GM Information : Newhaven Survivors : Jed encountered a female survivor who he had to kill because she scared the fish. All that unnecessary screaming! Her body lies hidden nearby in the reeds.
A small lakeside clearing sits unnaturally quiet.
Fishing rods lean against a rotting picnic table. A tackle box lies open, its contents arranged with obsessive neatness — hooks sorted by size, lures polished to a dull shine.
The water is still, reflecting the grey sky like a sheet of tarnished metal.
A single bobber floats near the shore, unmoving.
Beside it, a man sits on an overturned bucket, staring at the water with the patience of someone who has forgotten time entirely.
He hums a low, gurgling tune that sounds like the sea trying to remember a melody.
Jed turns his head slowly as the survivors approach.
His skin is pallid and decaying, stretched thin over a gaunt frame. His waders are torn, his flannel shirt ripped, and he smells faintly of brine and rot — like something dredged up from the lakebed.
His eyes are vacant at first… then flicker with a brief, unsettling awareness.
He raises a hand in a lazy greeting.
“Evenin’,” he croaks. “Yer spookin’ the fish.”
He says it calmly, almost politely, as if nothing about the world has changed.
His long, sharp fingernails tap rhythmically against his bucket — a soft, scraping sound.
He returns his gaze to the water, humming again.
He isn’t hostile. He isn’t friendly. He’s simply… fishing.
Jed’s humming stops abruptly.
He tilts his head, listening to something only he can hear — the water, the fish, the hunger. His fingers twitch, sharpening themselves absently on the edge of the bucket.
“You’re stirrin’ up the lake,” he mutters. “They don’t like that. Makes ’em skittish.”
He stands with a jerky, unnatural motion, joints cracking like old driftwood.
His eyes narrow, focusing on the survivors with a fisherman’s patience and a predator’s interest.
“Fish don’t come close when there’s noise,” he says. “Or when there’s… movement.”
He steps closer, sniffing the air like he’s testing the wind.
“You smell like bait,” he observes, voice soft and almost admiring. “Good bait.”
His logic is simple, primal, and deeply wrong — a fisherman’s worldview twisted into predatory instinct.
When the survivors hesitate, Jed’s placid demeanour fractures.
His humming returns — faster now, off‑key, bubbling with agitation.
“Don’t scare ’em off,” he growls. “I been waitin’ all day.”
He lunges with sudden, terrifying speed — a jerky, powerful motion like a hooked fish thrashing on the line. His hands, surprisingly dexterous, reach with sharp, eager nails.
If the survivors back away, he follows with slow, deliberate steps, like stalking prey through shallow water.
If they speak, he shushes them violently.
If they freeze, he circles them, muttering about “ruined fishing spots” and “good catches wasted.”
“You’re messin’ up my peace,” he snarls. “And I ain’t havin’ that.”
His aggression is not emotional — it is territorial.
He is defending his lake, his routine, his endless, undead fishing trip.
The lakeside reveals Jed’s unravelling in quiet, unsettling details:
A row of fish laid out on the shore, untouched, arranged by size
A notebook filled with tally marks — hundreds of them — tracking “catches” long after he stopped eating
A cooler full of water instead of food
A broken radio playing faint static, as if he tried to listen to weather reports after the world ended
A child’s fishing rod stuck upright in the mud, line tangled
A sign reading NO SWIMMING half‑submerged in the lake
The lake remembers him as a fisherman.
He remembers only the waiting.
Jed speaks slowly, lazily, with the drawl of a man who spent his life outdoors. His tone shifts from calm to furious with no warning — like a storm rolling in over still water.
Sample lines:
“Yer scarin’ the fish.”
“Been sittin’ here all day. Don’t ruin it.”
“Quiet now… they’re bitin’.”
“You smell like bait.”
“Ain’t no peace with you stompin’ around.”
“I ain’t done fishin’. Not yet.”
His voice should feel like a calm lake hiding something monstrous beneath the surface.
Players can notice the obsessive arrangement of his gear, the tally marks, the way he sharpens his nails like hooks.
Speaking may soothe him briefly — he responds to calm tones — but any mention of the fish or the lake risks agitation.
Remaining still or quiet may delay escalation, though it keeps players dangerously close.
Possible, but the shoreline is uneven, and Jed moves unpredictably — fast in bursts, slow when stalking.
Talking or making too much noise will annoy Jed as it scares the fish. Staying too long in his presence will also upset him as he will accuse the players of casting their shadows onto the water, which also scares the fish. If he gets too angry he will attack and try to cut the party into Bate.