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Server time: 2017-11-18, 21:13

Jonibus

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About Jonibus

  • Birthday 12/26/98
  1. Plea For Help [OPEN FREQ]

    Adam activates his radio, speaking only briefly. "Fuck, cut on my forearm, maybe 6 or 7 inches by 6 or 7 inches square of missin' arm. It was cut with a..." Adam looks at the bloodied knife next to him. "...7 inch kitchen knife, heated in a fire. Cut must 'ave been too big for the heat to stop all the bleeding. The bleeding has slowed from a bandage tied around the shoulder. I'll be looking out." He drops the radio to the ground, watching over the night, and waiting.
  2. Adam grips the handheld radio with 1 hand, the other clenching the bandage on his arm. A bloodied knife lay next to him. He presses down on the button on the radio and begins to talk. "I ain't normally the type of person to plea for help, but we all need to kneel to aid sometimes." He pauses, grimacing "I'm bleeding. Its starting to slow, but the cut is intimidating. I don't know how many of you have any use in that kind of situation, but... it never hurts to try" Adam takes a draw on his cigarette, tossing the remaining butt on the floor and stepping on it firmly. "Vybor. Its where you'll find me. I don't have what it takes to travel very far like this. Make yourself known and I'll see you." Adam releases the radio and lies down, hoping he'll get the help he needs.
  3. Adam drops his cigarette to the ground and steps on it, grinding it into the asphalt. He steps into a nearby home, leans against the wall, and takes out his radio. He tunes to a public frequency, hoping those he intended to contact would be listening, like they said. "Mays here. hope you actually pay attention to the radio waves. I'll try to keep it vague, you know who you are, and where we agreed to meet. I'm here, and you are not. This better not be a waste of my time..." Adam puts away his radio, and positions himself to view the entire street. Now its the waiting game.
  4. May 1st, 2016. Can confirm the triangle posted above is quite popular.
  5. I'm not exactly a seasoned player on this community, not when it comes to clan v clan, or being harassed by a bandit group, anyways. I'm aware of the rules, and have read them prior to applying and multiple times since, but the situations given are quite vague. In your opinion, besides feeling at risk or after demands haven't been fulfilled (which are both subjective, different people feel at risk in different situations), what types of scenarios do you tend to feel ending their life is the only option. Also, would I be right in assuming if two clans/groups have had shared negative encounters to the point where they are "enemies", that players are generally more lenient in killing?
  6. Survivors: Looking For Group

    IGN: Adam Mays Age: OOC - 17, IC - 24 Country: OOC - Canada, IC - USA English skills: Fluent, only language both IC and OOC DayZ Mod Experience: N/A DayZ Standalone Experience: 220+ hours Roleplaying Experience: DayZRP since the beginning of 2016, A3 Life servers since 2015, & watched many videos since 2014. What kind of In Game role best describes you: Survivor. Neutral but hard personality, however not much of a killer. Have you been in any clan/group previously: L.I.F.E, however on another character. Additional notes: N/A Best way to contact you: PM on DayZRP website, Skype @ jonathanshepp Backstory: To be written. Will be updated soon, otherwise backstory could be learned in-game.
  7. Noticed Something About Roleplayers

    By roleplaying who you wish you were or who you are, there is very little "acting" necessary for your characters personality. Probably why most people do so.
  8. I've Returned

    California!
  9. I've Returned

    Great, actually. Did a two week tour of California! Nice weather change from Canada... takemebackpls
  10. I've Returned

    Just a little heads up to those I've been playing with, my break (since my trip to the USA) was extended simply just because I didn't feel like getting on (was kinda hoping 0.60 would come out before I return), but since it doesn't seem like that's until 2030, I'm back. Ayoo
  11. The fire cackled and burned bright, the only light and sound Jon could hear and see. The trees cast eerie shadows through the flickering flames, and their branches resembled slender men or spiders dancing in the night. He was getting antsy, chewing on a small twig, waiting for the can of beans to heat up over the open flame. He lost count of the days since his last human contact. Lost count of the days since the apocalypse began. Lost count of the days since that radio message... It didn't matter anyways. The message must have been fake, or a hallucination, or a misunderstanding. She wasn't alive and neither was anyone else from that damned camp, he sat around a few days just to make sure. Just as well that he gave up, he was running low on food. Every home or store he entered nowadays seemed ransacked, simple things like food and water were getting tougher and tougher to come by, let alone medical supplies, which he was also running low on. Jon's back tingled in pain just at the memory that he couldn't risk his few painkillers. He'd survive. He had to survive. His hair was a mess, a crude chop-job with rusted medical scissors, a broken mirror, and a surgeons hand. His skin was almost stained with gravel and ash, and Jon could only compare himself to that of an animal. His shoes were broken in and he lost his checkered cap, the last thing he had to cling to with any sense of identity. Dr. Jon Reck? He really felt like a wreck. Jon pulled the magnum out of his waistline and flipped it open, staring at the bullets chambered inside. One fired. Not that it meant anything, he missed his target by a long shot, the kick was too much for his woman-hands. But he tried it. The man was unconscious, dying, and out of helps way. Jon didn't know what came over him, but the gun was out and fired before he could realize what he was doing. Thank god for poor marksmanship, I guess. He emptied the rest of the bullets into the palm of his hand and considered for a moment, before chucking them over the cliff and into the water below. Then, he stared at the weapon for a moment, before throwing that, too. No more violence. Jon just couldn't take it anymore. Its funny how the human mind works, a mixture of emotions to be felt depending on your current scenario. He was fine with loneliness before, in fact he thrived on it. Then, he thought he might be able to meet up with some old friends, and he felt hope. Then, they were never around, and despair overcame him. Then, loneliness again. And now... Jon couldn't come up with a word to describe what he felt. Empty, with no emotion. Maybe even melancholy. He began sorting through his backpack before moving on. On the very top, his lab coat and pants, his nametag still clipped to the front, however most of it had faded by now so it only read "D . eck". A small box of latex gloves were tucked to the side, half used up. He appreciated that, for the purpose of sterility and to sate the little bit of germaphobe he had left in him. There were a bunch of various medical supplies strewn about under the coat, needles, sterile bags, and random medications he'd collected. Nothing important at the moment, but everything has its chance to live up to its usefulness. Finally, at the bottom of the bag. A small blade, wrapped in cloth, no longer than his index finger. Jon unwrapped the knife and stared at his reflection in the flickering light of the fire. His only reliable medical tool left, a scalpel. More effective than any blade those damned bandits carry, this is capable of slicing you open with the slightest pressure and drag, however he had never used it for such purposes. In fact, he hadn't used it at all. Jon ran his finger down the blade, and then thinking for a moment... he dragged the sharpened end across the tip of his finger. Searing pain shocked him back to reality. What was he doing! In a panic, he wrapped his finger in the cloth that was once around the knife and dropped the blade to the ground. This is NOT who you are, this is NOT what you do. Jon continued mentally punishing himself for that, before finally throwing everything back into his back. Jon kicked the logs out from the fire, and grabbed the can of beans dangling above. He then kicked dirt into the fire pit, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and stared at the beans as he started walking. Survival. Its all about survival. Eat your dinner, and you'll survive. Jon began to eat as he walked on. He thought back on to what the man in the gas mask once told him, even though that man had hurt him badly, Jon still remembers what he said. "Its survival of the fittest, man, and news flash. You're the weakest man I've seen, and I'm going to put you down". But that couldn't be true, because Jon was still alive, maybe a year later. He wasn't just alive, but he was alive and healthy. Maybe Jon wasn't good with a knife or a gun, or maybe his size wasn't intimidating, but there is one thing Jon is good at. He sure can survive.
  12. Gonna be gone for a week or two, got a nice trip coming up to Cali! See you all in April!
  13. Jon leaned back against the wall, the mattress beneath him creaking, while he listened to the sounds outside. A slight breeze, some insects buzzing about, chain-link fences clinking in the wind, trees rattling. One time, not long ago, this would've upset him. Scared him, made him feel alone. But as of late, loneliness is what he feeds off of. He had no idea how long its been since he could trust someone. The last person he remembered talking to that he could trust... DeMonte.. lemons was it his last name? Just goes to show how long its been. Weeks, maybe months, had passed since his last visit to the summer camp that had been known as Camp Hope, yet he remembered every detail about it from his time there. Funny, really, he hadn't spent all that much time there, yet it was more of a home to him than anywhere else in this god forsaken country. Jon turned up the gas lantern that lit the room, and did a last sweep of the area. The door was barricaded, the windows still barred, his backpack to his left, his rifle to the right... He almost felt safe. Almost. He still had no idea where he was, or how he got here. Days upon days of hiking without direction brought him to an old rundown town, surrounded by forest and mountain. He couldn't read the street signs around here anyways, so why bother identifying the place. It was small and secluded enough that he figured it would be of no value to anyone. There is no real stores or industrial buildings around, nothing that anyone really needs. It meant he could be alone, and that is what he wanted more than anything. Jon turned out the lantern and turned over, but sleep couldn't come to him. Not since... Jon shook the thought from his head, and took a bottle of pills out of his backpack. Sleeping aids, perks of being a doctor, I guess. He swallowed two and let the night take him in. His dreams were that of nightmares, yet nightmares of the past. His family, his friends, dying in front of him, at his own hands. Him, holding the very same gun that he... shot that man with. That very event he tried to turn away from his memories day after day, haunting him in his dreams. Watching the pain in his family's faces, of dishonour, betrayal, and physical pain blended into one horrible look, the blood come from the very same hole that is now in that mans body, at the top of his head, yet it would never stop pouring out, flooding his dreams until suddenly his entire vision was red. Jon awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking. This same dream, every night, for weeks... Suddenly, the static from the radio he left on in the corner of the room kicked to life with a familiar voice. A friendly voice, of that he could trust. A voice that brought on memories of the camp, of his fellow doctors, and of DeMonte whom he was sure now had the last name Lemons. He kicked himself out of bed and grabbed the radio. And suddenly, Jon didn't want to be alone anymore...
  14. Favourite Town

    Mogilevka is within range of a bunch of significant places to my character, I tend to end up there a lot.
  15. BrOKen fREqUenCy [Open Frequency]

    Recognizing the voices on the radio, Jon throws himself out of the cot he was sleeping on, falling to the floor in the hurry. "They're alive... they're alive... people I can trust..." Jon muttered to himself, scrambling for his radio. He pushes down on the button and throws out whatever comes to his mind. "I thought you guys were dead! I can't hear much of what you're saying, the signal is horrible. I've been so secluded for so long..." Jon lowers his voice, remembering about how many undead lie outside. "I hope we can meet again sometime. If you recognize my voice..." After checking the fortification on the windows, Jon crawls back into bed, this time taking his radio with him.
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