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Decklan

A morally-unsound bandit reject.

0 · 29 views · located in The Wilds

a character in “The Crawl”, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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FULL NAME: Decklan
AGE APPEARANCE: 24 (Maybe a little older.)
GENDER: Male
ALLERGIES: Strawberries
SEXUAL PREFERANCE: Unknown
FACE CHARACTER: Tyler Hoechlin

APPEARANCE

HAIR: Half-shaven on one side of his head, Decklan sports filthy, shaggy, unkempt dark brown hair. There are two small braids behind his left ear, where the right half is buzzed down to nothing.
EYES COLOR: Green/Hazel
HEIGHT: 188 cm (6 ft, 2 in)
WEIGHT: 220 lbs.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): Decklan's face is relatively chiseled, if dirty. The right side of his face has three large scars, and one small one. The largest scar is diagonal, toward his nose, over his right eye, which is now blind. The second alrgest is above his brow, and the third is below the eye, on his cheekbone. The small scar is on the bottom of his jaw, in line with the others. He received them after a scuffle with a large coyote.
SKIN COLOR: He is fairly tan, and has multiple freckles on the tops of his shoulders and his nose.
BODY TYPE/BUILD: Decklan is tall, muscular, and built like a wall. He has broad shoulders, but is not burly.
DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Decklan's accent is thick and spurs from New Jersey. He has a deep voice, and often sounds angry when he isn't. His voice resembled thunder and metal.

RELATIONSHIPS

FAMILY MEMBERS: Deceased (mother, father, sister).
RELATIONSHIPS: Decklan has history with two clans of bandits in the northeast area, but is no longer in contact with them. He spends his travelling time alone.
SOCIABILITY: While he is not opposed to company, Decklan prefers to spend his time alone. Groups have not worked well in the past for him.
FRIENDS: None

PERSONALITY

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: He smokes fairly regularly when he can, but only when tobacco is available. Alcohol is more common, and he drinks fairly regularly, often during the day. He is not a fan of mind-altering drugs.
WEAKNESSES/VULNERABILITY: Decklan is illiterate, rash, and hot-headed. He often lacks morals when it comes to hard decisions, and though he isn't selfish, often chooses the most beneficial solution, even if it requires smashing a few heads. His right eye is blind, and it is a relatively recent development.
CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Bathing is not overly common, and so Decklan is not very clean. He is usually dirty.
FEARS: Decklan has no outright fears, but there's a first time for everything.
COMFORTS: He enjoys a strong drink at the end of the day, and somewhere to sleep. Being in the sun is also comforting.
STRENGTHS: Decklan is overwhelmingly honest, and very strong. He lacks moral judgement, which can be a good thing at times.

HISTORY

BIOGRAPHY: Decklan never knew his parents, as he was kidnapped by a bandit caravan at the age of three, and raised by a few of the men who couldn't kill him when they killed his family. He learned basic hunting and gathering, some history, and how to find food at a young age. Decklan fled from their company upon learning they had killed his birth family, and was alone from the age of 13 until he was 14. He voluntarily joined a different gang, and partook in terrorizing settlements, and stayed with the group until he was 22. When the group began eating humans after a shortage of food, Decklan fled again, and spend the next six months wandering alone.

KNOWLEDGE

LANGUAGES: English
SCHOOLING LEVEL: None
GEOGRAPHY: He can track animals to a decent extent, but cannot read a map.
COOKING: Decklan can do basic cooking, but nothing fancy.
SEWING: To the extent of medical sutures, he is proficient.
MECHANICS: Decklan isn't comfortable with mechanics or technology.
READING LEVEL: Illiterate

PICTURES
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So begins...

Decklan's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Decklan

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It's been so long since mother told me what the stars looked like. A shimmering blanket wrapped around our world, she said. At night, past the coin of the moon, you could just look up, and there they'd be, shining down and illuminating the earth's face. She told me about a band that wrapped around the sky, like a belt, but I don't remember the name. Now, you can't even go outside after the sun is gone. She said it was our fault, but I still don't know what she means.

The orange sun scalded the earth like a wave, sending shimmers across the broken, crumbling asphalt. The yellow lines down the middle of the road had worn away and brushed off over the years, and an old sedan sat, slanted, on the edge of the barrier, rusting. The tires had been stolen, the windows broken, and the interior gutted. A few birds fluttered about inside, enjoying the shade from the boiling eye in the sky. The heat was intense in the afternoon, and more so in the empty, overgrown fields. In the distance, the highway lead straight to the city, like a river running into nettles. The northbound highway was littered with wreckage - barricades, old signs, cars. It was nearly silent, save for the small mutterings of small animals and the wind in a few sparse trees. The grass was knee-high, overtaking houses and old cars and forcing itself through sidewalks and pavement alike. The wind carried over it like ripples on an ocean. The heat was blistering as the sun baked the earth, seeming to suck the moisture out of the air.

Decklan didn't take solace in the silence.

He was jogging - moving quickly was the best way to stay alive. A light satchel, roughed up and torn in places, bounced on his back as he made his way through the suburb. Old houses stared at him with dead, windowless eyes, and he could feel the gaze of hungry beasts hiding from the sun's sweltering burn. His own skin was deeply freckled and tanned from countless days. His hair was cropped, shaggy and greasy, plastered to his head. One half shaven, the other trailing in short, thick braids that bounced on his shoulder. His lips were cracked and dry, parched and dehydrated. His clothing was simple rags, baring skin to the unyeilding heat of the sun. The clatter of metal on asphalt behind him made him pick up his pace - it was likely a bird taking off, or a car finally rusting to pieces, but he didn't stop to look back. His boots ground into the crumbling road, the treads wearing out over the last few months of moving constantly. Cities were dangerous, and he knew better, but he had no choice.

Buildings always held beasts, hiding from the sun's grimace in the dark. Cities held people - looters, rapers, theives, bandits, or cannibals. But he was so desperate, so low on supplies. So thirsty.

Another rustle from the brush, only a moment after the clatter. The brunette produced from his sagging leather belt a long icepick and a slightly rusted, hardly sharp machete. He rounded to the noise, only to come face-to-face with a coyote.

Over the decades, large animals had become so rare, in some places, they were fables. The coyote was slender, and so skinny that its ribs stuck out like spines from it's chest. Fur was falling out in patches, and it's eyes were milky and rolling. Mouth open, frothing slightly, and nose dryer than the pavement. It was snarling and rolling back and forth, rabid and starved. The omega stumbled out of the brush, before sprinting at Decklan. The man leapt aside, nearly losing his footing. A bite from the animal could end his life in a few short hours. He swung outward with the machete, landing a long, deep gash down the animal's thigh. It didn't even respond, only turned, limping, to lunge at him with both forepaws out. His feet failed him, and he fell under the beast's lashing head. Filthy claws ripped open the right side of his face, and he let out a yelping cry. The flesh ripped aside as the grimy claws made their way off of his face, and the coyote reached down to snap at his throat. Despite the blood pooling in his fading vision, Decklan drove the icepick through the beast's eye, killing it. The furry mass twitched and seized as he shoved the coyote off of him and staggered to his feet, one hand cupping the right side of his face, now mutilated.

He was groaning, dropping his bag to the ground and blindly fishing through it for precious cloth strips to keep his face together until he would stop for the night. Around and around his head. He had no water to rinse the wound with. Decklan padded scraps of fabric onto the eye socket, in between layers of bandaging, and only stopped when the moist warmth stopped seeping through. He sobbed dryly, shallow breaths escaping his cracking lips. A migraine was splitting his head. He sat back on his heels, holding the bag between his knees, wiping blood from his left eye. his vision was dark, and the sun was setting fast.

It was about half an hour before he could force himself to stand, and pull the icepick from the beast's head. He had to find shelter, or face death with the setting sun.

...

It was late afternoon by the time Decklan was immersed in the cement jungle of the city. He knew how to take cover for the night, and was looking for shelter. He had sped up his jogging until he was glistening with sweat, sore, and aching all over from tremors.

The traveler finally felt his knees tremble from exhaustion, and his head spun. He tore the plywood off the nearest entryway and pushed the door open with his shoulder, out of breath. A boarded-up building with red spray painting usually was empty. He closed the busted door behind himself, shaking the torch from his belt to produce light. The corner store was empty - if it hadn't eben, something likely would have charged to meet him. With the remains of trembling strength he shoved the heavy metal shelving units in front of the door, effectively barricading himself in. The windows had been boarded up years before. Although the wood had rotten away in some spots, some previous tenant had covered the holes with black plastic. He slumped down behind the counter, next to a rusted cash register. He slid his backpack onto his lap, and passed out from the dehydration.