Recruit Racheal Williams
Racheal Williams is the kind of woman who plants herself at the camp gate long before dawn, crossbow slung across her shoulder, eyes sharp against the dark. If trouble comes, she intends to meet it first. Fiercely protective, she has earned her place among the Town Watch not through words or rank, but by standing where danger is thickest and refusing to step aside. For her, Camp Hope is not just a settlement—it is family, and family must be guarded with vigilance and grit.
A strong camp isn’t built on heroes—it’s built on hands willing to share the weight.
Her skill with a crossbow is unmatched. In the dim of night, when shadows blur into one another and the silence feels too heavy, she becomes the camp’s assurance. A bolt from her string almost never misses, and even in low light, her accuracy gives predators—whether beast, infected, or man—little chance to advance. The children whisper about her aim as though it were a kind of magic, but Racheal knows it comes from long, hard practice and a refusal to let the darkness win.
Children remember more than you think. Better to teach them survival than lull them with lies.
Quiet by nature, she listens more than she speaks, letting others weigh in before her steady, grounded words cut through a discussion. Her advice is practical, drawn from experience rather than theory. And yet, that same protective streak that makes her beloved also makes her difficult; she has a tendency to smother, to insist on guiding others even when her help is neither asked for nor wanted. It comes from love, but it can feel like control.
Visions don’t guard the walls. Crossbows do.
Her biases reflect her roots. She trusts the hands that feed and protect—the hunters and farmers whose work sustains Camp Hope—and her heart is softest toward children and orphans, to whom she becomes both teacher and shield. But her warmth turns cold toward outsiders. Born-and-bred Camp Hope, she carries a lingering mistrust of those who come from beyond the walls, convinced that survival elsewhere demands deceit. Likewise, she has no patience for prophets or visions; to her, faith dressed as prophecy is a crack in the fragile unity that keeps the camp alive.
If I seem overbearing, it’s because I’d rather lose your patience than lose you.
Racheal carries a faded silver locket at her neck, her thumb rubbing across it whenever she is lost in thought. She never speaks of what’s inside, and few are bold enough to ask. Whatever memory it holds, it fuels her devotion to community above self. In her mind, no individual should thrive at the expense of many—resources, safety, and hope must be shared if Camp Hope is to endure. And so she gives herself to the Watch, to the camp’s children, and to the uncertain dawns that follow every long night.
I’ve seen enough outsiders to know—desperation makes liars of most.
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