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About tomroadrunner

  • Birthday 01/01/1987
  1. I broke both legs at one point and had to roll up the stairs of an office building, then roll myself off the roof. Afterward I belly laughed about how ridiculous it must have looked.
  2. The only problem is that doors are finnicky as hell and you're pretty likely to end up with a Z on your head while you're fiddling with the controls.
  3. Totally, any time! My steam name is the same as my forum name, feel free to add me! I play TF2 way more than I should, the competitive scene dragged me back in, kicking and screaming.
  4. Ended up with a new job and a whole bunch of other new things in my life and forgot about my sweet old DayZ! I don't know if my whitelist expired or not, but hopefully I can get back in for some more RP fun.
  5. ((I'll keep posting the rest of my prologue, as well as my actual in-game DayZRP story here, until I've finished my story, but is there something I can do to encourage more viewership and comments? Once my prologue is finished, I'll be posting pictures and videos to go along with the narrative, but for the prologue it's an impossibility at this point. Is audiovisual aides what I'm missing to bring this thread to life, or is there something I can do with my writing style? As a side note: Once my prologue has finished and I transition into the in-server story, would it be advised that I continue in this thread, or start a new one to signify the change?))
  6. tomroadrunner

    My app. (Good anough or not?)

    Putting it through a word processor and using more proper formatting would help immensely from a storytelling perspective. I'm going to be the resident word processor advocate down here. "IF YOU'RE WRITING MORE THAN A PARAGRAPH, USE A WORD PROCESSOR AND THEN COPY/PASTE", will be my signature from now on, I think.
  7. Fourth Entry (3 days after third entry) The smell in here is unbearable. The flies have begun to take notice of me. My leg is still oozing. The body's stomach has swollen up enough to pop a few buttons on its shirt. Not much is left of the face. The bugs out here work quickly. Its name was James. The week after my contact with Emil was a blur. I was constantly drenched in sweat, and the chills were unending. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, but I knew that if I was going to survive, I would need antibiotics. The day after my last entry, my mental cloud was disturbed by movement at the front of the church. The heavy doors opened, then closed. I slumped to the side to see what was happening. I heard panting, I saw a moving shadow. Words were said, someone yelled, then the church erupted into a roar. It was a gunshot, but I couldn't figure out where it had come from. The figure lurched over and began cursing and screaming. My ears were ringing and I became nauseous. It was human. There was another human in the church, but I couldn't think clearly enough to make contact. I started to lose consciousness to the sound of faint sobbing. I awoke to a cacophony of buzzing flies. The sobbing had stopped. I dragged myself nearer to the buzz, finding James there in a pool of blood. He was in what looked to be military chaplain's clothing, complete with dog-tags. He had a small holstered pistol, a large bullet wound in the upper right-hand area of his chest, and most importantly, a backpack. A single can of beans, a water bottle, two rolls of gauze, and Penicillin. I could feel my consciousness starting to slip again, so I dragged the backpack back to the pulpit. I took a pill. Reading the label now, it's a pretty heavy dose. I'm 4 pills into the bottle now, my health is slowly improving. I think I should be ready to move James outside of the church tomorrow, if things keep going the way they are. Something has been bothering me, though. In light of my progress, I figured I should do a quick run-through of my equipment, in case I decide to make another trip into town come dawn. I checked my Winchester, chamber was clean, bolt was moving smoothly, one round left in the magazine. I have to remember to grab that pistol from James tomorrow. You had 2 rounds left yesterday morning. What did you do, Thomas?
  8. Awesome stuff, hadn't seen your story yet until now, looks like our characters are having similar struggles. It's tough for a true civilian in this world. Real tough. I'll stay tuned in to see how things go!
  9. Third Entry (4 days after contact with Emil) i jsut want ot go hjome. thisia is njust not wher i need ot bs. myleg doensy heutr anymometere, itjusst feels wramr. imm really coldthogh. iw sih i had a blankset orsmoemthing. Why did you say, "yes", Thomas? You could have prevented all of this. i wonder what emils mother's name was? mybe he shoudl hav won. maybe ishoud b teh ddfead one. Maybe you should have died. Do you even know if I'm still alive? Maybe I died before the quarantine, maybe I was killed during the military crackdown? What do you know? cnthia is alive. she si in cloaifornia wiaitn g for me. she neesd me. I need her. i juts need hug. i flee s cold. i want to be wrm. i jsut nwant to go home. You're going to die in this church, alone. You're running a 105 degree fever. You were right, bandages weren't enough. What are you going to do now? You're going to die here, alone. I'm going to wait for you here on this military base in Fairfield, California. I'll have food, water, shelter, protection, but I won't have you. I'll keep waiting, but you'll never come. Bandages weren't enough. im not even religous why would i hide inn ahurch? i lokoa round this plance and i see liots of purple. it loooks slike sooeone photoshoopped the wolrd. inv4ert colros? OKAY BOMO lcolcors invetrted. You don't have much time. Stop writing, keep your wits about you. Something is coming. You won't die in this church. Not now, at least. Hold on, help is on it's way. I know it is. Help has to come. Just hold on. STOP WRITING. Get some rest, you're going to need it. I love you. ilvoe you too.
  10. Yay! I got whitelisted! Thanks, admins! I'll be continuing to post my prologue through this weekend, make sure to drop by and leave feedback! The prologue begins here: http://www.dayzrp.com/t-the-prologue-of-tom-roadrunner?pid=233708#pid233708 This weekend I doubt I'll be able to play much, but during this coming week I should be around a ton! The (for the most part) inability to play for the next 48 should help me fast forward my prologue a bit though, so make sure to keep an eye out! I've already got the next two entries ready, but I'd like for them to be their own posts instead of addendums to current ones, so unless there's another workaround, your comments/criticisms are ESPECIALLY desired!
  11. Could make for an interesting origin, but I'd suggest typing this up in an actual word editor first to help out with the grammar/spelling/punctuation. Don't want lack of professionalism to take people out of reading a potentially awesome story. You want to hook people with interesting content, but once you have them, you need to retain them. The professionalism of a story will help that out greatly. Looking forward to seeing more of how Ghost got his name.
  12. Second Entry (6 weeks after outbreak): I killed a kid today. His I.D. says his name was Emil. He looked like he was 17. He didn't have much on him. Why did he shoot? Why did he think that was the right choice? He probably didn't speak English, but my body language was anything but aggressive... Why would he shoot? I try not to leave my new home very often, but my stock of beans and soda were dwindling. I've spent the last 4 weeks in the church of a small town called Gvozdno. There's not much here, but I think that's the only reason I've survived here this long. Gunshots erupt from Krasnostav every time the sun goes down, and the nearby castle always looks like it is on fire. I know that in order to survive another few weeks, I'll need to make another run to the supermarket in Krasno. The local guerrilla groups use the town as a resupply depot, so even the quickest trips can be dangerous. I figured I should leave here around 5am, to buy any sunlight I could afford. The safest way to get there was also an arduous one. I like to get a bird's eye view before I enter a new place, and the nearby Mt. Ostry provided that. There's another mountain in the area, but at night campfires are visable on it's summit. I packed my last can of soda and can of beans, my small Chernarussian JanSport-ripoff, the "Coyote Scout", and my Winchester. I found it buried under some hay in a small barn on the southside of town, must have been stashed by someone at the beginning of the outbreak, maybe they thought they'd be able to make it back here in time? I have no idea. What I do know is, this thing is big, heavy, and packs a punch. I had 4 rounds in the magazine, so it's mostly for show, but just having it is comforting. I'm not a great shot, and it's not exactly safe to do target practice around here, with so many walkers and bandits around. They react to gunshots like moths to a fire. I reached the top of Ostry ahead of schedule. I figured I was in a "use it or lose it" situation with my final reserves, so a mountaintop breakfast seemed appropriate. At about 8am I decided to start descending into town. It looked pretty empty, the walkers were all lackadaisically roaming the streets, directionless. The walkers are the cause of all this mess, of course, but if you watch them enough, they can actually be an amazingly effective bandit alarm. To this point I had learned that the less reaction you had to walkers, the better. Their brains were shot, they were only operating on a brain-stem level, so memory was non-existant with them. They'd spot you, and a lot of times all you had to do was duck behind a corner quickly, or hide in a pine tree, and they'd forget all about you. They'd keep wandering in your direction until distracted by something else though, so it wasn't a good idea to stay in your hiding spot for long. On the east side of Krasno, there are a couple of barns, and a small neighborhood, with a small grove of trees separating them. This grove of trees leads straight to the market. The only downside is, I have to get from this dirt road to that grove without being spotted. I crouch behind a tree on the side of the small dirt road and wait for noise. All I can hear is the distant sound of walkers unsuccessfully trying to clear phlegm and debris from their throats. I sprint across the opening, reaching the grove in what felt like hours (even though from past experiences, I know this sprint only takes about 15 seconds). I thought to myself, "I'm actually going to pull this off, AGAIN". What an idiot. I got to the store, finding it mostly empty. The shelves were picked clean, but I knew that most people wouldn't think to raid the staff room. BINGO. There was a 12-pack of soda in the dead refrigerator, and 6 cans of some horrible looking children's pasta. It looked just like Chef Boyardee, but with broken English on the labels and a photoshopped version of the chef with dark hair and a stern, disapproving facial expression. This place has probably become less weird after the outbreak. As I was leaving the store, I saw Emil approaching the local church. I could see that he was skinny and was holding a tiny Makarov. He looked nothing like the bandits I had seen elsewhere, so I figured he was in the same situation I was in, just a normal person trying to make it. We briefly made eye contact, his eyes widened and his face showed fear. I smiled and waved, holding both hands slighty up in the air, palms out, in what I figured was an international sign of "friendly". In a split second, I could see the pistol raising up in my direction. CRACK. I ducked behind the nearest wall, I could hear him running. In an instant, I decided that if he ran away, I wouldn't give chase, but if he stayed, he'd either drop his gun or die. I sprinted to the front of the church, figuring if he was going to stay, he would try to flank me around the church. I wasn't a military man, but I had played enough sports growing up to know that you had to protect your flank. I decided I would head him off if he tried to flank me. He obviously wasn't military either, since he did exactly what I thought he would. We both rounded the corner at the same time, I yelled for him to lower his weapon. He fired a shot that hit my leg. At such short range, it was impossible to miss with a rifle. I hit him square in the chest, making him drop the gun and fall like a sack of bricks. In an instant, he began quickly trying to crawl toward his gun. There was nothing else I could do but put another round into him. This time he didn't move again. That's when the pain hit. My leg erupted into to flames, the adrenaline was draining from my body. Walkers had taken notice of the commotion, so I limped into the small church. I bandaged my wounds, but I had a feeling that wouldn't be enough. The nearest hospital was miles away, and the pharmacy at the market had been picked clean. I knew those thoughts wouldn't help anything, so I pushed them away. All I could think was, "Why did he shoot?". Maybe my body language didn't convey the right things? Maybe he just wanted what I had? Paranoia? Why did he shoot? After the walkers had lost interest in the corpse outside, I decided to go out and check the body. I didn't know what I wanted to find, I just wanted to find something, ANYTHING. I saw that he had a wallet. "Emil Karakay" was his name; he was born in 1996. For fuck's sake. Emil, why did you shoot? I decided to turn the body over to find anything else. His insulated clothes were heavy from the blood. A hunting knife, an empty water bottle, and a can opener. Dammit, Emil. I could've helped you. We would've been stronger as a pair. Should I have run away when he took the first shot? Would he have chased me? I knew the safe route back to my makeshift home would be too hard in my current state. My leg would alternate between dull burning and mind-splitting pain. The roads would be the fastest and easiest route. I just had to hope that they'd be empty. I'm writing this now, so I'm guessing you can figure that they were. I got back to Gvozdno at sunset. I hobbled to my usual area behind the pulpit. My leg was throbbing, the pain was getting worse. I popped the Ibuprofen I'd left here in the morning, 1800mg total. I don't care anymore, I just want the pain to be gone. I can feel myself losing my grip. The pills are working, BIGTIME. I can't really hold on any longer, I'm going to let go. Why would you shoot, Emil? Why?
  13. First Entry (~1 month after outbreak): I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have said, “Yes.” Things were pretty normal back home. Cyn and I were finally crawling our way out of debt. We finally had enough money to replace our threadbare tires, finally enough to get collection agencies off our backs. I was working at a special education campus in northern California; she had just been promoted to banker at the local bank. We definitely weren't rich, but being able to actually afford new things was a shock to us. The car. That fucking car. A white 1990 Honda Accord with no A/C, no stereo, windows that no longer could go up or down, a trunk that let water in when it rained, a transmission that would be fine one minute and be circling the drain the next. That piece of shit car is why I’m here. We’d needed a new car as soon as I bought this one. Now that we were coming out of debt and repairing our credit, it was time to start considering taking on a car payment. That’s when the trip to Chernarus was brought up. I had received a standing offer to spend my summer overseas, helping train teachers in other countries in more modern ways of teaching special education. My expenses would be paid, and I would also receive a modest per diem. On top of that, I would be bringing home $3,500 for my time spent training. Paid vacation? HELL YEAH. Then it was made clear that only MY expenses were covered. The flights alone would have eaten up the money I’d be earning, so we decided to just send myself and my luggage, and I would bring back the money I earned to use as a kick-ass down payment on a certified used car. Like I said, we weren’t rich, but we felt rich for even looking at a 2007 Toyota Corolla. The training would focus on practical measures to improve the special education system in Chernarus. It was common practice there to send children with special needs straight to institutions. Many innocent kids became “the dirty little secret” of the government. I knew that they weren’t motivated by evil; it was just that they didn’t know what else to do with them. Over in the U.S., it’s pretty common to see someone with special needs working at a grocery store, or fast food restaurant, or what have you. What most people don’t see is the concerted effort from parents, the teachers, the case workers, and the person themselves to get to that point. Every person you see with special needs that is living with their families and is employed is a HUGE victory. Even from a practical standpoint, less people institutionalized means less strain on the government, and more people working means more tax revenue. It's a win-win all around. <<.>> Not that any of that matters anymore. As far as I can tell there’s no more formal government here anymore. Several military groups have been fighting for power here ever since the event. We started hearing rumors from the mainland that there was some sort of rabies spreading around the world. Borders remained open though, since the cloud of bullshit surrounding the event was still too thick. The first case popped up in the northern hospital in Chernogorsk. Cherno was the closest thing this country had to a modern city. A Russian woman went in with a severe fever. After a few days, she was dead. Within the next 24 hours the woman, along with four morgue staff members, disappeared. Apparently the morgue was covered in blood. Some of it was aged more than the rest, even though the forensics teams knew that was impossible. That's when the real clusterfuck went down. All ethnic Russians were ordered to be quarantined in a small town called Stary Sobor. They were under constant military supervision. Inside the country, it was a super controversial move, but many of us were shocked that the Russian government itself wasn’t dropping the hammer on us. There was literally no reaction from the mainland to this human rights violation. We still didn’t fucking get it. We started hearing rumors about certain countries that were a little more on the “prudent” side that were closing their borders. I heard that other countries were making major shifts in their governmental structure. The U.S. had apparently abandoned Washington, DC, and had moved the entire national government to San Francisco of all places. In doing so, they also dissolved all state governments. States east of the Rocky Mountains were being left to their own devices, and millions were dying because of it. The military declared martial law in the western states, with varying amounts of cooperation from the locals. That’s when outside communications were cut off and the borders were closed. I had TWO fucking days left on this visa. TWO. The military crumbled under pressure from the walkers and the guerrillas. The dead were coming to life and eating people, and there was no one to protect us. Bandits were murdering women and children just to take their backpacks full of water and beans. The concentration camp in Stary had turned into a local genocide. I just want to go home. I want to see Cyn. She’s a smart woman. I know she was prepared. I just know it. She HAD to be prepared. She had to be. I’m huddled in a church pulpit in the middle of nowhere, trying to not to make any sound, trying not to move. Without electricity, you forget how dark the nights really are. I have no idea how legible this will be in the morning. I’m mostly writing from muscle memory. Gunshots sound from the next town over. They used to make me jump. Now they just make a numb feeling wash over me - Am I next? I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have said, “Yes.”
  14. "Gonzo" is a term used in journalism to mean basically, just being there in the moment. Hunter S. Thompson was one of the major pioneers of it, he was a "reporter", but not in the general sense. He would show up to something and just be himself, then report back on what happened from his perspective. Ever seen Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas? That was based on gonzo journalism. What I mean by "Gonzo RP" is that I will always be in the moment. I will BE my character, not act like them. Anything non-UI or non-technology related will not be outside of character for me. So if I see another hero and say, "Hey man, if you need AK, check my pack, take what you need. Cheers", I won't consider that to be out of character for myself. Or if I am in the woods with a friend and am hungry, I'm going to say, "hold up, man, getting dizzy, need to eat", but I'm not going to type, "*opens can, looks at the brown sludge within. Sliding the plastic spork from his belt, he reluctantly eats". I'm just going to say that I need to do something, then do it, basically.
  15. So, I've noticed that the RP that happens here tends to be a lot of storytelling. I try to live vicariously through my character, so if I'm playing and communicating in a more "gonzo" sort of fashion, is that accepted around here? I've got a pretty clear endgame and motivation, but I don't know if I'm ever going to be emoting the act of putting a gun to my shoulder or enjoying a can of beans in-game, but I WILL be weighing each and every one of my actions heavily based on my character. TL;DR: Is gonzo RP allowed, or do we need to be doing a more narrative approach?