IGN: James Redrick
Age: 28 in game, 22 in real life
Country: Chernarian Roots, grew up in USA
English skills: I only speak two languages, good English, and bad English.
I've been playing DayZ since the original mod was first released. After playing the mod for some time, I grew tired of what it had become: Shoot on sight nonsense. After taking a vacation from the mod, I discovered DayZRP. I've never played the stand alone.
What kind of role best describes you:
My favorite roleplay is that of a nomadic existence, living day to day, setting up a campfire in the middle of nowhere and playing my guitar over my microphone hoping that somebody stops nearby to listen and chat. Some of the best roleplay sessions I've ever had is doing a supply run with other random survivors, setting up strategies in the event we are robbed, watching each others backs, and then hauling back to camp with a load of loot on our backs. I'm game to be molded into whatever role the group needs to be filled. I've never robbed someone before, so I suppose I could learn, but I'd prefer a group that doesn't rob unless absolutely necessary. Basically, any hostile actions against other survivors should be out of necessity, not for sport.
I also love a military like hierarchy, complete with training's, designated roles, and an all around center objective. Really, it just boils down to wanting to have a bunch of guys I can jump on, talk to, and have a few laughs and good times with some sort of direction.
Have you been in any clan/group previously:
Gray Fangs- Left because time difference
(I don't have a solid backstory, but I figure I can at least copy and paste some of my roleplay material so whoever reads this can get a feel for how I write)
I sit here with this BIC pen in between my fingers, struggling to write on this piece of paper that's since shriveled and swollen since it's initial birth date. Everything shakes and shutters, the wind offers itself as a constant companion to my rolling knuckles.
The most prominent feature about these lands, I believe is the unutterable thick layer of mist that surrounds and engulfs it. By and by the land, it is clear, but to look to the ocean one can see a wall of fog seemingly as hard as brick. An arguably natural phenomenon, the fog has yet to be seen to leave. This was made noticeable to me after taking shelter in a small shack along the coast. I had since retired to my rucksack when a thunderstorm had brought itself to my doorstep. Like many others, I slept with a firearm. The cracking of thunder gave the impression of an intruder kicking in, naturally, I discharged a round into the door. Creating a small hole, from it, the mist leaked in like an ooze. It moved as if it was blessed with sentience. Snaking it's way around the shack it appeared to move in and out at it's own free will. The night was growing brighter at the time of the incident, I didn't dare step outside however while the night was still precedent (for obvious reasons) . And so I waited, half past 8 I packed my things and vacated the residence. The sun was bright, a welcomed companion but, like a unmissable monument, the mist had brought itself out onto the ocean stretching as high and taller then the great skyscrapers of New York. As mentioned before, the mist formed a wall. It was flat, it didn't dare leave the confides of it's “sun stroked prison”. This struck me odd, and so, I watched.
My trip was to take me up the coast, and well past the two primary estates of the land. I had time to think and observe the mist: what it would do and how it acted. Checking my watch, at roughly 14:00, the mist had yet to change. There it sat, the stray dog at the chef's back door scratching to be let inside. It was at this point I realized that I hadn't seen the mist go past this point since I had arrived in Chernarus six months prior. To the few men that I met down the coast, they noted the fact with the same look I imagine I had when I first realized it. One man in particular had a “unique” reaction, to say the least, in fact he is probably the only real reason for this testimony, to whomever decides to read it.
Wearing a vest of denim, it covered in what appeared to be moss from a tree. His pack was worn to the point of the straps being duck-tape. An oiled head of hair, and a dirtied black beard was this man's trademark. The laws of Chernarus can call for blood at any moment and most times, one can deal with the stress, but what happened next brought everything I know to the brink of madness. This man stopped dead in his track when I had mentioned the prior. He looked at me with what appeared to be a strange look of relief, and then, he looked out into the mist. It was now 18:00. The mist had progressively had gotten closer throughout the day as the sun came down, it sat now at maybe 150 yards from the shoreline. The water came in and out, it seemed to echo against the dunes. His eyes squinted out into the water, appearing to look far beyond what I could see. And all at once his head jerked with his eyes to the right, and then to the left!
“It comes! It comes!” The man said grabbing and jerking me away toward the land.
“RUN RUN RUN!” He screamed.
Taking this for a possible elaborate attempt to rob me of my valuables, I remained where I had been jerked, in a defensive stance, I looked from him, and to the water. Something was moving, 50 yards from the shoreline, what appeared to be a tube twisting with the tide. Referencing the fear of snake like creatures all the way back to the story of Adam and Eve, at this sight, I stepped back several feet more. It moved with a smoothness and speed of a creature neither I or anyone I have come across knows, much faster then the natural wave movements could provide. 25 yards from the shoreline, I made a dash into the darkness. A village was ahead. Before being lost into the night, I turned back to see what became of the man. I cannot be for certain, but I believe what I hope is false, to be the silhouette of a heightened tentacle rising from the ocean, grasping the man, and dragging him in. His last words that I could make out over the salt water sounded off as
“THE HOUSE THE HOUSE!”
If you are reading this, then you probably know of the locals that bore witness to this whole catastrophic incident, for better or worse. They muster around, dragging, crawling, and hopping alone like frogs. They arguably don't see one another, paying themselves no mind as they bump heads or fall off a ledge. However, if seen, it is known that they move into a frenzy state where they sprint off as fast as their arguably decomposed muscles can take them. Easy to lose in an urban environment, but caught in an open field and one better hope he can run several miles without having the luxury of oxygen.