Alfons had a relatively normal childhood, he grew up on the streets of Budwieć and had a pretty easy going time as a kid, later however during his teenage years Alfons started to attend more parties and get more involved in drinking, given that Budwieć was a relatively outback town, far away from the capital you usually ran into the same people at all the parties, some of those people were local farmers boys, cowgirls and a few new faces every now and then. In the recent years a biker club had moved close to the town, and they started attending the barn parties, these new faces had a lot more on their mind though, they slowly started to introduce stronger substances including alcohol and drugs, and slowly they started to recruit some of the boys from Budwieć. One of those new recruits was Alfons, and he quickly developed a liking to this lavish, carefree lifestyle. Needless to say Alfons dropped out of school and started hanging around the bikers more. With joining a club like this he was making a big commitment to not only a lifestyle but a brotherhood and he developed a real family here that he could lean on. Alfons was eventually arrested and charged with trafficking narcotics, he served a 5 year sentence in a prison located in the Nádbor region, however his sentence was cut short when the russian invasion started and soon after the infection spread all over Livonia, he was about to be left for dead when an empathetic guard opened the doors for all the prisoners, only to be overrun and killed. Alfons now roams the Nádbor region, serving himself and whoever he considers close to him.
IGN: Griffon Moore, or I can make a new char for the group
English skills: Good
DayZ Mod Experience: Some
DayZ Standalone Experience: Average
Roleplaying Experience: Pretty diverse
What kind of In Game role best describes you: Interrogator
Have you been in any clan/group previously: A few
Additional notes: N/A
Best way to contact you: Discord or Forum PM
Backstory: I can make one to fit the group.
Born in the rural state of Arkansas in the small resort city of Hot Springs, Griff was a average run of the mill kid. He was indeed athletic and always encourage from a young age to participate in any sport he could get his hands on. From the iconic American sport of Football to Baseball. Being in Arkansas not much was offered in the pursuit of academics, rather it was as if the whole state pressured one to pursue athletics to advance their standing in life. Griff graduated with average grades not really warranting him much in terms of scholarships, so he turned to the ones who'd give him the opportunity. The US Marines. After rigorous training at Parris Island, South Carolina, Griff became one of America's Devil Dogs of war. America had been embroiled in conflict within the Middle East for what seemed like an eternity at this point. Thousands of young men were in the scorching sands giving it there all in the name of Uncle Sam, Griff being one of them. Deployed to the hellhole of Southern Afghanistan, Griff experienced conflict first hand fighting insurgent forces. Civilians and Terrorists began to blend in with another and for a time Griff saw them as indistinguishable. After four years had passed, having witnessed friends and foe die, Griff was called back home to the States. However something within Griff and significantly altered his outlook on life. Returning to civilian life was painful as it was dull and boring, the haunting actions within Afghanistan still lingering on Griff's mind. Only after a year Griff abandoned the easy life and quickly joined up with a Private Military Organization who primarily focused their efforts in South Africa, guarding rural white communities from African-Supremacists. Here Griff would spend the rest of his days until the world went to shit merely two years later...
Adrien was born in Minsk, Belarus to a strong family who sought to better there position in life by moving to the Americas in search for a brighter future. In this regard Adrien did not spend long in his mother-country and about two months after his birth, joined his family in sailing across the Atlantic, to Charleston, South Carolina. Here Adrien and his family's stay was brief as they managed to cross the country over to the west coast, finally settling in Brookings, Oregon. Here Adrien would gain his education and slowly incorporate himself into an American lifestyle. Eventually he reached a point in his life where his was to set his sights on a career path. Most of the kids around him talked about scientific studies, or liberal politics, but Adrien had his sights set on a form of art and news reporting, photojournalism. His father was slightly apprehensive of this and attempted to swade him into a career in medical or other pursuits, however his mother was very supportive, and eventually persuaded her significant other into supporting their son. They invested money into a small recreational photo camera, primarily designed to take photos for family outings and what not. It wasn't necessarily the best in the business, especially when the new smartphone's could produce better results, but to Adrien this was more than satisfactory.
Adrien would go on to puruse his career in photography through his studies at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. Here he would perfect his skills and take photos with industry standard equipment. Infact he scored a internship with local news outlets, covering various stories around Oregon. At around the age of twenty-three Adrien would finish his studies early and go on to freelance, auctioning the best photos to the highest bidder of a variety of news outlets. Eventually he would find his way back overseas to a recently war-torn country of Chernarus, covering the reconstruction efforts since the days of the country's bloody civil war. However what Adrien thought to be a simple and clean task, would spiral into a maddening nightmare.
It had been two years since the world had ended, where absolute anarchy descended upon humanity. Whatever disease had come with this pandemic, had driven the infected host into a bloodthirsty craze, hellbent on devouring those who themselves weren't carriers of this paranormal disease. Adrien looked through all the photos he took, and scratched his beard, when was it the last time he shaved? He quickly shrugged off the thought and continued through his album. The ruined apartment he had taken refuge in was dark, save for the lamp that dimly lit the area around him. He shuffled from a sitting position to that of laying down, as the night-life of Chernarus came to be. Distant shots, screams of agony, and the cries of the infected filled the air of the shambled husk of a city that was Chernogorsk. He paused looking at one of his photos. A setting sun over the horizon of the thick forest of South Zagoria, he contemplated. Are these truly his last days? When will he finally be put under, or worse turn into an infected host. He shuddered before deleting the photo. Enough of those thoughts, time for shut-eye. He powered off his camera before rolling over to his side, looking at the lamp's fading light. He then outstretched his hand and turned it off, the light quickly receded and all became dark. Another day in South Zagoria had passed, but tomorrow was a new one.
Scavenging. A way of life some would say. They would call those who did such vulgarities such as dirty, cowardly, or just plain greedy. But to Arpad, it was opportunity. Born in Volgograd, Russia, Arpad Fyodorovich was effectively a gutter-rat from birth. Born in extreme poverty, where the weak feared the strong, Arpad's day to day life past infancy was a struggle to say the least. Arpad would keep his head low as he was not too keen to get into a scrap. Instead whenever a brawl would breakout between drunken belligerents, Arpad was there to shift through the pockets of those who were knocked out. Life would continue to be this way, as School simply wasn't an option for Arpad through his childhood and teenage years. Eventually in the year twenty-seventeen, the year of the outbreak, opportunity would give Arpad a way out of poverty.
As the world descended into chaos the streets of Volgograd became a war zone, with violent parties murdering each other over a small stash of canned foods. Not to mention the infected patrolling the streets in their 'hordes' devouring any unlucky survivor to cross their path. Arpad had survived day to day by sheer luck, only having access to his pocket knife, which is no small feat. However one such day to escape the hell that consumed the city revealed itself in the form of a yellow Lada sitting in the middle of a deserted street. On close examination Arpad would notice that the car was mostly pristine, which is an unusual sight in the streets. However everything had a catch. A piercing shot rang out as something hot whizzed by Arpad's head, grazing the side of his cheek with a explosive burning sensation. Arpad quickly dove to his feet, and scrambled himself underneath the stationary Lada. It was then he heard the crunching of broken glass by a heavy boot. Then came other bone-chilling crunches as the initial set of steps were followed by others. It was then as the tension was rising, a loud harrowing cry of terror erupted the silence. A chorus of frenzied cries filled the air followed by panicked gun-fire. Arpad seeing his opportunity got to his feet and squirmed his way into the Lada's driver seat and frantically attempted to start the ignition. As the shots and crazed howls began to ring his ears, the sound deafening his own thoughts, the car roared into life. Not giving a second thought Arpad slammed the accelerator and the car spun off. Smashing through the occasionally curios infected, he drove through the streets, shots ringing all around him, and screams of panic. Arpad noticed through a dazed lens that the streets were filled with numerous hordes, like a swarm of locusts hell had descended on the city. He turned onto the E119 highway, heading south bound. Away from the city, anywhere but there.
Two years had passed since then. Somehow Arpad ended up in Chernarus of all places. Not to mention South Zagoria. Rural landscape and many, many forests for Arpad's liking. It wasn't home but, it would do for a temporary stop. It was time to scavenge the leftovers of the post-war apocalyptic country. Well atleast what was left...
Somewhere between Kirovograd and Belozersk in a small rural community, plagued by civil war and unrest, was a young boy by the name of Oleksij. Raised on right-leaning values of conservatism and nationalism, Oleksij was not keen or fond of foreign entities or those who were seen of a different color than his own. This viewing of others would have a heavy impact on Oleksij as he grew up in the fires of civil war, between the provisional government and nationalist forces against, what Oleksij's family considered, degenerate socialists and their Russian masters. A key memory to Oleksij was when he was seven and a armored column of NAPA forces drove by their small community. The denizens of this pro-Chernarus village cheered at their sons, praising them for keeping their community safe. Oleksij was given a small patch by one of the passing by soldiers, giving the small boy a rustle of his head before carrying onward to the direction of Belozersk. That night intense gunfire could be heard all throughout the darkness. Oleksij clenched the patch and prayed the NAPA forces would prevail.
A decade would pass with not much significance as the civil war came to a close back in '09, and the last bits of resistance was stamped out by the now solidified government and their paramilitary forces. Oleksij would learn farm work from his father and learned many valuable ideals of family and identity. "Never become like another, Oleksij. Be a man who is his own." was his отец told him. Along with philosophical teachings he'd learn basic firearm handling in the forms of a Kalashnikov rifle in order to defend the livestock from opportunistic predators. However the seventeen year old Oleksij's life was about to flipped upside down.
It all started on a brisk cool night in July. The date long since forgotten and faded. But the events still haunted Oleksij to this day. As his family set about to bed and rest for the day, their dog began obnoxiously barking and growling. Oleksij was the first to awake as he did so with reluctance, just as he was wiping the sleep from his eyes the dog let out a whimpered cry of pain. Before silence filled the night once more. Oleksji found this odd and quickly got to his feet and began to walk to the back door. Something chilled in his spine as he heard a faint crunch sound, bones? Oleksij before opening the door went to the small window next to the door and peered outward at the porch where the dog was tied up. Terror and shock filled his face as the moon's light depicted the scene before him. A man, nearly naked save for his ripped trousers was bent over tearing into the dog's side and munching on innards and gore. Oleksij confused at the sight he was beholden too. He quickly began to stumble back around the corner to the house's living room, where it held the familial Kalashnikov rifle, loading a mag from the dresser underneath the gun-rack, Oleksij walked back to the backdoor and flung the door open pointing the gun at the back of the lunatic's head. However as he gave a warning to the man, the lunatic turned and sprung at Oleksij with inhuman speed. Caught by surprise Oleksij fell backwards, the lunatic's jaw snapping at his face. Oleksij struggled to keep the man off of him as the lunatic flailed about trying to sink it's teeth into Oleksij. However a sharp sound, almost similar to a thunderclap rang out and Oleksij's ears rang, his sight was muddied as the lunatic's blood and gore painted the young Oleksij's face, trying to wipe it off he heard the voice of his father before being lifted up. He exchanged a panic dialogue with his father, mother, and brother before looking back out to the darkness of the open back door. A chill ran down all their backs as demonic shrills filled the night air. The horde descended on Oleksij's home.
Two years passed since then Oleksij thought to himself. His thoughts were broken by a sudden bump in the road causing him to rock in his seat on the refugee truck. It was a miracle Oleksij had survived in the days that were past. Starving, fighting, and running made up those past two years, but now they were heading to a safe place. Miroslavl was their destination he had overheard, the last city of Chernarus, that hadn't been consumed by the tides of infected, opportunistic foreigners, or depraved cannibalistic tribes. He looked to the patch that was worn and damaged, and clenched it.
I will retake my home...