Jump to content
Server time (UTC): 2020-01-17, 23:06 WE ARE RECRUITING

Zelith

Members
  • Content Count

    69
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by Zelith

  1. BakBakBak... Wide eyes look around, searching out one person. Where is she? The screams and yelling are deafening, only shadows in comparison to the ringing in her ears, to the explosions and gunfire. Bakbak...Bak... A voice, then, calling out her name! But there's the tent! Cassandra.. Need to get to... Olivia opens her eyes, offering a few blinks. The ruined building she had been sleeping in offers a lone creak, likely the aged wood settling in. Bakba- Coming to her feet, she opens the door, hardly on it's hinges at this point. Soon enough... She's on her lonesome, again, only paper and pen for company. These feelings of doubt... Reverberating around me like heavy metal. As if I'm stuck inside of a cage, doomed to be here for all of eternity. Forever Die Front Row I fantasize about leaving, sometimes. Fantasize about taking my own life, fantasize about atoning. The things we've done... No, the things I've done... Are they too much to come back from? I'm unsure if I'm 'Whisper,' or Olivia, at this point. I should know these things. I should. I shouldIshouldIshouldIshould. Hospitals empty. Buildings empty. Snow. Cold. Coldcoldcold. If I can't be 'Whisper,' and I can't be Olivia... I will be Mercy. Vengeance and reckoning. A bullet to the head is all the mercy I've seen given. Perhaps I should take notes? I hardly remember her face, the way it was. Brunette hair, soft, supple cheeks... That single freckle.
  2. Spending sick days resting and playing on DayzRP

     

     

    source.gif

  3. A more apt name for this picture, would be: "Can you move to the left. No, your other left. Look towards me. Move forward."
  4. Lithe arms turned the rifle, hazel eye peering through the scope. The rock face itself that she laid upon crumbled slightly, a few kicks and stones coming crashing down. Keeping the rifle in a deployed position, courtesy of the bi-pod underneath, Olivia withdraws the journal from her pack, setting it under her. It takes her a few, long moments of eternity to decide on her emotions and thoughts. I suppose... Perhaps it was always going to come to this. We... No, I couldn't continue living for a better tomorrow. No. Now... Now I'm here and alive and surviving for another today. Yes, another today. Another day of living. Cowardice Retribution Sinner God forgive me, forgive us, your children. Take my soul Started with 50... Then 37... Twenty... Need more. Strange how the rifle feels more at-home in my hands than any kind of surgical tool ever did. Even stranger how I'm actually good at it. Papa... Thank you. Gave me the tools to survive without even knowing. The resolve. The confidence. The entry is left unsigned and ended, shortly after. Shaky hands close it up, putting it away. And in that moment... Was she 'Whisper,' operator, killer and researcher? Or was she Olivia, doctor, friend, lover, daughter?
  5. The daily routine took its course once more, new to body and mind. Wake up, eyes to the ceiling, dim light shining in through the windows. Or was that the light above her? The shirt goes on first, pale, pink scars needing to be concealed from any prying eyes. Then the denim jeans, ripped fabric stretching evenly across her skin yet still crinkling in some areas. Soon enough, the rest are on, including the wrist-tablet. It chimes diligently, ready to do it's job at the flick of a finger. Out and onto the battlements and the woman is sitting on a low wall, legs dangling dangerously over the water and the rocks below. The pocket recorder clicks on, the voice coming through sounding unsure and as if she's sounding every bit as pained and confused. Harsh, snapping croaks, closer to a whisper than anything else. "Oli-... I'm here, again. Another day and night has passed and I am... I am still alive." "Unsure of what's happening, of who I am, anymore. Is this my truest self? My best self? I always thought that what I was, what I STILL am, WAS the best that I could become. Perhaps it still holds up. Perhaps I'm doomed to look through an eternity of this life. Whether that's with my own eyes, or through the sight of a loaded weapon... I am unsure. I wonder if my father felt this way, in the war, doomed to follow orders and shoot on command, much as I am. Perhaps I'll ask Murmur if he feels this way as well." "Whisper... For a better tomorrow." The click in the otherwise still air signifies the end of one ritual, and the beginning of another. The clinking of the plastic in her vest pouch and the overwhelming NEED to taste joy at long last. Within a second's notice, the vest is nearly destroyed in pursuit of this happiness. Twist, pull... Life enters her mouth in the color of white. One memory... Two memories... Three, four... A sigh escapes her as she retraces her steps, heading off to explore the day.
  6. A flash of black, ebony hair crosses her sleep-filled vision. Warmth, happiness, as the woman turns away towards the window, musical laughter escaping in a quiet exhale as lithe arms wrap around her from behind. A mutual sharing of closed eyes, of lips against her cheek. Her eyes creep open to the grey, twisted and mangled fleshy mass that she had been pressing a kiss to. Strands of brunette hair cross her vision yet again, though this time laying in what seems like an eternity of crimson darkness. And the eyes turning back to look at her, skin loosely secured between gnashing teeth? Her own. And just like that, Olivia awakes in a cold, shaking sweat, heavy breaths falling from her like landslides. A cassette tape, worn and near-entirely covered in duct tape, falls free from the pages of the Doctor's memoirs, wherever they may be found. A woman's voice, likely Olivia's based on the accent, cuts in. A few, wretched, sobs can be heard. "I can't... I can-... FUCK! My Cassandra, my... My poor, poor love... And... No. Okayokayokay... It'll be fine, Olivia, just a dream." A sound of pain, anguish and torment can be heard as Olivia lets out a wild scream, likely waking the rest of the camp and whatever patients there may be. "I failed you. I failed them all. I can't... I don't think I can do this. Not alone. Not without you. Not without my father, not without my friends... Not without the pills. The city is empty. Perhaps they all are. Perhaps these are the last ones? Just need... One more... To feel better. Headaches, yes. Headaches. Aches and pains and torments and the demons that come for me in my dreams. I'll be purified. Cassandra will understand. John will understand. Mum? Papa? I'm sorry." Something overtook her, then, ebony hair fading into the darkness of pain, of sleep that worsened the hope of seeing the next day. A small, hand-drawn picture could be seen on the bottom of the empty page, where the cassette had been stored.
  7. Zelith

    Potius Cras

    I "Zelith" (Olivia Watson) agree that while I am playing in the Potius Cras group CP, I waive my right to report anyone for KOS or attempted KOS on me under any circumstances. All kills on my character will be valid so long as my character is in the Potius Cras CP no matter how the character death came about. So long as I am playing a Potius Cras character that is working for / with the organization, or my forum name is on the group CP on the forums, I waive my right to report any KOS or attempted KOS on my character.(edited) //Signed Zelith
  8. Olivia made another pass through the makeshift hospice, filling in minor and major details on a clipboard. A quirked eyebrow here, or a false smile there kept her almost normal to most people. Fear could be hidden. Quite easily, really. Heading back inside her own tent, she let out a sigh, crimson-stained hands running through blonde locks, staining them with a day's work. Soon enough, her journal comes out. I suppose... I never said sorry. Not really, at the very least. Then again, I feel as if I'm stuck in space and time, doomed to repeat this life over and over, again. What we're doing here... It reminds me of home. Of Cassandra. Of John. How we used to fly, all of us. I wonder if I'd even be recognized after all of these years. 'Leave it in the past, the future is all we have,' they'd tell me during the meetings. I'm still unsure of how one should be able to get the images out of their head, the memories and the hurt. Is it bad to just want to feel good for, at the very least, a single day? Perhaps I just don't want to let go, or don't know how. Perhaps I'm yet another 'good,' person who has succumbed to the evils and demons of this world. Though... I've come to realize that the demons are not the dead, no, but my own fears. My own, personal, needs and wants. Sometimes I think I can even understand them. The pills are beginning to get harder and harder to find... Might have to try something else. Anything else, to get the pain to go away. The patients need it. Morphine for the good-bye call, sending them away to rest. Valium to come back down, to calm the senses. Oxy to... My love... To this day, I still want to imagine you the way you were, before all of this. Young, intelligent, the lines across your eyes and in your soul nonexistent and erasable. The way you filled my heart to the brim, ready to spill out. Not... Not the way they left you. -Olivia, PHD Fingering the near-tattered paramedic clothing she was accustomed to, she stared down at the pages, not being able to make much sense of her own ramblings at the very second. Was she, indeed, beginning to go a bit insane? Perhaps her separating of herself from others had had something to do with it. Almost as if in some form of holy answer, a shot rang out, then two, outside the walls. The guards seemed to be calling orders. Pen clattering on the small desk, followed by the pages of the journal, she stormed out from the tent.
  9. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjX3J9EpAr0

     

    Ever feel like everything is catching up to you, all at once?

  10. Olivia stoked the flames of her heart, and of the campfire, contemplating. The days before had been... Interesting, to say the least. Eventful, at the most. A quick glance at her hands had her questioning who and what exactly she had become in years past. The journal finds its way between nimble fingers, pages turning until there is only white showing. She begins writing. Welcome everyone... Every time you walk through these doors, you are taking part in finding yourself. You are here to find your own peace and happiness. Remember to release your pain and anxiety. I think it was these words that truly caused me to set myself apart after the loss of my mother. These meetings. Waking up in puddles of sweat and loneliness. The demons kept pressing me. Now? The loneliness is unplanned, but sometimes needed. People die around me. The demons rattle me to my very core, rattle this campsite, rattle the cities nearby. My screams to God of removing this fell upon deaf ears, upon the very air that we breathe. I was bitten. The nausea was the worst of it. Though... The loss of balance was quite humorous at first between my friends, until they realized. The shakes, too, worse than anything the pills could have caused. But, yet... I did not turn. I did not become one of my own demons. One of them. What has become of me? Is this truly my unbecoming? The unbecoming of that all I have worked towards? Survived for? A million thoughts, a million words, all running through my mind. The nightmares and the voices are on repeat in the back of my head. Everything that everyone has wanted me to be... Falls upon me. - Olivia Watson, PHD Monstercowardweaksinner She finishes the signing with a tired sigh, inspecting the now-healed wound and scar. She shakes her head as the others come back, lumber and logs alike piled over their shoulders. The shirt is lowered, another secret attempting to be kept. The journal is closed.
  11. *Olivia holds in the PTT once more, sitting against a wall. She gives a small grunt of effort as she moves her wounded side.* "You've made sure to either clot or cauterize the wound, as well as the evening out of the stump? All could lead to many future issues. If you'd like more of a professional opinion... My offer from earlier is still open. Get into contact with me." *The feed cuts out.*
  12. *Olivia would be cycling through the open radio waves, letting out a sigh at the silence before she finds this specific message. She looks down at her own wound, then holds in the PTT on the transmitter.* "This is Doctor Olivia Watson. If you have a more private frequency we could speak on, I may be able to be of service. I can't say much here." *The feed would cut out, Olivia tapping a bit nervously on the the transmitter.*
  13. Exploring certain areas of the map brings back memories from years ago. 😕 I miss a lot of my old friends.

  14. She lay there still, everything that had happened in the past days flashing through her eyes. Crimson upon pavement, the gnashing and gnarling of both human, animal and dead alike. A flash of bright, white hot and searing pain erupting over her side and her entire being as a part of herself was lost. The sweating comes soon after, followed by the shakes. The now-torn journal, pages faded and written over one-another is opened, an entry forming. Just one more... No, two. Or three? Is that safe? Yes. Again, I know this. (Something happened today) A boring day. Why do I see them in my sleep, now? The dead? The ones calling to me? No faces, but... They are easy to recognize. (Deliverance) (Retribution) (Sinner) The trees of the forest have turned into distant shadows, only there to plague me. Shadows dance in the barely-visible moonlight. Or are those my nightmares, still yet here to haunt me. (Bitten) (God have mercy) (Forgive me) How did it come to this? The vomiting is the worst part of all of this... Perhaps it's just a bug? That still happens, right? Can barely walk... Let alone do my job, currently. Tired, now... Think they saw the wound... Fine... Just need more pills to fix it. theyfixall ((Wrote this up in about five minutes... Bit of context, though to the different colored text -- Red: Out-of-journal emotes, etc Blue: Primary writing Gray: Faded words / words that were written over))
  15. And it was just like that, that the nightly ritual came to Olivia. Take by mouth... A sip of water, allow the mind to wander. Let the doubts and memories come. But this all-too-quickly turns into another ritual. One that brings the world crashing down. Without much thought, if any at all, steel is pressed to her thigh, to her arm, for any kind of relief. And soon enough... The steel barrel to her head, before sense and cowardliness, kicks in like a freight train, going hundreds of miles an hour, eager to reach its destination. A guttural scream of pain, of torment, of wanting this life to end escapes her at that moment, wishing for change that would never come. The pistol clicks once, then twice, eventually... Thrice, before the hope of death is diminished. It clatters to the ground, hardly sliding in the dirt and grass. Red clothes now stained green and brown, she buries her face, tears staining the ground. The journal in the back of her mind, it seems to find its way to her hands, just as the pills do, faded label barely visible even in the light. Just three more. Fuck. Shit. Damn it all. I can't do this. I just... I can't. This world rips away my mother, then my father, then my friends and then my lover. -The- lover. Just let me die, for the love of God. Not that I think he exists, willing to take all of this away from me... Why can it not just end with me? Why is it not enough? So many "why's," and no "how's." That's it. I could take all of the pills. Every single one of them. Sweet, sweet... White... Tablets. If I live... Then that's it. I'll be forced to live. Maybe that's what it'll take. Mom... I hardly knew you and yet you were ripped away from this life far too early... Father? Papa? I'm sorry I was not the daughter you wanted. And Cassandra? My love? May we meet in the arms of the Lord... Across the ocean. I love you -I love you iloveyouiloveyou I love you. Water fell through the air and yet it was not raining. No, indeed, she was crying. Choked, wretched sobs that cut through the camp in the darkness. Tragedies stained these pages just as they had stained her soul. Eyes closing, she fell asleep with the sweet relief that she may not awake tomorrow, but also with the fear that she would.
  16. Solo building a base until 3 AM, like...

     

     

    tenor.gif

    1. Roland

      Roland

      Inb4 rollback

    2. Zelith

      Zelith

      That happened to me last time 😕. Didn't even realize until I was curious about why I couldn't open my gate! Then I saw the metal wire on the ground...

      Also 😮 the lord himself has graced me with a reply.

       

      giphy.gif

    3. Eagle

      Eagle

      But why?

    4. Zelith

      Zelith

      ...Why, what?

    5. DrMax

      DrMax

      I make @Roland make my bases. It's better that way.

       Kristen Bell Idk GIF by Team Coco

    6. Zelith

      Zelith

      Perhaps if I ask very nicely, he will...

  17. The woman is awoken with a start, eyes wide, lungs inhaling and pushing air out as swift as a jet. Finally, they settle, looking around the small camp she had made for herself. With a hardly concealed grimace, she extracts herself from the sleeping bag, coming to her feet. Focused on only one thing... She finds the bottle, which never seems to be too far from her side. In goes one of the tablets, then two, then three. A slight smile breaks out over her features as the early morning dawn barely peaks through the leaves of the forest. Next comes the journal, lying underneath the bag. Day.... Does anyone really keep up anymore? I suppose not. Hans does, apparently. Strange how everything is gone and yet... It seems like everything is just starting. The rise and fall of civilization, doomed to rinse, cycle and repeat, on the constant basis. And my poor Cassandra... Doomed to fall into that loop, never to return. A professor once told me that the human body is capable of amazing feats. The things that I've been witness to the past few years have most certainly proven this to me. The dead being able to live once more, men and women surviving bullets to the skull... I wonder if I would, were I to put my pistol to my head? They've been asking more and more recently about my hands... Not that there's anything wrong with them. Nervous hands. Not the pills, not the pills, notthepillsnotthepillsnotthepills. I should be a comedian. Or a liar. I'm getting better with both, it seems. I'm alright, though, I tell them. Am I, though? Maybe, yes. Hans made another trip into the city, yesterday... Getting harder and harder to do so, with the dead roaming further and further out. He brought the medicine I requested. Oxycodone. For the patients. And my headaches. I'm the doctor - they can't tell me I'm wrong about this. I know this. I went to school for it. I was trained for it. -Olivia Eyes lifting off the page, Olivia matches eyes with the recently awoken man across from the camp. When had he woken up? Minutes ago? How long had she been writing? She closes the journal, returning it to it's hiding spot, grabbing the plastic bottle. One more for the road...
  18. Server 1 Location: Vybor (Sanctuary base) 10/30/19 -- About... 11:20-11:25 PM EST IG Name: Olivia Watson Allies: None Suspects: Members of Black Roses Vehicles: None After being held up, my game crashing and having to wait in a queue, I was led to an alley where I was interrogated. I was asked permission for torture/scarring, in which I gave perms for 'in-extensive,' torture. I was then whipped across the back with a knife twice, leaving two bleed stacks on me. I typed OOC that I was then dying from blood loss. He then told me he was going to knock me out and leave a piece of paper as a message to my 'leader.' I then asked, again, in OOC why he was killing me when I was cooperative the entire way through and there was no reason whatsoever to actually kill me. I then apologized for being in OOC. Edit: Forgot to mention that when I had first logged on today, there WAS a massive firefight in said base and I had heard IC'ly that there was some form of hostage deal going on. I stayed well away from the base until everything died down. Edit 2: Talked to Perpetrator - Everything is cleared up. pls remove report
  19. Born in one of the smallest and safest rural cities in the Eastern side of the United States, Liv didn't have much of a hard childhood, if any at all. She -was-, however, forced to grow up extraordinarily fast due to having a neurosurgeon for a mother and an engineer for a father. She grew up even faster with her mother's passing some years later, in the early 2000's. This is what really pushed her to... Well, push herself, for the most part. Push herself to be better. She spent the first two years after this loss blaming herself, with only her father to reconcile what happened. School itself was never hard for Olivia, as she was able to 'ace,' just about everything for the most part, having the knowledge and wisdom spread and passed down by her parents. By the 2010's, Olivia, or, 'Liv,' as she liked to be called, was well on her way to becoming one of the youngest and most prodigal doctors in Iowa. It seemed that all of the aforementioned knowledge and teachings paid off, as she was soon being showered in offers. 'Work here, study this...' The likes. Truthfully, she had had much trouble deciding on a residency, as all she wanted was to help others who could help themselves. Such as her mother, and eventually, her father, who had fallen into old drinking habits. But... What if there was no choice to be made? What if she was able to help others just by... Being somewhere. This news flashed through her mind as she was told by a colleague of the civil war in Zagoria, and of the humanitarian aids being sent. --- Heavy WIP (This is really just the bare minimum of what I wanted to write and revise.)
  20. Born to Alis and Morgan in 1983, Kell was already destined for a great life, either by working with his father or finding his own way. Kell excelled in school and happily spent most of his free time with his father, who taught him the core values of the family, namely proper manners and etiquette. His father’s influence is responsible for his politeness to this day. At twelve, Kell was moved to the United States along with his parents, due to a business venture of Morgan’s. The change was a big one, but it hadn’t afflicted him with the terrible sense of home-sickness that all of his previous friends had mentioned from their times away. Nobody there mattered to him, not really. They bullied the kid who was “Spoiled.” It was only one more reason to follow his father’s example and become a greater man than they could ever be. Kill them with kindness. At 20, after his father’s passing, he took over the family business, but talking with foreign companies and pushing products forward was a bit of a bore for Kell. Stressed and overburdened, he decidedly left the work to his staff members and took a much needed vacation. It was here that he met the love of his life, Charles, and for once in his life, he could just… Not be the proper man that his father had wanted and drilled into him. It was around this time that he realised the overbearing presence his father had in his mind, and his life. Only about five months into the affair did they publicly come out and, eventually, get wed. Years later the whole world is watching the civil war unfold in South Zagoria. Though Kell was already juggling family and work life, he wanted to help. he joined one of the first food drives for the residents of Chernarus. With his connections, he hoped to bring just a little bit of prosperity to the war-torn land. Unknownst to Kell, his stay would be indefinite. Losing his husband in front of his life haunted him for the weeks to come. His adoptive daughter missing, he set out to find her.
  21. *Yao looks around the rolling hills, taking in the view before climbing down and pressing in the PTT.* "I've decided to change my mind about your... Offer, is it? Your friend didn't have my information and thus is free to go." *She pauses, glancing around.* "Radio back, and we'll see if you deserve the information." *A giggle and then the PTT is let go of.*
  22. Zelith

    Checking In [Secure Frequency]

    *Hearing the man's reply, Yao giggles to herself for a moment before sliding the radio off the countertop towards herself, smiling wide and holding the PTT she replies* "No." *She sets the radio down and slides it back across the counter, a knife can be heard sharpening followed by muffled yelps before the transmission falls silent*
  23. @fiftyfootant Nice meeting you man (Yao here) Hope you consider my business offer
  24. Zelith

    Checking In [Secure Frequency]

    *Yao fumbles with the radio for a moment, causing the radio to give feedback before she taps it a few times. A thick Korean accent can be heard* "Yeah, I had him. Well, still do technically. Was thinking of selling him off, maybe making some kind of money from it. He's quite the looker by the way! Didn't even shed a tear when I beat him the first night, or after" *She giggles, which then turns into a laugh.* "After what I did to him the other night." *You can hear somebody attempting to shuffle around in the background, a male by the sound of it.* "Val, I asked you nicely to SHUT THE FUCK UP." *A blade can be heard being drawn* "Well, back to having fun!" *The radio's PTT clicks, then goes silent.*
×
×
  • Create New...