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Server time: 2018-12-17, 08:46

Aristocrat

Tycoon

"I assure you, my friends, I am cone sold stober."

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Everything posted by Aristocrat

  1. Aristocrat

    The Cavaliers [Applications Welcome]

    ⊕ ⊕ ⊕ The Cavaliers have always been something of an enigma. On the exterior they present themselves as the perverted realisation of an eccentric nobleman's fantasy. Garbed in scarlet coats and equipped with antiquated rifles, their garish regalia is neither practical nor menacing. Yet beneath this jovial facade lies a pertinacious will to survive. More than that, they flout the morbid conventions of cataclysm with a sangfroid sense of assurity that has become a hallmark of British stoicism. Others might be content to breathe another day but to be a Cavalier is to live, fight and die for the honour of one's Queen & Country. Though they march through fields overgrown with anarchy, their polished boots tread the righteous path of civility. Whether drawn to serve by a patriotic sense of duty or personal loyalty, every member is sworn to uphold the core values of the order; strength, duty, honour. ⊕ ⊕ ⊕ Chapter Ⅰ History of the Manor Claudette's Lament ⊕ The House | Unfriendly -41 ⊕ The Saviors | Neutral +15 ⊕ Cerna Liska | Unfriendly -44 ⊕ A New Moon | Neutral +15 ⊕ The Railroad | Neutral +15 ⊕ ⊕ ⊕ Send the following completed form to @Aristocrat, where you shall be judged harshly. All recruitment will take place IC, being accepted on the forums, doesn't guarantee acceptance in-game. ⊕ ⊕ ⊕
  2. Aristocrat

    The Cavaliers [Applications Welcome]

    Only if you wear a kilt.
  3. Aristocrat

    The Cavaliers [Applications Welcome]

    A tremendous thank you to everyone who commented and offered their support over the last few weeks. Truth be told, I was initially hesitant to bring this group back, but your kind words have shown me that there is still a place for scarlet coated gentlemen in this community. Rest assured we will continue to strive to be worthy of your lavish praise. Keep checking your rusty mail boxes, you can all expect a handwritten invitation to our upcoming tea & crumpet, celebratory gala. @Brayces @Dino @Grimnir @KennethRP @BrianM @Falk @Quill @DrMax @Zero @Samti @Symmetrical @neom @DerrickStorm @Blackfyre @Scarlett @Xavier @Clarence @Stannis @Sam Fields @Iceinfly @AlanM @Semiazas @Zanaan @Sleepyhead @YungBrandonRP @Denton Fitz @Castiel @Rainmaker @Stagsview @uSx @Onyx @HolyCow @InnKinn @Corpsman @Jonal @Credidred @Uplink @Razareth and everyone else we've encountered on our merry travels through the post apocalyptic wastelands.
  4. Aristocrat

    The Cavaliers [Applications Welcome]

    Huzzah! I'm obliged to you for taking the time to read my colossal magnum opus.
  5. Aristocrat

    Bad RP | Invalid Kill | East Severograd | 1:20

    Server and location: Server 1 - East Severograd Approximate time and date of the incident (SERVER TIME): 13 November 2018 - 1:20 AM (GMT). Your in game name: Edwin Ashford. Names of allies involved: Annabelle Claudette Ashford: @Brayces, Nikolai Hagelund: @Dino, Jordan Nichols: @InnKinn Name of suspect/s: Edan + Allies Friendly/Enemy vehicles involved (if any): Negative. Additional evidence? (video/screenshot): https://1drv.ms/v/s!ApC3nFhBnMN8gS9ZdbPmZhZQY5N3 Detailed description of the events: Edwin Ashford was strolling around Severograd enjoying the weather, when suddenly a strange fellow with no shoes popped out of a building in front of him. After greeting the man, he introduced himself as 'Edan' and inquired whether Ashford had a sewing kit on his person. Edwin, being the kind gentleman that he is, radioed his associate Jordan Nichols and requested that he meet him in town with a sewing kit for his new acquaintance. Whilst they waited, Ashford offered the poor man some footwear for his beleaguered feet. The man refused, explaining that it was his God's will that he not wear shoes, for possessions weighed his 'soles' down and would ruin his connection with the earth. Lord Ashford, always the curious sort, asked for more information about this strange religion. However, Mr Edan refused to produce any further discourse relating to the matter, stating that his Messiah would not allow it. Intrigued, Edwin requested to meet this Messiah, in order to learn about the strange new people that inhabited this land. However, after talking to his religious leader on the radio, Mr Edan explained that his Messiah was in a most foul mood, and was under the impression that Ashford was holding Edan hostage for some peculiar reason. Over the in-game radio, I could hear people with raised voice screaming profanity, whilst Edan tried to dissuade them from raising their weapons against me. At this point, Mr Nichols arrived, along with Ashford's niece Annabelle Claudette Ashford and their good friend Nikolai Hagelund. At the insistence of Ashford, Claudette gave the man her sewing kit and in exchange he offered them his weapon cleaning kit. He then told them that he was taking the kit to his Messiah and that they should make themselves scarce, for he was still under the impression that we had taken Edan hostage, despite Edan having a clear line of communication to the rest of his 'congregation'. It was at this point I heard the phrase, "I'm going to shoot that bastard." over the radio, or something akin to that. Ashford did not want to seem rude, however he was no reckless fool and decided it would be best to put aside proper decorum for now. Departing, the young Lord and his dashing companions wandered up the road for a bit, so that Edwin could talk to them privately about some news he'd heard over the airwaves earlier. After a short while, Claudette announced in her very authentic British accent, that she'd spotted a man wandering around the construction area nearby. Turning, we waited to see if we could spot the elusive shadow and after scanning the horizon for a bit, our vigilance paid off, as we saw Mr Edan walking over the field towards us, clear as day. Waving at him, Ashford walked over, while the skittish Claudette hung back next to Mr Hagelund and Mr Nichols was so nervous his decided to vanish into thin air, as his puppet master's game crashed into oblivion. Alone and undaunted, Lord Ashford approached the man and asked him what more he could do for him. At which point, Mr Eden extended an invitation for them all to come join their congregation. Intrigued by this proposition, Edwin beckoned to Claudette and Mr Hagelund to come over, and give their take on the matter. During this period, the strings attached to Lord Ashford were also severed, as I was rudely disconnected from the server. Upon rejoining I noted that Mr Hagelund had already refused the man's offer on Ashford's behalf. When Edwin inquired as to why, it was explained by Mr Edan that all present were required to take off their shoes in order to be admitted into the cult. Ashford was rather proud of his new riding boots, and was rightly rather reluctant to part with them in the name of some vague Holy Shoe Stealing Light. After some back and forth between Edan and the Englishman, it was decided that no one was to remove their shoes, aside from Claudette, who was apparently keen on the idea. At which point Edan informed us all that, "As a messenger I've been told this is your last chance to take off your shoes, it's non negotiable." Not a particularly superstitious man, Ashford requested that the Messiah show himself and demonstrate why taking off the shoes was so entirely necessary. Following this declaration, shots began to ring out around us and Ashford concluded that he'd best nip behind cover before one of them accidentally struck his dignified personage. Alas, that exact sentiment was the last thought that passed through his mind before his dire prediction came true, and he was struck by the shoeless fiends, dying a few feet from the sanctuary of the wooden fence. OOC Notes: Initiation was not made clear, demands were made but no consequences were given. From an RP perspective, it seemed as though it was tongue and cheek, the suggestion was that they'd be punished by some Divine being, not with concealed rifle fire. Furthermore, it appeared as though Edan was not taking the ordeal seriously, as he could be clearly heard giggling in-between his vague religious sermons. It appears as though this shoeless God was entirely fabricated in order for Edan and his dynamic to have some RP reason to initiate on us, given the lack of any details he could provide ICly. Furthermore, I have reason to believe that all members involved in the shooting were not in a group, and thus do not share kill rights. Additionally, @Brayces character, Claudette Ashford had taken off her shoes as requested, but was still shot at anyway. Following Edwin Ashford's death, @InnKinnwas able to get back in-game but was shot at regardless, even though he had not been part of the initial initiation.
  6. Aristocrat

    • Aristocrat
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    • Brayces

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    1. Brayces

      Brayces

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  7. Lord Edwin Ashford was born the second son of an English patrician on the 3rd day of December 1984. From Portland he was whisked away to the Kentish countryside estate where he would spend much of his childhood. Privileged in all but name, he was afforded luxuries few could dream of. Privately educated at a premiere boarding school, he saw little of his parents, his only close family being his elder brother, who became something of a role model to him. Though he looked up to the man, he grew to resent his status and close connection with his father as heir apparent. Frustrated by his neglect and position in life, he held little interest in his studies, save for history, which he absorbed himself in, surrounding himself in past glories. In his mind he longed for yester years, in whence his position meant something, where he could be more than a symbolic vestige of a time forgotten. Though his brother did not share his views nor his opinions, choosing instead to embrace the life of lavish excess, which was so common for boys of his wealth and stature. He held little interest for running the estate which his father, and forefathers had maintained. It was only by threat of disinheritance that he was forced to settle down and raise a family, as befitted an heir of the Ashford estate. Meanwhile Edwin continued his studies, going to Oxford University to study Classical History. Upon graduating, he used his modest wealth to travel the European continent, visiting many sites of antiquity. It was on an ill-fated trip to Chernarussia, that he received the news of his father and brother’s passing in a fatal plane crash. Leaving him with the title, the estate and care of his niece, Annabelle Claudette Ashford.
  8. Aristocrat

    Interview With A Community Member: Brayces

    Wow, that interview had some panache, certainly got my feathers all ruffled. I'm going to give it a solid nine platonic peppers out of ten and a ghostly Ashford thumbs up.
  9. Aristocrat

    *also wipes dust off an old account*

    Another lost red coat returns to the DayZRP wardrobe. Welcome back ol' boy!
  10. Aristocrat

    Will!!!

    *Will hobbles up the beaten, stone pathway, the tip of his boot catching on the cracks in its uneven surface as his wounded leg drags woefully behind. Glancing up at the doorway, he raps his walking stick on its wooden surface, shaking free a few loose chips of bright red paint. After an arduous few minutes of waiting, he sets his cane to rest against the wall and turns to lean against the door, eyes scanning the street for signs of activity. No sooner than he was comfortable, than he'd find himself lying sprawled out in the entryway, Lo's face staring down at him with a quizzical expression, a door handle in one hand, a radio in the other.* "For you." *She smirks mirthfully and thrusts the radio into Will's bewildered visage. Holding the familiar nail bitten block of cheap Chernarussian plastic in his hands, he glances at the frequency dial before looking back up into the face of the towering mini-human.* "What are you doing with thi- Who have you been talking t- Urgh." *He grunts, pressing his free palm flat on the ground as he pushes himself up into a vaguely comfortable sitting position.* "It's Roxanne." *Shooting Lo a warning glare, he raises a finger to his lips and depresses the PTT.* "Hello? Roxanne, it's me, Will. If you can hear me, I'll radio you back on that frequency you gave me." *With that, he releases the PTT, making a few careful adjustments to the knob on the side of the device before raising it to his mouth again, preparing to speak.*
  11. Aristocrat

    Whose roleplay did you enjoy today?

    We spent 2 of those 3 minutes running away from refrigerator thieves.
  12. Aristocrat

    Show some love <3

    Great idea for a thread. I'm going to fill this post out with names when time allows, but a certain someone was getting highly impatient with me. @Brayces - Love you too, you big ol' gay.
  13. Aristocrat

    My Edited Screenshots

    Breathtaking as usual @Watchman. It brings back fond memories to see Will in his rustic ensemble, thank you for sharing.
  14. Aristocrat

    NIL DESPERANDUM - [OPEN FREQ]

    *Will mops his brow with a rag, wiping the solicitous sweat as it seeks to blind him from his sorrowful work. Burying the sharp edge of the metal scoop in the newly turned earth, he rests his weary hands upon the hilt of his shovel. Starved, skeletal frame bent forwards like a weeping willow, his head a stooped branch, dripping locks forming a shadowy canopy over his reddened features. Chapped lips fall open, lungs gasp for air, each lugubrious exhale sending jolts of pain through his knackered trunk.* “Stupid bastard, even now you’re screwing me over.” *Choking on his own amusement, he teeters back and forth, slippery palms losing their grip on the smooth, plastic handle of the spade which had borne him so dutifully. Vision blurring, world spinning, a rush of drab colours. Timber, the ground rises to greet him, earth ready to swallow him whole, body and soul.* “You watched me die.” *The soil shifts beneath him, bony, twisted limbs erupt from the filth, their long, slender, digits drawing him closer. He can feel the sharp sting of nails caressing his skin, tearing at his flesh, dragging him towards the angry voice that calls to him just beneath the surface.* “You let it happen.” *Wet muck kisses his face, staining his cheek with its affection, the incessant accusations take on a softer, feminine tone, whispers in his ear, lulling him into an endless sleep. * “Let go, let go, let go.” *He can feel his heavy lids begin to close as he sinks towards blackness, the cold cloying muck soothing him into oblivion.* “Was that it? All that struggle.. all that fear..” *A quiet light flickers in the void; soft, distant, ethereal. It begins to coalesce forming the face of a young child, her eyes remain closed, yet her blue lips move slowly, calling out his name.* “Will.” *He opens his mouth to reply, yet his lungs fill with dirt, suffocating him, drowning him in doubt.* “Anna.. F-forgive me..” *He rasps, reaching out for the girl as she turns from him, unable to hear his words, her long, wispy blonde hair fading into nothing, leaving him alone in the black.* “Will?” *The voice echoes again, but the figure had long since vanished.* “Will? Wyatt? Are you still out there?” “Lo?” *He tries to open his eyes but all he can see is the darkness that surrounds him. Wrenching himself free of the arms which hold him, he struggles to the surface, clawing his way to freedom with every of ounce of strength left to him. Enraged, the spectre screams at him, its cruel talons clawing desperately at his ankles.* “Don’t leave me alone again! Will!” *Light floods his vision, dissipating the mournful wails. He finds himself lying face down upon a large mound, at the head of which stands a makeshift wooden cross. Birds sing softly to him as the morning sun rises and something else.. a muffled burst of static. Forcing his visage from his muddy pillow, he casts his blurry gaze about. Reaching out, he grasps for the radio which lies next to him. Without bothering to brush off the filth that mires it, he presses his shaking thumb down on the PTT and breathes two words into the microphone.* “Cog.. Hammer..” *Broken, exhausted, he loosens his hold, letting the black box slip from his weak grasp as the voices call him back to slumber.*
  15. Will Holdsworth was born the eldest son of a Devonshire landowner. Growing up many miles from the small market town of Buckfastleigh, he spent most of his early childhood in the quiet isolation of his family's country manor house. No sooner than he was old enough to walk, his father would take him exploring in the Dartmoor. From a young age, he'd learn how to navigate his way between the rocky tors and through the dangerous bogs that mired the area. When he wasn't out getting lost in the wilderness, he'd be at home tending to the livestock and helping to maintain the dilapidated outbuildings. Once his chores were completed, he'd spend his evenings reading the few books that adorned the dusty shelves of his father's neglected study. The prose was difficult but the stories provided a welcome distraction for his juvenile mind, taking him to exotic lands beyond the wearisome, green hills of his birthplace. Privately tutored for many years, he struggled to integrate into secondary school, becoming something of a social outcast. Quite often he would bunk off class to go trespassing in the old military ranges that littered the moorlands, where few were likely to tread. Education held little interest to him and his grades suffered as a result; creative writing was perhaps the only subject he excelled in, which was often derisively attributed to his capacity to daydream. The local archery club provided a rare chance to socialize with like-minded individuals, giving him something to focus on outside of his failing studies. Though proficient, his skill with a bow never warranted any significant merit outside local county tournaments. Despite the protests of his more traditionally minded kinsfolk, a month after his 19th Birthday, he departed the West Country to study English literature in London. There his childhood wanderlust was rekindled by his exposure to the diversity of city life. Shortly after graduation, his father suffered a fatal stroke. Much to the dismay of the community, he sold his share in the family estate, using the money to pursue his dream of becoming an amateur travel writer. Switzerland, South Africa, Brazil, India, China to name just a few of the notches on his passport. Driven by his yearning for new horizons, he ventured to Chernarus for a rare opportunity to go climbing in the Black Mountains.
  16. Aristocrat

    Lo's Diary - Letters to Mom and Dad

    Stop power gaming me! Gawd! "Will seemed once more lost in thought, running a thumb over the feathered ends of his sharpened sticks, toying with his man-made arrows while his eyes gazed deeply into the rusted lockers in his view." Always interesting to read about events that I've been involved through the eyes of another; especially ones so young and naive. It will be fun to look back on all these journal entries in the future and track Lo's gradual descent into a state of murderous psychopathy. Keep up the impressive writing.
  17. Aristocrat

    INCERTUS - [PRIV. FREQ]

    *Will watches with diminishing enthusiasm as the last of his tiny pumpkin seeds skims rapidly across the lake; its smooth, flat shape stirring up barely perceivable ripples in the water's surface every time it dips to kiss its reflection, only for them to dissipate without a trace mere moments later. Wiry arms stretch their way towards the sky, their ascent heralded by a series of stifled yawns. Careless to the journey's end, he slumps to the sturdy wooden planks beneath his feet and unzips his hiking jacket. Sprawling out on the wooden jetty, languishing beneath the baking heat of the midday sun, he reaches back and adjusts his pack. Once it had borne all of his worldly possessions, protecting them through all the arduous days and nights, now it was destined to bear his lazy countenance.* "Signs of better times.. or just another brief reprieve from the storm?" "Give it a rest.. You're not a writer anymore," he sighs audibly as his subconscious silently chastises him for his own grandiloquent excess. *Intrusively alluring in its tranquil serenity, he forcibly tears his gaze away from the diverting, natural vista that surrounds him. Reluctantly he makes acknowledgement of the radio gripped in his hand, its tacky, black plastic case slowly scorching his calloused palm, punishing him for his indecisiveness. Grinding his teeth, he brushes his thumb over the nail bitten cover, it's rough surface agitated by many an uneasy conversation. Rescinding his commitment, he divorces himself from the nagging black box with an exasperated huff. Content to wallow in his guilt, he closes his heavy lids and slips a hand behind his head, praying for a sleep that he knew would never come.* *There he would have remained, plagued by turmoil, if it weren't for the wonderfully irritable shrieks of childish laughter drifting over the reeds. Opening an eye, he peers through the obscuring foliage to watch a young girl balancing precariously on the rusting hulk of a partially submerged sedan. Noticing his attention, she pauses to smile and wave at him, fore continuing to partake in an unfathomable game, the rules of which were known only to her. Spectating from the side-line, he spots an unsightly blemish upon her cheek, the tell-tale sign of a heavy hand. Furrowing his brow, he turns again to consider the discarded radio. Plucking it from the ground, he teases the transmit button hesitantly.* "Pain comes and goes.. and bruises will fade.. But never break a promise to a child.. That's a wound you can't heal." *Cursing his own bleeding heart, he squeezes down hard on the PTT and musters his courage.* "Jeremy? It's Will.. Listen, I don't know if you can hear me.. so just shut up and listen.. The girl is alive and well.. I'm not sorry for taking her away.. the city wasn't safe anymore.. However, I fear in my haste to escape I may have exposed her to an entirely different manner of danger.. one that I'm not sure I can protect her from.." *He glances over his shoulder, ever wary of the attentive guard which stalks the perimeter of the camp, shotgun cradled in his arms as though it were an innocent, new-born babe.* "I'd tell you where.. but there are some things I need to explain to you first.. wolves live here.. and I can't guarantee your well-being.. We'll meet in Chernogorsk tonight.. at the bar.. You'll be able to see her again soon, I promise.. but for now you need to trust me." *Releasing the PTT, he casts aside the viperous device, running a hand shakily through his untidy mess of brown hair. Visibly perturbed, he turns to regard Lo in her state of blissful ignorance, never having felt quite so unsure of his actions.*
  18. Aristocrat

    Interview WIth A Community Member: Watchman

    Spiffing interview. Good to know more about the man behind JJ Colt and that hyperactive fellow with the frying pans.
  19. Aristocrat

    Trent's Art Thread -Requests open

    Farmer, philosopher, artist. Truly you are a man of many talents. Very nice work, I might have to request a portrait of Will.
  20. Aristocrat

    Whose roleplay did you enjoy today?

    Happy to help! Thank you for allowing William to be complicit in his murder.
  21. Aristocrat

    Marcunt's cunt stuff.

    Who's that handsome cunt in the wellies?
  22. Aristocrat

    Whose roleplay did you enjoy today?

    I'm much obliged to @FinskaFiskar & @Marcunt for taking the time to tutor a malnourished, brain chilled Englishman the ways of the new world. Looking forward to continuing our ill-fated road trip soon.
  23. Aristocrat

    Lopatino's Church Massacre Comic

    Nooooooo! Horses can't gallop in snow! You should know this!
  24. Aristocrat

    Lopatino's Church Massacre Comic

    Words fail me. It's hauntingly beautiful.
  25. Aristocrat

    Brayces - COMIC/ART

    This idea has my wholehearted support.
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