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Server time: 2018-11-18, 21:39 WE ARE RECRUITING

Brownie

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79 h Campfire Watcher

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21 Newcomer

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  • Whitelisted YES
  • Last played 4 months ago

About Brownie

  • Birthday 10/20/1999

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    Male

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  1. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    You're probably right, my only gripe with changing the server to exclusively Arma is that it's so much more milatarized than DayZ, and I know there's mods out there, but I just don't see it replicating the same feeling as DayZ. Maybe the community does have the resources to hire a mod developer to make a good mod, like you said earlier, and if so that'd be really cool. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
  2. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Surely you don't think that. Saying the game has almost no development is ridiculous, compare 2014 SA to 2018 SA and there's a considerable difference.
  3. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    I disagree with your first statement, there's not really any other game as suited to zombie apocalypse roleplay as DayZ. I was under the impression that modding was coming with beta but I'm probably wrong. My bad.
  4. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Look you're not wrong. The dev team is atrocious compared to other games. Maybe it's just because I'm a DayZ fanboy, that I stick to the game and still have a little bit of faith in it. I just find it too hard to give up on a game that has so much potential for roleplay. I think when and if beta comes out, mod tools will be a big change in pace for the game, and a much needed one. So I'm holding out until then, and if others don't want to, that's fine.
  5. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    I know you didn't say standalone wasn't more buggy than it was two years ago, but what I'm saying is that if you were able to put up with it then, why not now? And yeah I do agree, changes need to be made.
  6. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Perhaps I interpreted the picture you posted earlier incorrectly. The dudes vision is cut off from the sides, which suggests to me that you were saying I wasn't letting other outside opinions influence mine at all. I perceived that as hypocritical, because you too, were not at all taking my opinion, which is that the game is not as broken as you say, into consideration. Apologies if I misinterpreted it.
  7. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Because you refuse to get in game and have a locked in opinion that the game is broken and clunky and will not let anyone tell you otherwise. Just as close minded as me, just on the other end of the extreme I suppose. Clearly you've been here for a while, since 2013 to be exact. Now do tell me if I'm wrong but that means you've played a lot of standalone over the course of those 4 and a half, five years. Now that baffles me, because it sure as hell isn't as broken and clunky as it used to be.
  8. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Yeah I saw it, and maybe I am close minded about the game, but that's fairly hypocritical. But still, 64 members have registered in the past week. If all of them applied, which I highly doubt due to the barren I playerbase, and we had even a 50% success rate where 32 of those players were accepted and got in game, sure we might have a few inexperienced players, but we'd still have a more active community. I'm afraid this community is too focussed on forums these days, the community no longer revolves around the game as much as it should or as much as it used to
  9. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    It's funny, you're here complaining about the community not growing right? But evidently, from the statistics in OP's post, you are part of the problem because you refuse to get in game. When newly whitelisted players see that, that nobody gets in game, they don't bother getting in game either. Honestly dude the game isn't as broken as you think it is. I don't know, maybe you've had shit luck but it just isn't as broken for me as it is for you.
  10. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    Who gives a fuck about the PR and Reputation, and honestly I've seen a lot more broken games than DayZ, if you think DayZ is so broken, I worry for the other games you play...
  11. Brownie

    Statistics - Why They're Important

    That's ridiculous... Making a parallel like that is precisely what is killing the community. To be honest it's all just people's unwillingness to log into steam and boot up DayZ. It really isn't that hard. I look around the forums and people, not just new people but old and reputable members just aren't hopping in game and have less than 10 hours played. If one person gets in game, more will follow. And I know people don't want to get in game because they have some stupid outlook where they don't want to get in game because "the game is broken" and "the developers are shit". And I don't disagree with the second part, but saying the game is broken is ridiculous, because to quite a large extent it's not, it has so much potential for roleplay, which is literally exactly what we do around here. Wait till beta, get in game, don't just run for 30 minutes expecting to find someone; put some damn effort in. And if the community is worse off after beta, then yeah, maybe it's time to re-evaluate our options. But to be honest all it takes, in my opinion, is for more of our already whitelisted members to just get in the damn game and play for a couple of hours.
  12. Brownie

    Random name you remember from a long time ago

    One day Sam Harper will get his revenge
  13. Brownie

    Group Idea:Class of 2018

    This is a great idea, just finished HS myself so would be down to be a part of this. Good luck and I hope this comes to fruition!
  14. *Charlie sat down and leaned against an old fallen tree. Out of the breast pocket of his shirt he pulled a small voice recorder, held it up, took a long sigh, and started to talk* Perhaps coming to this place was the stupidest fucking thing I ever did, but to be perfectly honest, I'd rather fight for my life out here than rot in a prison cell. See, I'm not here because I'm a local, or a soldier, doctor, scientist, fisherman or hunter. No; I'm here 'cause I'm running. I'm a long way from home. I grew up in an orphanage in Queens. I went to a shitty public school and knew shitty people. I never got adopted and so when I turned 18, I left the home. And that's pretty much when my life began, or at least this life. I worked, for years I worked. I made friends here and there, and eventually I made one who wasn't exactly the best sort of company. Pete was a dick, but, he was a smart dick. He made his money, well, in a non traditional way. He barely worked for it; every few months he'd find a new job and a new place to rob. Underground poker tables, off-licence liquor stores, rich families who had too much money for their own good, and occasionally, he'd steal a whole fucking ATM and spend days trying to crack it open. He was a shady guy who did shady shit and I did not like him. Eventually he dragged me along to one of his jobs, a nice house in Oyster Bay Cove, one of the richest suburbs outside of the city. The job went to shit, Pete said there'd be nobody there, that the family were on holiday, but he was wrong. The family was there; a mother and father and two kids, both younger than 5 years old. The dad thought he was a hero and pulled a gun on Pete. Pete shot first. The rest of family heard the shot and came rushing to the scene. Pete shot again. after 3 minutes of being in the house there were four dead bodies lying on the ground. Throughout the entire thing Pete didn't bat an eye, he had no remorse for what he'd done, he needed to be stopped. So I shot him in the back of the head and ran. The entire thing was blamed on me, five accounts of murder, breaking and entering, robbery, the whole package. But by the time I read about that I wasn't in the country. When I heard about the crisis in Chernarus I was in Belarus, and so I made my way through Russia and eventually found the wasteland. I figured if I went to a place where nobody else would go, the feds would never find me. And that's pretty much how I got here. To the innocent family who were killed, I'm sorry. And to Pete, I'll see you in hell you sick bastard *Charlie stopped the voice recorder and put it back into his pocket before taking a big swig from his flask and lighting a cigarette.*
  15. "I was not born into this world a wicked man. Once I was kind. Once I was gentle. Once I loved. I was not born into this world a man who took pleasure in others pain, but now, here I am. And I do... The world made me what I am a long time ago. It was not the virus, and not the people that the virus brought with it. We were plagued a long time ago, we just never realized it. Because that plague was us." -Pétur Jónsson I was a good kid. I was obedient; when my Father told me to do a chore, I did. When my Mother told me to pay more attention in school, I did. And when my father told me to ignore the cuts and bruises that plastered my Mothers face, neck and arms, I did. But at what point does it become okay to find your mother beaten to an inch from death, lying in a pool of her own blood on the tiles of the bathroom floor? I had to stop him. But before I tell you what happened next, I should probably say, it wasn't always like this. We were a normal family once. We had a good home in the capital city of Iceland, Reykjavík. My Father met my Mother when she was visiting England, he had moved there from Iceland a few years prior and when the two met, he finally moved back. The pair married, and eventually, on the 20th of October in 1990, they had me. Their first, and only son, Pétur. We were happy. My Mother was a kind, caring woman. And my Father was a hardworking attorney who brought in enough money to support the three of us comfortably. They sent me to a good school, where I got decent grades and made good friends. Bottom line; we were happy. That was until the first of January 2000; as the new year dawned upon us, my Fathers law firm decided he was no longer a "worthy investment" to them, and they laid him off. The shame made him cynical and cruel, and the alcohol made him violent and spontaneous. Over the course of the following five years he had a few jobs here and there, working in supermarkets or liquor stores, but each time he was fired for the same reason, stealing anything that had even a drop of alcohol in it. During those five years my mother and I took beatings that I did not know were possible to sustain and withstand. I truly believed that one day, when he came home drunk off his face, he would end up killing one of us. It was five years later that I was finally pushed over the line. I was 15 years old and already working in a shitty cafe in a even shittier neighbourhood, it was mid winter, meaning we only had a precious five hours of sunlight per day, and by the time I had finished work at 7:00 that night, it was already pitch black outside. The walk home that night was colder than any before it, I could feel the blood in my veins freezing, I could feel the moisture forming into tiny speckles of ice on my eyelashes, and I could see my breath before me; that was all I could see. Everything else was black, except for the occasional passing car or streetlight. When I arrived at our home the door was wide open, and my fathers car was parked crookedly and the trash can next to it knocked over. Something was wrong. It had been three weeks since my Father has last beaten my Mother, and he claimed he was three weeks clean of alcohol. I knew that this was not a good thing. The drive was building up inside of him, he needed to drink. And so, finally, that fateful day came along. I ran inside as fast as I could, my Father was just sitting there at the dining table, blood on his hands, shirt, and face, and a nearly empty bottle of cheap vodka in front of him. I ran towards what I could only describe as the faint sobs one might give when they are taking their final breaths, and in the bathroom is where I found her. My Mother, my kind, gentle, patient Mother, lay there on the ground. Her face was a mess; Both her eyes were purple and so swelled up that I could not even make eye contact with her. There were streams of blood coming out of her nostrils and mouth, and several small white and red teeth sitting on the bloodstained floor next to her head. Her throat was purple and black, covered in bruises from my Fathers heavy hands. Her blouse was torn all over the place, leaving her cold and exposed. Her arms covered in bruises, and her left hand twisted in a way not humanly possible. Beneath her, on the ground was a puddle of blood. I lowered my ear to her mouth, and could only make out the softest of breaths; she was dying. Taking my Fathers life was the best thing I had ever felt. The snow globe was heavy, but as I brought it down into his skull it felt weightless. It felt right. The sound of his bones cracking and his skull rupturing released the demons from my body. After I killed him, I ran face first into the wall, to make it look like self defence, like he had thrown me around, and I had only tried to stop him. But truthfully, killing him was the one decision I have made in my life that given the chance to decide again, I would do it the same way every single time. Something snapped in me that day. I emerged from my home a new man. And though my Mother only survived for a week after that day, and succumbed to her injuries in the hospital, I knew that I was stronger than ever. I knew that if anything ever happened to me again, those responsible would pay. They would pay the only price I could make them; They would pay with their lives. WiP
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