`Username:[Ravenclaw] 

Name:Raven Stark
My friends call me Raven, your not my friend. It’s Stark to you.

Age: 23

Alibi: I was a resident of the Louisiana State Women’s Penal Institution. Prison.

Appearance: Uh I’m about 5’3”, 5’6” with my boots on. I’m 120 lbs, give or take. I got long black hair, small brown eyes and dark skin. The Social Services records say I’m Asian. What the fuck right? Do I look Asian? I guess I'm ether Mexican or Indian. I can hold my tequila so I guess I’m Indian. You‘ll always find me in my biker leathers but uh this red belt means I‘m a member of the Chain Gang. Everything I own is in that black duffel bag. Oh, this tattoo. Broken chain, hurt like a sonofabitch when he went under the arm. lol

Skills: I guess ya could say I got a way with knives.... But I am a crack shot with anythin' from a 4.10 derringer to a 7mm mouser. In my spare time I cast my own ammo or work on my bike. I‘m a mechanic too. By the way, your uh, oil pan's leakin... I can fix that... for the right price. I’m a pretty good pick pocket too, so lol, watch your valuables. Oh yeah, living out here on the open road ya learn a few things about survival. Buzzard tastes pretty good over an open flame.

Personality: Just don’t fuck with me and we’ll be alright.

History: Most people say they had it bad right after the outbreak. I say things got better for me. I’d been a ward of the state most of my life. I bounced from foster home to foster home and eventually became one of those “Bad egg” kinda kids. Couple that with the public school system and two dad’s who liked to smack me around. It didn’t take long for me to learn the in and outs of life. I’ve had my share of run-ins with the cops too. More than once I spent the night in jail for fighting or well... they never did prove I shop lifted. lol I wore those pants to court though.

I ran away from my foster family when I was 16. I’d only been there three months and that fat fucker had smacked me one time too many. I stabbed him in the hand then left. I was on my own for about five weeks before I picked the wrong pocket.

His name was Mad Max Martigan. An ex-con biker with a soft spot for troubled young girls. No it wasn’t like that you twisted fuckers. We where square. Just roommates. I got three meals a day in exchange for clean urine samples for his probation officer and someone to do the laundry on occasion. He didn’t bother me, make me go to school or spout any of that parental bullshit I’d learned to hate. I got a job in the garage he worked for and quickly learned that I loved the art of auto repair.

When I was 18 Max’s parole was lifted and we went on the road. I’d bought a motorcycle and we met up with the gang of ex-cons Max had ridden with before his time inside. The Chain Gang, they where all ex-cons. We rode for three years and I loved it. No one to answer to. As long as ya got gas in yer bike no one can stop ya. I learned to knife fight, drink and found that I was a natural when it came to guns.

On my 21st birthday the gang celebrated in New Orleans. Yeah I’d had too much to drink but that fucker shouldn’t have grabbed my ass. I ventilated his lung before the cops could show up. That got me 18 months at the Louisiana State Pen.

Inside life was relatively easy. Do what your told, work out, try to keep from getting shanked. I actualy earned my mechanics papers there.

When the outbreak happened the prison found themselves overrun with normal people seeking safety from the "zombie horde". I was due for release the day we heard the zombies where comming. I stayed for two days until the safety of the prison was compromised. Two men had been allowed in and both turned within three hours. There was a riot. Twenty people where infected by the time the remaining inmates could escape.

During the riot I ran directly to the armory and grabbed what I could carry. A shotgun, a rifle and three pistols. I passed the work shed on my way out the gate. Grabbed this chainsaw. It's come in pretty handy. They can't eat ya if they can't find their head. lol

I immediately headed for the nearest town. The town had been wiped clean of human life and there where only a few zombies left. Just scattered about. I’d killed nearly a dozen before I could steal a new bike and some clothes. I didn’t waist any time in leaving.

I was a smart kid. I knew they would congregate at more populated communities. So I headed out for the open road. Searching for the rest of the Chain Gang and anyone lucky enough to find themselves without Zombie accompaniment.

But uh... I guess I'm doin' alright. Been on my own for about two weeks. Ain't gotta worry about takin' care of anyone but myself. Don't really hang around with anyone for too long. Someone usualy always gets bitten any way. Hell if I'm by myself and get bitten who can I hurt right? lol

Confirmed Zombie Kills: 57

Other: I sleep on my bike. Makes for a good get-a-way if I'm surrounded by zombies.

Quotes: Quotes? You want quotes? Uhh ok...

"Touch the fucking bike and I'll stab you in the goddamn face."

"Hands off dick head."

"What? He stopped bleeding."

Picture:
I think this is the only real picture of me. It was taken a few days after I'd bought my bike. Max wanted to capture a "real" moment. I never much liked lookin into cameras... don't know why though.