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The city of Cadai’sobras, the capital of the new world.
The bustling hub of life that promised so much to those who sought it out in the vast country, claimed oh so heroically by the king’s men.
But the truth is the people of this world had always known it was there; this so called “new” continent. It was never spoken about save for in a low hush among ones closest friends. Said to be the land that the first of their kind banished a great evil to. An evil one could not see, could not touch, told in legend to take form of the wind its self.
But what was an old tale to the king’s ear opposed to progression; the expanding of his kingdom, and his people.
The continued warnings that found their way to him were ignored as the ramblings of old men and women that were still in the grasp of the paranoid ancients. And despite the fact that he too had small doubts, the thought of increasing the size of his kingdom was too tempting to pass up.
The king ordered a massive city to be built; able to house thousands of his subjects and any who chose to join them. And to those who did make the journey to Cadai’sobras, the old legends quickly died. It had become the essence of progress and the envy of neighbouring kingdoms. The King became so proud that he himself began to live there.
But his celebration was short lived. Two years after the completion of the grand city Cadai’sobras, IT came.
The fabled wind that had been so feared had finally arrived, and it all but tore Cadai’sobras to the ground. Infecting it citizens with a demonic taint that corrupted their bodies and minds; turning them into strange shadow like beasts.
Its goals however, had changed. Where it once only sought to destroy, it now wanted to have the earth for its own. A bitter grudge held against those who imprisoned it. They had trapped it in a singular place so as to keep it away from the world and keep their kind safe. Well, now it would have all of them.

Three years later, a war still wages in Cadai’sobras. Those who have yet to fall to infection live out a feeble existence in the slums and crumpled houses that remain. Living through each day and night only to face yet another hopeless morning.
Three years of fighting has lowered the population to almost nothing. It is rare to see anyone who is not a shadow or close to turning into one. The rules of the city have become simple, fight or die. And hope that the screams you hear at night don’t mean they’re getting closer to you.

Shadows:

Trackers: Very fast and agile, hard to escape. Their sense of smell and hearing is impeccable and can follow someone for days if not discouraged or killed.
They themselves are not a threat as they are not very liable to attack and do not possess any notable weapons. They are more likely to try and get in your way or pile on top of you to slow you down for their big hulking buddies, Berserkers.

Devouring gloom: Not all that threatening during the day, night is when these creatures become a problem. They’re pitch black in colour while the average shadow during the day is just plain black or grey. They hide in the casted shadows of buildings and objects, latching on to feet of those who step in them and pulling survivors down into them like a dark puddle of suffocation.

Berserkers: Huge hulking beasts with massive razor sharp claws and teeth. Not friendly in the slightest and more inclined to rip you apart than just try and infect you. They are exactly how their name makes them sound: big, angry, and willing to bring down a building to get to you on the other side.

Hunters: Eyes of a hawk. These creatures will commonly sit on top of buildings and shoot poisonous barbs at survivors as well as other creatures, if they get in the way.
There aren’t many of them, but they’re stealthy and hard to spot, basically making one far too many.

Elites: Intelligent shadows in the company of the king. Humanoids that never mutated, their bodies adapting to the infection and retaining their mental capacity for learning and strategy. Though their minds are a devoid of whatever life they may have had before their service to the wind.
They’re cunning and not to be taken lightly.

Skeleton:

Character name:
Gender:
appearance:
Resistance:
Weapon:
Bio:


Characters:


Character name: Aric Stone
Gender: Male
Appearance: [x]
Resistance: above average
Weapon: Bow, oil covered arrows, and a small sword. Lights the arrows with the metal on the back of his glove and a flint rock he constantly carries with him.
Bio: Aric's family was one of the first to settle down in the new city. His father was a man of progression himself gave the king nothing but praise for banishing that silly legend in the eyes of his people. Aric however was not convinced. Even after the king came to live in Cadai’sobras with the offer of light for their streets at night, he couldn't help but see it as a publicity stunt that was possibly dangerous to the lives hundreds of people. He had always had a sixth scene about these things. And after two years passed, his uneasy feelings proved to be correctly placed. When the wind came, his father sought out the king, sure that he had some sort of plan…Aric never saw him again.
As for Aric's family, they were slowly picked off by shadow beasts, leaving him alone with nothing but a promise to them. He would find a way to kill this 'Wind' once and for all. He wouldn’t allow any other families to face what they had, to have to kill their own Mothers and Sisters as he had. Even if he died in the process, at least he would have tried.


Character name: Narinia Dragonfire
Gender: Female
appearance: http://www.tektek.org/avatar/49719711
Resistance: Moderate to high
Weapon: short sword, short bow
Bio: Narinia's father, an inventor, left with her mother to test contraptions that would help keep infected at bay should the wall ever break. They never returned. When Narinia came of age she left the care of her ward to find them.

Character name: Abraham Dickens
Gender: Male
appearance: A balding, tan-skinned man, with wrinkles covering his exterior from head to toe. What little hair that does cover his head hangs down in long, spindly, thin locks. His nose protrudes outward almost like a beak and his eyes have a hard-worked squint to them that hide his amber-colored eyes. His thin, hunched posture is wrapped in a white, long sleeved cotton shirt with various oil and alcohol stains that are too diluted to ignite. Overlapping his shirt is a pair of overalls that are patched in several places and hang just high enough for his cloth shoes to peek out at the toe. He wears a pair of cracked glasses that typically hang down onto his nose, and frequently smells of sulfur and booze.
Resistance: Remarkably low.
Weapon: Usually carries at least a torch. Is known to have a variety of other flammables on hand at any given time.
Bio: Abraham was a lamp and oil merchant when the town fell prey to "the wind". As one of the only survivors from the beginning, his mind has deteriorated to paranoia and borderline madness. Because fire has proven to provide light and harm at the same time, Abe has become a bit of a firebug. In his time, he's come to trust the human newcomers about as much as he trusts the shades, which, needless to say, is very little.

The thumping of his heavy boots on the grey stone streets of Cadai’sobras seemed to echo in the near dead city. His usually pushed back hair sticking to the sweaty skin of his face as he ducked into crumpling building after crumpling building, desperately attempting to loose the beasts that pursued him.
Night…he should have known not to risk being out after sun set. Not even the food he had been after was worth getting infected for. Better a growling stomach than damnation. The worst part was he hadn’t even been able to reach the food before they had found him. A stupid risk is what this had been. The moans and groans of the creatures that followed behind him sent a chill down his spine.
He turned and glanced behind him, counting five crawling from the shadow of an old church and knowing that these were simply the ones that had gotten here first...Trackers. There would be more, no doubt about that. They never took any chances.
Ducking once more into a crumpling house he cursed at his makeshift armour. Pieces of metal and such he had welded together…badly. If he hadn’t chosen to wear it, perhaps he would have been fast enough to out run them. It’s not like it mattered. They were more creepy than anything, never really attacked much. It was more a defence against the Berserkers that followed them. But instead of doing the smart thing to begin with, he was now stuck in an old storage hut, frantically glancing around for some means of escape or some way to defeat them before the big guys got there.