbling in her drunken, pained way.



Of course, locked...  Of course.  No one alive for miles and she still managed to find a locked door!  She tried again, thinking it may just be stuck, but no, the deadbolt is set and the door is firmly locked.  The window right by the door isn't barred, much to her surprise, this being not the best area of town what with so many liqueur stores, but...  If the door was locked that meant there was protection.  No doubt an alarm of some type would go off if she tried to force the window.  Not that she cared about the law anymore, she'd gladly be dragged to jail and sit safe and warm in a little steel cage.  It was the other creatures that worried her, and loud alarm sirens would attract attention she didn't want.  She walked away, but it was only a bit further that she spotted the familiar storefront of a hardware store franchise.  Perfect!  There would certainly be something there to help her carefully open a door, not to mention a better weapon than her shoddy pipe.



And of course, her luck would hold...  Bad luck, that is.  The hardware store was empty of useful tools, with just some rope and nails worth taking note of.  There was a bottle of amonia, that might prove useful if she ever, like, took an interest in chemistry, as unlikely as that was.  Still, with nothing work taking at the hardware store she set off for downtown, the center of shopping and no doubt the most dangerous area, but she knew that she needed supplies...

[GlyphGryph]

Posting to let you know I'm following. ^_^

[Girlinhat]

A stop by a sporting good store along the way netted her a lighter, and a few seconds later her mind was afloat in a soft haze of marijuana that did poorly to mix with her drunken state.  An aspirin might have done more good, but rummaging through the store only showed her some sporting equipment and a few pots.  What use were those?  Maybe some people went camping and used pots, or something...  But there was one thing.  A radio!  Sitting on the shelf, neat and intact, full batteries, was a radio!  Dropping her pipe to pick up the little handheld radio, she flipped it on, eager to hear the encouraging hum of people speaking, plans being made, evacuation orders, and maybe being able to join in with some group who might be broadcasting.



She dropped it, staring at the device that had become so useless.  She picked up her pipe again, leaving the radio talking to itself as she made her way back onto the street and kept moving.

At the edge of downtown was a large military surplus store, and she found herself walking right in front of it as she moved, deciding it was worth looking in.  A few first aid kits were handy, and she graciously applied some gauze and disinfectant to her torso and left leg, patching herself up as well as she could.  Not great, but it would suffice.  There were also a few bottles of water and some old MRE packages, labeled 'beef' but she had to question if it was made of beef or just flavored.  She didn't care to find out immediately.  Curiously, among all the useless junk was a kevlar vest.  Police grade protection equipment sitting around on the shelf.  It was big, thick, she was a bit surprised to find how heavy and cumbersome it was.  Never having been involved in a riot, she'd always just figured they were like heavy denim jackets, but in reality is was very thick and padded, lined with layers and layers of heavy kevlar adding bulk and weight.  It was enormous, and she was certain that she could never wear one and move around with any ability.  She left it on the rack.



As she moved to the other side of the store, a bit of strange construction requiring her to walk outside to reach the other half, she stopped in surprise.  Shambling over from the nearby bank was a person!  He moved uncertainly, but he was upright and moving!  She ran over as she heard his moaning, he must have been in pain, and she knew there were more first aid kits inside.



Her dog got there first, wasting no time jumping at the map and giving him a rough bite.  She shouted at him to stop, eyes going wide as the man took a swipe at her dog.  Long, straight arms reaching out, the dog easily avoiding the poorly coordinated strike.  She stopped, staring, dread seeping into her mind as she recognized the markings.  The wounds, the tattered clothing, the pale skin...  The man was already dead.  The threat she'd barely seen as a distant shamble that night she'd escaped the city, she wasn't prepared for seeing one up close!  He looked so lively, so active and strong, not a shambling corpse like the movies always showed.  He had clothes, a defined body, a face.  Somewhere he had a job, a home, a family.  He was a person!  Or, at least he was...  Now he was little more than a shadow of whatever person he might have been, a puppet, compelled and drawn to action.  She clenched her teeth and her pipe, and while the poor soul was distracted trying to strike her dog she approached.



She panted out as she stood over the corpse.  It had only taken a few swings, the reanimated corpse wasn't very strong.  She was thankful for that, yet still shaking slightly as the ordeal had left her a bit more injured and suffering heavier pain.  It was almost too much for her to deal with, but she couldn't just stop.  If she stopped, she'd end up... like him.  A bark pulled her attention up, and she looked to see several more shambling forms moving towards her, and her dog rushing towards them.  She whistled, but he ignored her, intent on the hunt.  She whistled louder, but he was too intent to pull away from his goal.  She looked back, there were a few places she might hide, but her dog...  She looked to him, running ahead faster than she could move, throat knotting up as she found herself moving in the same direction, following the faithful mutt towards the walking dead.



She turned and ran.  They'd only handle two of them, and there were so many more coming from the south.  She vaguely realized that the liqueur store she'd stumbled upon was to the south.  Had they missed the horde by such a small space?



She found herself in the window of the military surplus store.  Her hands trembled and her body screamed out in pain.  Her torso hurt and her hands were feeling raw, pipe stained red and so many bodies around her.  She stepped back, uncertain, terrified, and her hand found her way to her bottle of tequila.  A shot on top of her previous had her feeling drunk again.  Another shot and she was totally trashed.  A third for good measure, her body going a bit numb from all the alcohol in her system and her mouth feeling dry.  She stumbled, shuffling back into the store, maybe there was a bottle of water or something...

[Hanzoku]

Aw, her faithful dog died. That's really not going to help her mental state if she survives to be sober again.

[Girlinhat]

Honestly I'm surprised the dog lasted that long, I fully expected the widows to end it.  Dogs are notorious for full-on combat runs, not that it helps the shaken and weary survivor any...

[Girlinhat]

A few more poor souls trying to get in the window, and a few more dents in her pipe.  She was still shaky, but her hands managed a firm grasp.  She was learning a bit, it was almost sickening to think, she was learning how to bash human bodies.  But she couldn't deny it, her hands were moving a bit quicker, her shoulders a little more squared as she braced for the blow, muscles a little more coordinated.  She wanted to believe it was just habit, picking up new things and figuring them out.  A sort of novelty skill, not something really useful.  But a part of her knew she'd be keeping it up, and she'd be learning more about how to swing a weapon...



Just outside she stumbled upon a few corpses.  Literally shuffling in her drunken, drugged state she almost tripped over them.  A few dead bodies, she hardly realized the implications that someone had died where she stood.  It was beyond that though.  Everything was going to die, there was no point fixating over it...  But, she was alive, for now, and going to do the best she could.  A kick of her foot turned the body over.  Packets of cocaine spilled out, she recognized the white powder from endless TV shows.  It was... a lot.  She counted six carefully wrapped and sealed packets.  Someone was off for a good night, or off to sell a lot of people a good night.  She gave a chuckle and dropped her empty bottle - the cider was long gone, and picked up a pack.  Giving it a brief examination, she shrugged and ripped open one of the pre-measured portions.  A quick snort, a few coughs and failed attempts to sneeze, a spinning head, and she was feeling... remarkable.  The drug dealer was also carrying a crowbar.  She gave it a look, comparing it to her trusty pipe.  It was thinner, of course, quicker to swing, if only a little - it was still heavy steel and carried weight to it, but the weight was more focused.  She figured she could get a pretty good swing with it, not to mention that it was a crowbar!  Made to open doors, she'd found a few that were locked...



Strangely, just a few feet away, she noticed that some of the corpses were different.  They were... white.  No, white clothes.  Priest robes?  No... lab coats!  An odd smile crossed her lips as she stumbled to the other pile of remains, kicking them over and looking through their pockets, all sense of decency or modesty vanished.  They had their ID cards.  No telling what that'd be useful for, but they were tiny and might come in handy, she grabbed a few.  There was also... it looked like a railgun.  She'd only seen them mentioned in bad science fiction and a few news reports she'd never paid attention to.  Now she wished she had, it looked like an advanced weapon, not that she had any idea how guns worked.  Even 'point and shoot' was a little beyond her.  Still, she drug it over and tucked it into a nearby building.  It might be useful, be a shame to have the acid rain damage it.

Things weren't going well at all.  Not that they needed too, the apocalypse never claimed to be gentle.  Her body hurt, all over, she struggled to stumble a few steps at a time, and her strikes were missing wildly.  It had started with the black widows, that damned venom blurring her mind, and injury after injury just kept piling on top of it.  Her shirt was destroyed, but it didn't matter.  It offered no protection and she was never a very modest one.  Her jeans were almost gone as well, and she'd rather avoid running through town in just her unders.  There were a few clothing stores downtown, but she was worried about how good an idea that was.  If she was having this much trouble already...  Rest.  Yes, rest would help.  Ease some wounds, ease some pain, maybe get a better grip of herself.  A grocery store was nearby, and she stumbled her way in.  The shelves were stocked, but with nothing she needed.  Not a single first aid kit, not even a roll of bandages or an aspirin...  Muttering a few curses she made her way to the manager's office, empty, closed the door, and downed a shot of tequila before trying to get some sleep.

[Girlinhat]

I was going to add more to this part, but then an update happened, so I'll just toss it at the stopping point I arrived at and may or may not add more later.  On account of new update weirdness, I'm likely to continue this as my "main game" for a while, and not play the updated version yet.


The night was rough.  She'd barely slept through it, but finally got herself to sleep around 4AM, sleeping well into the day.  A part of her hated herself for wasting daylight, but she felt it was worth it.  The pain was virtually gone!  She was still sore, and a few cuts and bruises showed, but she was doing much better, and feeling more capable.  Sleeping in a grocery store had a definate perk, and she was quickly able to stuff herself full and drink until she couldn't.  Of course it didn't help that most of the liquids were thick.  Orange juice and apple cider were heavy, and she just wanted some water...  Luckily, another military surplus store around the block had several plastic bottles of water, and a few first aid kits!  Full, slaked, mostly uninjured, and wearing a Tshirt that a zombie had been carrying, she was feeling pretty fine.  A line of cocaine helped as well.

A quick trip around downtown shopping brought her some new clothes as well.  Her tattered jeans were discarded in favor of a cute skirt.  A bit short, breeze, and a pale shade of blue, the one little pocket didn't do her much good, but it fit her pack of coke nicely.  A denim jacket on another rack replaced the lost pockets, and she couldn't help but hug herself a little in the clean warmth of the jacket.  A brand new tank top finished the outfit, as well as a pair of safety glasses she'd picked up in a nearby hardware store.  They weren't as cute as her eyeglasses, but she decided that with how nearsighted she was, she couldn't risk having those broken, and could deal with the oversized glasses protecting her prescription lenses.  Leaving the store, she hesitated, looking over and spotting a nice fur hat.  It wasn't particularly chilly in early spring, but she plucked it off the shelf anyways.  She stepped outside and held up her hand, holding four price tags that she released, letting them flutter off in the breeze.  Brand new clothing.

Remembering the area, she moved along the road, a pawn shop was nearby and she had a crowbar!  She was still surprised at the ferocity of the undead, and the variety...  Whatever had overcome the citizens had overcome their very humanity.  Many were simple shambling forms, but others were strange, warped.  Long arms and legs, shuffling across the street like a dog with too many joints, the fast ones were harder to hit and she could never outrun them, but it only took a good swing to bring one down, thankfully.  She wished she could say the same for the big brutes.  They were faster, maybe they were football players in another life, but now they were bullying brutes that would charge headlong towards her, faster than she could run, though not as fast as the ones with deformed legs.  Luckily she'd gotten better with her crowbar, and a good swing or two could shock an unwarry foe.  Whatever had reanimated the corpses seemed to still handle them as humans.  Unlike the movies, they weren't mindless, painless, ceaseless machines.  A good whack could cause nerve damage and trauma, giving a moment of stun for her to finish the kill.  Or, re-kill.  She was growing fond of the crowbar.  It might not slice into flesh like a good sword or knife, but it had a solid weight and could stun a foe if she struck them just right, not to mention that it was a tool and she could break into locked doors.



Although just opening a door wasn't enough.  There needed to be something inside worth getting.  Pawn shops being what they were, she should have known better than to have high hopes.  It had stuff, but nothing interesting.  A few old clothes, vintage perhaps, an old book or two, a rifle that was too big to carry and too complicated for her to use...  She was out of luck here, but did manage to find a nice silver necklace.  Not exactly useful, but at least she wasn't leaving empty-handed!  Although, the trip itself had been productive.  Along the way she'd seen a zombie carrying a little purple box, and once she'd relieved the item found it to be a sewing kit.  She'd never bothered much with needle and thread, but sat down in the street and started to fiddle.  It seemed to calm down, she wasn't interrupted at all as she toyed with her skirt and jacket, figuring out the seams and stitches and the way to fabric worked.  With half the kit gone, she'd managed to sturdy her clothing up a bit - hemming in the seams, tidying up loose threads, stitching over some spots.  She was quite pleased with her handiwork, and confident her clothes would survive a bit longer than her old set.




She could still use a few things...  Namely she had no idea how she was going to survive longer than a few days.  Meat sandwiches were going bad, fruit wouldn't be good for too much longer, and she might end up in real trouble...  Knowing how to cook would definately help.  Seems like there were books on that.  Library sounded like a good idea!  There were a few further south, towards the bad part of town, part of some project to invigorate the downtrodden with knowledge.  It had really just given the homeless a place to break into and sleep at night, but there would still be some books there.  In fact, it was right around where she'd run away from the black widows to start with.  And... right where her dog...  Well, she could really use those books.