The Deadlands RP
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Posted (edited)

The Deadlands Roleplay Server





  • We are a 64 slot 24/7 roleplay server with regular maintenance and admin supervision.
  • Persistent community driven lore with no lore resets.
  • We have a Community Forum where you can apply to our whitelisted server.
  • We have a Discord Server where you can reach out to other players or ask questions.
  • We allow players to create their own unique stories.
  • We enforce our rules to keep things balanced and fair.





It all went to hell so fast. There wasn't time for riots. There wasn't time for war. We just died that fast. Nevertheless, some of us survived. Now we struggle in a world with spotty electricity and water. Without the internet and cell service. Without food from air-conditioned grocers. Now we scavenge, the land and each other.


Will we survive and rebuild civilization? Or… is this how we die?




  • Hydrocraft
  • ORGM
  • TNT Natural CLock
  • More Build
  • Necroforge
  • FR Used Cars
  • FR Smaller Cars
  • Player Descriptions
  • Gluttony's Profession Mod
  • No Luck





  • Be nice and play nice outside of the game.
  • Do not bring in-game grievances into the forums or Discord.
  • Actively trying to exploit rules is not allowed.
  • Characters must have a realistic name or a nickname (ex: xXx420blazeitxXx is not permitted).
  • Characters must not steal from other forms of media (ex: playing as Rick Grimes is not permitted).
  • Characters must be 16+ years old.
  • Players may only have 2 active characters at a time.
  • Do not mechanical game (ex: if your character is a scrawny teenager, they probably can't carry 200lbs worth of supplies).
  • Do not force actions upon another player without giving them a chance to react (ex: powergaming, having a character put another character into a choke hold without any sort of played out combat).
  • Do not use real world knowledge about in game events in your roleplay (ex: metagaming, knowing a characters name by reading their name tag in game rather than learning it in character).
  • No excessively offensive characters (ex: playing a one dimensional racist character who's only real character trait is running around calling people racist terms).
  • No erotic roleplay.
  • You must use the in game safehouse system to claim a single house.
  • Each faction member can claim a house. Limit 1 per character.
  • Construction projects must obey the laws of physics (ex: no sky bases).
  • PvP is permitted but must follow all PvP rules listed in our forums.


Notice: These rules are subject to change. For our complete and most up to date rule set can be found here on our forums. 


If you have any questions about our server, Discord, forums, rules or admins then please feel free to ask them here!

Edited by The Deadlands RP

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Posted (edited)

Character Spotlight 1: Lincoln Whittaker - Route 281




Name: Lincoln Whittaker
Aliases: Whit, Red
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Origins: Brownwood, Texas
Status: Deceased





At some point in the evening while half asleep, his third day on the road surrounded by people he was still yet unfamiliar, slumped in a shallow ditch a mile off the interstate, a child attached himself to Whit's proximity. The boy must have been alone, he assumed, as there didn't seem a soul otherwise preoccupied with his well-being. His face and hands were blackened by soot, streaks cascading down his face where tears had once accumulated, leaving his skin exposed only in those solemn strips that dried along the cut of his jaw. Everything he wore lead Whit to believe he'd emerged in solitude at the expense of some disastrous shortcoming, a lone survivor. He was naught but ten. Twelve at the oldest. Trailing in tandem, it would have been cruel to disavow his company.

Like each morning passed since flight from Brownwood, their ragged band of miscreants stirred from fitful slumber at the first signs of a stranger rising. They had, in the first two days, only lost a handful of their congregation. Whether they had strayed too far and lost account, or had they -- in one instance -- been devoured before daylight, none of them slept more than a wink, and often with one eye open, had they even slept at all. Everyone was depleted, Whit among them, and the boy was faring worse than most.

On more than one occasion, Whit was forced to turn around and drag the child back to the others while the party marched nearer the Oklahoma border, hastened footsteps met with purpose to the baking blacktop that patched the asphalt of Route 377, but it was steadily driving the pair toward the brink of oblivion. When they flanked the edge of Dallas, west of Weatherford and crossing then onto the 281, aimed at Decatur, the boy sat himself in the middle of the road and protested he'd move no further. While he kicked and screamed, crying like a wounded animal, Whit tossed him over his shoulder and carried him until the fourth night fell.

An hour into the evening, however, after they'd stop to rest, a small crowd of leering corpses intercepted their trajectory to devastating effects. In the aftermath of that chaotic scuffle, more than half of those weary souls traveling in their midst had succumbed to bites and scratches, forcing hard decisions upon the remnants unscathed. Families shared parting words, while others not granted the grace of heartfelt goodbyes wept for loss, and with their individual duties done, they piled their lifeless husks clumsily for fear of lingering a moment too late in that cursed stretch of Northern Texas. It seemed barbaric to leave them there above ground, but so few had ate since departure, both their energy and spirit were waning.

Each second had tugged Whit closer to the earth for sake of respite. He hadn't the heart to mourn a man unbeknownst their will and memoir, but a child was effortless; adrift on the wind, a fleeting sort of connection to what was and what might have been. The boy could not understand this new world any clearer than a worm the scale of time, but realizing now as their passage pushed forward that he had been separated, Whit wandered again, over a wire fence and leaned against a lonesome shack -- a flattened plain -- where the boy rested immobile in the dirt. Blood caked in the soil, a thick, expansive pool. His breath was stilled, his flesh still warm to the touch, and though it could not be spared the urgency with which the others had left their darlings to rot among reanimated cadavers, he dug with his hands a narrow grave and left him there, at last to find peaceful accord with the universe.





Meet Whit and many more survivors like him in The Deadlands.

Edited by The Deadlands RP

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Character Spotlight 2: Sean Gary - Dead End



Name: Sean Gary
Aliases: None
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Origins: Columbus, Ohio
Status: Deceased





The ambulance raced down the highway from Muldraugh to Rosewood. Over half a tank of gas, but no food. The young man driving it was starving, had been for days. He needed to get something to eat and soon.


Going 100mph down the highway, he made his way to a gas station. The dead were everywhere but he had no food and no options. In he went, only to find nothing but sodas left on the shelf. The enemy was closing in fast, he had to run out of the store. He spotted a police cruiser he hadn't noticed at first. Some kind of gun would be useful and there was always a shotgun or rifle in the back of every cruiser. He popped the trunk only to find a radio. It seemed pretty high tech, he hoped to reach people who had supplies with it.


It was a lot heavier than he thought it would be and the man was bitten on his left hand trying to haul it away. He managed to get into the ambulance just in time, or so he thought. He put the radio in the passenger’s seat and zoomed off.


Going 100mph through the woods wasn’t what killed him. The lightpost did. This ambulance of his had no headlights, he had to use his ambulance’s emergency lights instead to see. The irony was painful.


He died on impact. The driver side door swung open. The bite didn’t take long to turn him. Out he fell from the cabin of the vehicle, another shambling corpse in the rainy night.





Find what remains of Sean in The Deadlands.

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Character Spotlight 3: Rowan Hopper - Ode to Vega



Name: Rowan Hopper
Aliases: None
Age: 26
Gender: Unknown
Origins: Smithville, Indiana
Status: Alive





I’ve been contemplating for a while now - exactly what a human’s life is worth. And as I sit here writing my thoughts, I wonder to myself, could we ever quantify that existence? Is there a way for us to numerically come to a consensus that there is such a thing? That there is a standard for one life to compare to? How would we then dictate which life would be any more or any less than this caliber. Would we have to? Or is it all more of the same? People coming and going, a tiny spark in a never ending explosion. Ghosts for the realm of the living.

I’m beside myself trying to understand what this all means. How am I supposed to react? Should I grieve longer or has it been long enough? Is it wrong to hold onto hope when their faces are already fading from my mind? A distant shimmer of an image as I sink further into deep and quiet waters. I didn’t hear his screams. I didn’t see his anguish. I didn’t hold him as the lights died out in the windows of his soul. Maybe he passed as silent as we came to exist in this world. I will never know, and maybe that’s for the best.

I’m sorry that our time was short and our friendship, even shorter. I promised myself when the world splintered, that I wouldn’t feel this way again. That I wouldn’t feel the pain of losing someone again. But here I am. I have yet to shed a tear but my heart has bled a waterfall. They say that “time heals all wounds,” but time is no healer. I have waited and waited and in the end, time is the reason for my torment. You never came back.


I hope you’re in a better place now, Vega. I hope you’re with the loved ones you’ve lost. I’m sorry we couldn’t come for you, and it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. But, I hope your last breath was a sigh of relief.





Experience the hardships of the apocalypse with Rowan in The Deadlands.

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Character Spotlight 4: Steven Lemus - Hidden Gem








Name: Steven Lemus
Aliases: Captain
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Origins: West Point, Kentucky
Status: Alive





Former Army Captain Steven Lemus has been surviving with a small group of survivors some where near Rosewood. One of their main goals, besides building a safer environment to live and attract other survivors, is to find ammo. Steven took his training and a beat up car to explore the surrounding area.    


Hours of driving in silence and searching spot to spot, he pulls up on the main road to Muldraugh. Just down the road he can barely make out 3 large letters on a building: MPD. Hundreds of zombies littered the area. Steven sits back in his car, trying to plan everything out. He stares at his watch... 2220. This situation isn't getting any better, so he turns off his head lights and begins his slow, creeping advance towards the police station.    


Being able to get in the area was relatively easy, it's getting out that will be the hardest... The car is parked right outside the front door, Steven hops out, and attracts as much attention away from the building as possible before hiding in the woods and looping back around for the ammo. He makes it in with very little resistance from the zombies, Steven is able to quickly dispatch a few more inside in small pockets of the building using CQC and a small combat knife.    


"I really fucking hope there is something in here," he says as he approaches the back locker room area.    He digs through the lockers of mostly used riot gear, some SWAT gear, a few radios that weren't charged, and just before he leaves he sees something odd about one of the lockers; it's door doesn't close right. He checks the last locker and his eyes open wide with excitement. He cant believe his eyes, this must be a hallucination. He picks up an ASG AW .308 magazine fed bolt action rifle, next to it was an ammo can of 9mm bullets.    


Grabbing everything useful he makes it back to his vehicle struggling to juggle everything in his hands. He drops a radio while putting the rifle in the trunk and literally every zombie and their mom turns around.    


"Shit..." he said as he grabbed the remainder of the gear and just throws them in the front. He goes to start the car and it stalls... causing more attention to be directed his way. 


"Come on you piece of shit," he says as he slaps the dashboard. The car starts and he hauls ass out of there barely making it by the skin of his teeth.    


Capt. Steven Lemus, former ARMY SERE pulled off one of his most impressive solo missions to date. Highly out numbered in an unfavorable environment he made it back to camp while fighting against the odds.





Join up with Captain Steven Lemus and his group in The Deadlands.

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Posted (edited)

Character Spotlight 5: Joel Routledge - New Spark








Name: Joel Routledge
Aliases: None
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Origins: Seattle, Washington
Status: Deceased





On a long, empty road in rural Kentucky...


I really hate this stretch of road. It's not as crowded as the others, to be fair, but that gives ya too much time to think. Too much time to reminisce. Too much time to go back down that rabbit hole that is the past and get lost in Carroll's wonderland. Should I have been a better teacher? Yeah, probably. Should I have told Jesse to quit selling drugs? Definitely. Should I have done something about my life before all this shit happened? Obviously. But I can't go back now. I can't solve those problems that seemed so much... bigger, back then. Now I actually have to worry about survival. I fuckin hate this stretch of road.


*FZZT* ... *SZZT* ... *BZZT* "Hello? Anyone out there?" I ask almost every day, and for weeks it was just the static answering back. I thought that if I could find some people I could do better this time. Be a better person. Fix all those mistakes I let just pile up beforehand. But now... now I hesitate. I'm working with some good people, that's true, but the world had a lot of bad people in it too, and I'm sure they can't all be shambling around mindlessly now. I think we all feel that hesitation, at least a bit, to go and reach out to new folks. Someone out there's gonna shoot first, and someone's gonna get hurt. I just don't want it to be me. And I'm sure everyone else feels that way, too. Which is why they'll shoot first... it's circular as Hell, isn't it?


For now, I gotta keep working on the project. Put that degree to work and annotate the shit out of those books I found. Renewable energy on a small scale. That'd be something to see. Something quieter than a generator... the sun rises behind the falling snow.  





Help finish what Joel started and bring some light back into the world in The Deadlands.

Edited by The Deadlands RP

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Character Spotlight 6: Max Stone - New Spark








Name: Max Stone
Aliases: Sheriff, Officer Stone
Age: 57
Gender: Male
Origins: Rosewood, Kentucky
Status: Alive





Rosewood was a quaint town located just off of the highway leading towards the towns of Muldraugh and March Ridge. The small town was focused on mostly tourism and small scale shopping centers in the downtown district of the city. With housing located on the east side, and the ever so widely known Rosewood Penitentiary, drawing tourists and sightseers for miles. The small town also housed a police station and just across the street, a fire station. For little over thirty years Stone wore the badge, ten of those years as the precincts Chief, traveling to the state capitol of Frankfort to lobby for more state funding alongside other precincts.


When Max reached the age of 56, he retired from the precinct after developing some hearing issues. Having gone into retirement, Stone comfortably lived for a year in his home watching television and enjoying the onset of his golden years. It wasn't until the reports of violence across the state a few days after his birthday that he was alerted of the relief center being set up at his former place of employment. Max grabbed his service pistol and his old uniform and made his way to the station in an attempt to lend a helping hand.


However, when Stone reached the station, it was hell. Whatever was causing the wave of hysteria and panic in those afflicted with the illness, it had reached the station. Having seen one of the former dispatchers stumbling towards him with her intestines dangling by mangled and chewed lines, Stone would realize that was no simple cold. Grabbing a set of car keys out of a mangled dismembered hand, Stone hijacked a D20 truck and drove out of the city, watching as former citizens and first responders turn on one another. With the faint noises of automatic fire in the distance towards Muldraugh, Max rode out of Rosewood and into the countryside. He went to hunker down, wishing that some day soon some sort of government intervention came.


But as we all know, that day... never came.





Try to rebuild civilized society with Sheriff Stone in The Deadlands.

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On 8/25/2019 at 1:06 AM, Jack Bower said:

Good to see this server is still so successful.


Thank you for the kind words, Jack!


We're going to look at getting more spotlights up now that the Labor Day weekend is over. Stay tuned, folks.

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Character Spotlight 7: Matthew Miller - Brewing Storm








Name: Matthew Miller
Aliases: Unknown
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Origins: Outskirts of Show Low, Arizona
Status: Alive





Inhale. Exhale.




The rifle barked as its round spit forward and down the range striking its target.




The sound of metal on metal echoed from down the range.


A small smile crept across his face as he looked down the scope at his handy work. Each target had a hole dead center from the 100m all the way to the 700m range. Matthew turned looking at his uncle who nodded approvingly.


“You’ve come a long way kiddo. Good shooting.” He’d complement as he rested a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Ready to call it a day and go inside?”

Matthew gave him a nod before flicking the rifle to safe, placing it in his gun bag before packing up the rest of his things.


Returning from his room Matthew looked around his brothers small house. A few photos of the two together along with their uncle. One was of the fishing trip they went on a few years back. Neither him or his brother caught much but their uncle, ever the avid fisherman caught a large catfish. Biggest one they had ever seen. Around 42in and weighing in around 46lbs. He’d chuckle to himself as he thought about the trip, making his way to the living room only to find his uncle glued to the news channel. Now normally it’s never on because the news had gone to shit ever since Trump got elected. Constantly going on about Russia collusion or whatever. It really got old day in and day out hearing about this and that on the president. But that wasn’t what was on the news today. Today there was a frantic CNN reporter trying to inform people what was going on in major cities as an outbreak of a disease was taking thousands of people. Footage showed fires in coastal cities and suburbs.


A hushed silence fell over the room as the news sunk in between the two of them…



Over the next week they’d been watching smoke and an ever growing glow on the horizon creep closer day by day. They thought they had just a bit more time but little did they know that nature had other plans. The winds were picking up something fierce not to far away from them to the South.


Matt woke up to the sound of their home groaning and shaking as sounds of crackling was able to be heard just outside. Unaware of what was going on he groggily woke up, taking in more of his surroundings. That’s when he noticed things weren’t right. Everything was still dark outside yet there was a bright glow dancing outside the window.


“Oh shit.”


Was all he said as he started scrambling to get dressed, all the while shouting for his uncle. Yet he never received a response from the older gentleman. Tossing his boots loosely over his socks he stumbled out from his room realizing that the house was actually filling with smoke. Darting back he stole up a bag quickly strapping a gas mask over his head. Muffled he’d call out once again looking for his uncle finding him unmoving in the kitchen along with a few broken glass jars shattered on the floor next to him.

“No… No… No..”


He’d mutter as he quickly rushed up to check his uncle. Not noticing the fire that had been creeping to the property's propane tank. As Matt was about to take his uncles pulse there was a blinding flash along with something pelting him in the chest, knocking him away and across the kitchen.


Dazed Matt quickly felt a searing pain in his face forcing him to frantically force the mask he wore off as rubber was melting into part of his skin. His mind was torn from the chaos around him, the pain he was feeling, but lastly the worry for his uncle. Coughing he’d rush back to where his uncle was finding that some of his close were on fire forcing Matt to pat out what he could before dragging the older man out the door.


Outside was complete chaos, wind and sand blasting the gentlemen as he rushed his uncle to the Jeep out front. The back had been left open oddly enough, but that wasn’t important right now. Matt started to do his best to once over his uncle this time forcing his right eye shut from the pain he felt from his mangled face. Problem was there was no pulse. No pulse…


Matthew’s heart sank as he tried to do what he could to save his uncle. He remained next to the Jeep doing chest compressions for almost half an hour all while being blasted in his cuts and burns by an onslaught of sand. Though he soon came to realization that there wasn’t anything that could be done. Doing what he could, he'd pull his uncle unto the back seat while rushing to the trunk. Matthew was nothing short of stunned by what he saw. 4 duffel bags full of who knows what from their house, along with their first aid kit on top of it all. Reaching for it he’d slam it closed ducking into the front seat pulling the door closed as he fought the wind in an effort to close it.


He wasn’t happy with his bandage work but it would have to do. As of right now the man looked like a mummy only with some holes for his mouth and eyes. Blinking his eyes hard from the blur that threatened to pour out from his eyes he’d set out to start driving. Braving the monsoon storm raging outside.




Escape creeping flames and midnight storms with Matthew Miller in The Deadlands.

Edited by The Deadlands RP

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