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Basoon

Dave "Brimstone" Harrington

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Basoon    15

Hi everybody! I just logged on today to see that there are now Stand alone servers! I was so excited that I immediately dropped everything else to work on my white list application. Here is my back story for my character. Since you are the community I will be interacting with I wanted to get your feedback and any suggestions. Can't wait to RP with all of you!

Dave grew up in South East Tennessee. He was raised in a small shack in one of the poorest parts of Appalachia. Dave grew up surrounded by poverty and hardships, starting work on the family farm at the age of 12 to prevent his family from losing their land. He quickly realized that he wanted something better for his life and for his family one day. Dave learned a lot about the land. Most time he wasn’t working on the farm he was hunting or trapping. He loved to hunt and was the main provider of meat for his family. Dave’s father wasn’t much of a shot, and happily gave his guns to Dave in exchange for any meat Dave could bag. Dave quickly became a gun nut, and spent most of his early teenage years learning all he could about them. By the time he was 15 Dave already had 3 annual turkey shoots under his belt, and was widely considered the best shot in his small town.

At age 16, after much arguing with his father, and much encouragement from his mother, he decided to go to work for free at the local Baptist church. Dave had always been extremely devout since childhood and it made sense to him to dedicate his life to the church. The pastor, who Dave only ever knew as Rev. Jep, quickly saw Dave's aptitude for preaching and interpreting the word, and paid out of pocket for Dave to go to seminary school in Chattanooga. Dave said goodbye to his parents and 7 siblings and packed what little he had. When he arrived in Chattanooga he was amazed. He had never been inside a two story building before, much less some of the buildings this city held. Dave was awestruck, he spend his first few days just exploring the city, and marveling at what it offered. Dave spent the next years excelling in School, and graduated near the top of his class. He had made a name for himself at some of the local churches in Chattanooga and accepted a position as head pastor at a church of nearly 300 people. Dave was living his dream, filling the huge room to standing room only every week. People came back every week to be inspired by his famous new take on fire and brimstone preaching.

Then, at age 23, Dave received news that his father had been injured and was in the hospital. He rushed home that night to find his father had fallen and been crushed by a tractor. By the time he made it, his father at already passed. Dave knew that he had to stay in his hometown, and that he could not go back to Chattanooga. He took up a position the church that had made him, preaching alongside Rev. Jep. That year, he reconnected with a girl he had grown up with. Rachel and Dave got married in October. This was the best time of Dave’s life, he was home, and with a woman he loved. Dave spent his days preaching, and connecting with the town. He was much loved and knew everybody on a first name basis. He often provided food for those in the town who had none, and helped out anybody in need. Dave continued his Fire and Brimstone sermons, and was the very definition of a southern American. He continued to hunt regularly and became very active politically. He often attended protests for different human rights events and religious freedom events. Dave was never afraid to be very vocal about his opinion, and would always stand up for what he though was right, God, and America. About seven years later, an unexpected phone call changed Dave's life forever. It was his friend Bacho, whom he had met in school. Bacho told him that his home country of Georgia which had been subject to war was now at peace, and that he was planning a missionary trip to Georgia and the surrounding area. There were plans to go to the Ukraine, Russia, Georgia, and finally Chernarus. Bacho and Dave had been good friends, in school, but Dave had a family to consider. Dave was now 26 years old, he had a wife and two children to worry about. He had a six year old boy named Andrew and a four year old girl named Hannah who was his whole world. In the end, after much prayer, Dave decided to do what he had always done and follow the Lord. He packed up his family, said goodbye to his small home town for the last time, and drove to Chattanooga to meet with Bacho.

After a short 2 month training program the Harrington family found themselves in France, catching a connecting flight to Poti, Georgia. Dave and his family spend 2 years traveling and spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Building a total of 12 churches and 9 schools in that time. He spent a lot of time preaching and connecting with the locals. Dave continued to cling to the life he knew, thinking of his homeland often and ending his days with Johnny Cash and Tennessee Whiskey. Dave’s American pride would sometimes get him into trouble. One night in a bar in a small town in Russia, Dave was drinking his usual Whiskey. The Jukebox actually had some American country so he loaded it up. A few younger men in the bar started to give him a hard time. They continued to make comments about how horrible America was until finally Dave had had enough. He stood up and without saying a word punched one of the punks in the mouth. He went out quicker than a light, and his buddy pulled a switch blade. Dave quickly grabbed a barstool and swung, missing once, missing twice, and at last finding the man’s chin. Knocking him onto the ground. Dave spent 3 nights in the local jail. Finally, he and Bacho sat in their makeshift home in Chernarus, planning the trip home the United States. If, that was, they could still book passage. People had been fleeing the country and a horrible disease that had been spreading. Dave hadn't had much time to monitor this event, as he had been rushing to get a final church done before the money ran out and he had to return to the United States. Dave said he was going to go down the street to the bar, for some Whiskey and some smokes. He stepped out into the light snow and started walking.

He didn’t mind the cold. He had gotten used to it in the past years. He enjoyed the crispness of the air now, and the sound of snow crunching under his word out cowboy boots. As he lit up his first smoke he heard something in the distance, sounded like a commotion. “Probably just these damn people and their soccer games”, he thought to himself. As he walked into town the commotion got louder, and as he approached the bar he realized people were in the streets, packing their belongings. He stopped and asked someone what was going on but the only answer he got was “We have to get out!” Now Dave was alarmed, his heart sped up and his mind went racing. Surely this couldn’t be what he feared it was. He ran to the bar and looked up at the TV, there on the news it showed through a shaky camera feed as the military set up a secure perimeter around the airport they were supposed to take out of here. He had seen this type of panic before on the news and what it can do. He knew he had to arm himself to protect his family from looters. He ran 5 blocks down the street to the sporting goods store. It was closed. “But it’s only 8 o’clock!” He exclaimed. He ran around the corner and into the supermarket, hoping he could find something. The store was filled with looters, and he had to shove his was around. He fought his way to the back and picked up a metal baseball bat. It was the best he could find. He made his way to the front, but there were no workers. He ran out the door and back up the road. About halfway back to his cabin, he saw something made his heart stop. A full military convoy was tearing down the street. Humvees with fully armored soldiers manning fully loaded 50 cal. flew past him. This was not good. They had cut off the way he had to go, so he doubled back. He turned the corner into an abandoned factory, slipped on ice, and blacked out. He woke up the next morning to the sound of gunfire. He looked out the door and saw the military shooting, but he couldn’t see who they were shooting. He moved around to the window for a better look. “Dear God they are shooting civilians!” He could not imagine why, and didn’t wait around to find out. He ran through the back door and into the woods. He could hear the sounds of gunfire behind him as he climbed the hill outside of town, praying that his family was safe. He finally doubled back to where they were staying. It was high noon and a beautiful day. Behind him black smoke corrupted the blue sky like a great evil sin. He made his way up the dirt road, out of breath. “Something isn’t right.” He almost said it out loud as he approached the house. The window was broken and he could see the door hanging open. “Rachel?! Kids?! Bacho?!” He called out softly at first, then louder. There was no answer. He moved around the porch and looked in the door. He could not comprehend what he saw. His best friend, his brother, Bacho, was laying there dead. He looked as though he had been torn open by some animal. Then from the bathroom, movement, out of the dark a figure lunged at him, he swung the bat hard. He heard a sickening crack as the bat found its mark, and watched as his wife fell to the floor. Blood all over her hands and arms and pieces of flesh still hanging from her mouth. He fell to the floor stunned, this could not be real, he must be dreaming. Then, through the window, he saw her. His little girl, laying in a bed of crimson snow. He ran to her scooping her up in his arms. She had three clean bullet holes in her body, across her chest in an uneven line. He wailed at the top of his lungs, begging God to send his little girl back to him. He slumped down into the snow, clutching her in his arms, he fell into a state of shock. He woke the next day before sunrise, freezing cold and in early stages of hypothermia. He had to get warm, he had to find Andrew. His son was only 8 and he was nowhere to be seen. He could be out there. Dave spent the day burying his loved ones. He put three makeshift crosses in the ground to mark their graves. He took what he could from their house, a revolver with one box of rounds, some food and water, and his bat. He didn’t look back, determination filled him to the brim. He must find his son.

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Great story, that last paragraph though. Almost every sentence starts with "He". He wailed, he ran, he must, he almost etc.

Try to avoid using the same words or phrases over and over. It can make reading a story (no matter how good) sound like a mantra or prayer, constantly refraining.

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