Survivor Name: Den
Age: 28
Back story: Always one for a challenge, Dennis (usually referred to as Den) took on the life off of the grid. Living in a small manmade hut in the forest, Den learned the way of the land. Hunting, cooking, building, swimming, running, his challenge of living in the woods progressed into a hermit like lifestyle. For 5 years he lived in the woods, alone, rarely stepping back into society.
Special Abilities (Keep it real, no supernatural powers) : As listed above, a man who was in touch with nature and survival.
Weapon of choice: A true marksman with a bow, but can be quoted in saying "A well placed arrow may put food on the table, but is not strong enough to put one of those creatures to the grave" He is decent in making crude weapons, like spears and shivs, and thanks to his time in the woods, is decent at using them. To his own surprise, can handle a .375 Magnum with ease.
Appearance: Unlike most survivors, he wasn't shaven even before the outbreak. Long greasy black-brown hair, with a thick beard. He usually wears an unwashed evergreen hunting coat, over a plain black tee shirt. He wears torn jeans. Browns eyes, nearly black. He's Caucasian with greasy skin, and slightly pointed nose. Weighing in at 210 pounds and standing at 6"6' he is a force to be reckoned with.
In a group or alone?: Refer to story.
If in a group, how many other survivors are there and what are their names?: Story.
Starting location (What city/ town/ country do they begin their journey in?): A large woods near the London Countryside.
A dirt crusted hand grasped a bowstring, unwavering. An arrow knocked, he estimated the distance and angle to his target. Like a well oiled machine, the bow's angle rose skyward. Serene silence washed over the forest. The sound of a reverberating bow string sliced through the silence. The deer barely turned to the noises location when the arrow struck flesh. A grin visibly rose beneath the Den's mustache.
"Gotch" He whispered.
The man slipped his head in-between the bowstring and wood and let it hang there. He drew a large dagger from his pocket as he approached the kill. He hummed as he walked, he didn't remember the name of the song or the lyrics, but he'd been humming the tune since he left for the woods in 2008. After reaching the corpse, he retrieved the arrow and wiped the blood on his jeans. He withdrew a large coil of makeshift vine-rope from a hunting bag he'd found months ago.
Using his dagger he cut a portion off and tied the vine around the deer's neck like noose. He grabbed the vine and tugged the creature along behind him. Lighter than normal... he thought. Walking through the brush, Den stopped walking. The sound of shifting leaves continued while he stood still. Another damn Bobcat? He pondered.
"This one mine, damn it!" He waved his knife in the air as he yelled. "You leave, or get your face opened up!"
To his surprise, a man stumbled out of the woods. He wore a red hoodie, and sweatpants. He stumble, uncoordinatedly through the brush, his head pointed towards the ground. His chest boar a symbol of one of the nearby university's. The boy looked to be near college age. (Not Matthew, just a connection to Dreamers story)
"Ah!" Exclaimed Den, nearly dropping the knife. "Sorry boy, thought you were a wild cat" Den chuckled. The boy groaned. "Something wrong? You're type usually aren't about in these woods, you hurt?" The boy stepped forward, Den stepped back.
Details on the boys face arose. He'd suffered a large cash across his cheek. Dried blood surrounded his mouth and his eyes were dark and drooping. He was missing a finger, all that was left was a stub with visible bone. Den froze. The boy seemed to lose interest, and lowered himself to the uncooked venison. He ripped neck meat off with inhuman ease, fresh blood oozing onto his face.
Den let out a scream. The boy turned from his meal, and slowly stood up, he seemed more interested in locating the source of the sound, than eating the already dead meat. Den took action, running away from the scene. In his hurry, he fell and landed on a branch, opening a cut in his chin. Frozen with fear, Den watched as the college boy lowered himself down towards Dens flesh.
Broken from his trance, Den pushed him back, but to no avail. The angry body pushed down, and seemed intent on maiming the woodsman. Taking one last push, Den rolled away. Grabbing the knife from his pocket. Almost immediately after, the boy was back on Den, even more readily now. Growls and snarls left his mouth, as wall as the strong metallic scent of blood. Seeing no way out, Den grasped the knife and thrust it forward. It fit through one of the monsters eye sockets and the lifeless husk fell to the ground.
Den stood up and stared at the body. What have I done... He thought. The boys skin was tinted grey, he was obviously sickly. His veins showed through his almost translucent skin. Den puked. For almost a minute straight, Den stood there, stricken by shock. His moment was broken by moaning. More of it, waves of it. Shuffling, growling, moaning. What's happening Den worried. He needed to run. He knew where the countryside started, he could find a town, make some calls, he knew where Hatfield was. His bow, a small amount of water and food and some knives, Den rushed forward to what he hoped could be civilization.
.
