"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
DESPITE the wider belief of the world, the true hell in this country started way before the crazed ones with blackened veins and empty eyes roamed the streets. It was before the Russian flag flew over our homes, before the assassination of Lopotev, perhaps even before the civil war, way back when the Reich invaded and turned our grandfathers into empty husks of men. Though, one must admit that this new iteration of hell is quite... loud. It scratches, moans and wheezes through your floorboards, makes you jump at the sound of footsteps. It's omnipotent, the gods raining down droplets of holy water to cleanse us of sin. When will the rain stop? Will it ever?
THESE INTRICACIES of the mind often induce hopelessness, induce pain so deep not even a surgeon's scalpel can remove it. toska. A disease worse than death, and one that thrives in tough times. But there is always a counterpart, always a vaccine, always a cure. As the world crumbles, there sticks out like a sore thumb those individuals still defiant against the world, still clawing and carving out their piece of peace and sharing it with others. Kindness may be a commodity, but it will always be paid forward, snowballing into joyous revolt.
THE PROBLEM is, how do we begin to pack the snow? Do the few good men dilute themselves, making small balls that melt in the toska sun? Or do they unite, under one name or banner to use their hands for a singular purpose, to build their humanity without fear of it melting away? It doesn’t take much thought to realize which one these men chose, combining their knowledge, talents, and social skills into one singular organization, rather than spread themselves thin across South Zagoria. With a combination of determination and desperation, these bastions of empathy stood as a tide-wall against the ever growing tsunami approaching. They went out of their way to do right by the world even when the world returned no favors. And although they got little thanks, getting called naive idealists, working in a country that spared them no reprieve, they still stood. And they’d be damned if they were ever going to take a step backwards.
HE WAS A SURVIVOR from the beginning. Lived through the wars, the reign of terror and political purges. Kirill was a rebel, like his father, and his grandfather before him. And during the time of not peace, but a ceasefire, toska took him. It came in the form of a bottle, and in the form of a soul recovering from loss of his loves. It was terminal, he thought. He dived deep into the glass, swimming in the drink and forgetting the world that surrounded him, till that same world jumped through his window and tried to kill him. A sudden jolt back into reality, spurred on by the snarl of an infected man who wanted nothing more than to see Kirill dead. It was a fight, intense and bloody in nature, though against all odds the sick man lay still, and Kirill still alive. He panted, he paused, slowly turning his head upwards. The world was dying before his eyes. The people looked… odd. Like the sick man. Military troops came in next, gunshots being heard across the city as they searched apartment after apartment, eventually taking the man into a quarantine camp. It was a breeding ground for it, really. The spiritual disease flourished in a place of such squalor, it was abhorrent. But, as Kirill began to bear witness to the world once again, with eyes not tainted with drink, he soon realized the similar conditions. The same symptoms of depression and loneliness. It nearly cut his heart in two, the thought of it.
THE REGION DETERIORATED. Badly. The southern camps were abandoned, Chernogorsk was effectively a dead zone, and as the military packed their bags so did the people. The few who stayed were eventually killed off. By the sick who managed to get inside the camp at night. By the lack of good drinking water. By the ever increasing attacks by other starving men, desperate and with a gun in their hand. It was hell. Eventually it became impossible to carry on in such a place, with the CLF unceremoniously throwing out everyone, foreigner and local alike. Kirill found himself thrust back out into the world, with no home left, nothing to his name. He was truly at rock bottom, only possessions being the things he had in his rucksack.
SO HE WALKED, it wasn’t like there was much else to do. He walked without purpose, but with a tiny ideal. This outbreak, this rapid deterioration of status quo awoke something within him, a bit of his soul lit up once more, not unlike how dry kindling only needs a tiny spark to make a roaring blaze. And with the warmth returning to an otherwise cold heart, Kirill began to have his mind contort, losing the beer goggles in favor of rose-tinted glasses. Amongst the bad, he saw good. Amongst the robbers and thieves, he saw people. People scared, cornered and caged like a hungry animal, ready to lash out at the hand that feeds it. But not all hope was lost for these ones. During his travels, the Russian man met others who shared his ideals. Ones who would die for others, ones who would give the shirt off their back in an instant if they saw someone without one. These people he met were brought together in an interchanging web of mutual friends, but when they sat down, set aside the cigarettes and talked with conviction, they were all startled with what they discovered. They all wanted to help. They began to smile and laugh, shooting ideas off one another, more frenzied in their plans and ambition. And it was there, amongst a bunch of men panicking in their fervor, that the Followers of Toska were made. It was there that a few good men made a pact to themselves and to each other. It was there that they promised to follow toska, the ultimate evil that surpasses the horsemen of the apocalypse, that over-arches even Satan himself, that takes hundreds of millions of lives. It was there they made a promise.
To send this disease into the history books.
KEY: Passive, Active, Interactive
 Directly prevent at least 10 deaths by month's end. (0/10) | Day 60
 Distribute and disseminate information to the people via twitter, as well as more rudimentary long-range radio broadcasts. | Day 55
 Reduce the workload on doctors by teaching 30 people basic first-aid courses. (0/30) | Day 80
 Teach at least 1 lesson on survival-based subjects a week. | Ongoing
 Hold cultural, religious, and general services to add more normalcy in the lives of those caught in this outbreak. (0/5 services) | Day 95
 Deliver medics at LEAST 200 kilograms of medicinal supplies. (0/200) | Day 65
 Encourage bartering instead of theft by trading / giving away 1000 kilograms of supplies. (8/1000 kilos) | Day 100
 Work in tandem with other settlements to create reliable, sustainable farms, gardens, and fortifications, if need be. (0/20 buildings built) | Day 75
 Neutralize and/or negate the main sources of misery in the region, being poor medical care, starvation, lack of social interaction, and brutalization of innocents. | Ongoing
 Turn off gas lines in 100 houses in South Zagoria to prevent gas leaks from setting the cities ablaze. (0/100) | Day 65
 Investigate Elektrozavodsk power plant and ensure it has been safely deactivated so that it may one day be used again. | Day 70
- Create a “Followers of the Apocalypse” style group that isn’t bound down by any single person / place / thing.
- Build a composite blend of compassionate civilians alongside troubled individuals to have a tense but strong relationship, filled with intrigue.
- Have an external focus. New players often leave the server due to a distinct lack of having a reliable group to role-play with. One of our most important goals is to prevent this from happening by being more open to not only accepting new members, but teaching newcomers HOW to role-play.
- Use good storytelling and internally planned events to develop our members characters.
- Refine new players characters by assisting in designing a complex and compelling persona, be it workshops held internally, hands-on critique, or in-character progression.
Wasted Tour Guide - Kirill Zapada | @TryaxReck
Feminine Therapist - Vaughn Enfield | @Taniks
Youngest Old Guy - Jager Casanova | @RocJag
'Actual' Doctor - Drew Williams | @JasonBR
Medical Marijuana - Jack Morgan | @DrCrazyGamer
Child Soldier - Dimitri Lovowich | @ThatOneGuy281
One Meter Marksman - Roe Alkahar | @The Jester
Bovine Bus - Ivan Turgenev | @SeveredNerve
After being only slightly perplexed of the mans hurried tone, Kirill responded in a cordial tone.
"Ah, I see, I see. You sound rushed, my friend, I certainly hope it isn't case that you are rushed for any ehrm, bad..... reason, ano? Da? Yes? Either way. I tell you some places I find along travels. Now, past the industrial power plant in Elektrozavodsk, a bit north and west of that there is one of the old soviet high-school designed buildings. There is a bunch of medics there, doctors and such to make sure you not bleed to death or anything like that. Very good people, doing a job not many want do."
"Then to the far north, there is a place known as Olsha. Be polite and do not cause any trouble as they do not appreciate such things. I advise not bring anything intoxicating, or if so you keep yourself. Giving children drugs is probably good way get shot, yes?"
"Now, this goes without saying but for your case you seem rather erm, how I say. Fresh off boat, so to speak. The largest place and probably THE place being is known as Bellic Pub, located in upper Berezino, the one with big crane and fancy metropolice station. Not lower Berezino, where you have the manufacturing facilities. No, no. The pub is great place for you get drink, if you have payment. They not charity, after all. Is bar."
"...There are other places. But some of them are less friendly to the certain types of people. Those I say you find out on own. Either way, my friend. I say that these three places are usually the places to be, often I find peace and quiet in all three, though remember this! Big crowd means more guns. Do not be afraid leave if things seem wrong, like thickness in air. Either way, I do hope I help you, mister foreigner. God be with you."
The transmission cut, with Kirill releasing his thumb from the PTT.
Kirill slowly turns the dials and knobs of the complicated, bulky, puke-green radio, settling down on a frequency, and speaking in a rather pleasant and jovial Russian accent. His thumb presses down on the PTT.
"-On? Oh, yes. I think it on. Hello, hello! This is Kirill's frequency, sorry if anyone else use but i'm going speak on most regular basis on this channel now. Forgive for airwave intrusion. So, how is South Zagoria doing, my friends? Good, I hope. Perhaps not. Either way, I going be around here, broadcast thoughts, replying to friends, maybe heckling people. Can you do the prank call over a radio? I know not. Either way, respond! I try get back you if I not getting chased with bullets or having my throat ripped open like baked potato. Thank you!"
Satisfied, the Russian lifted his mighty finger on the PTT, opting to tune in for any responses to his message across the region.
Although I find it a bit unfair for you to compare an accent to an entire play-style of character, I nonetheless respect your opinion on the matter. That being said, I haven't quite been convinced that this suggestion adds more than it subtracts. Still a -1 from me, sorry.
"IM DA JOKAH BABY"
The way I see it, there are potential benefits and potential drawbacks to everything.
I dislike Munghard's pack for already stated reasons, so I wouldn't personally want to see that be used for creepy headgear. However, I do sympathize with the notion that more crazy looking clothing articles and whatnot would be rather fun, if the people behind the gear are good RPers.
The problem that underlies most of the surface level 'its edgy' issues is that a lot of people who don't know how to properly play mental illness end up assuming the role of mentally ill people. What I am personally worried about is that by adding more 'crazy' clothing choices it will encourage a playstyle that not everyone is able to pull off. Evil characters are hard to do. Crazy characters even more so. As many before me have said, the best people who play psychos often don't need, or even USE the stuff we already have.
In summary, its no for me. As much as I want to give great roleplayers more things to play with, I don't think it outweighs the drawbacks of encouraging new and / or inexperienced people to play a character they aren't really ready to play.
A distinctly Russian voice pollutes the airwaves, coughing and hacking in between sentences. He pressed down on the PTT, hard.
"I have fought in the ring with bare knuckles, bloody teeth, and fracture ribs. Those fucking executive pig-dogs, they tell me I too old for ring. But now? NOW!? I go, I go and fight! I fight big, I fight long and HARD. I nominate myself, Kirill Zapada, to go and beat both Sam and the Bishop. I up! I up and adam, yes yes."
There was a nearly comical evil Russian laugh, and the sound of a glass being placed down on a table.
"So, ahem. Erhm. Yes, sign me up please. Over out!"
And with that, the voice was gone, static taking over once more.
Tryax POV: We went to Olsha to drop off supplies to the townsfolk and help do some gun training RP, when we hear word that there is a group of individuals poised to attack the town. We then decide to assist in the defense of the town. We take a defensive position on the radio-tower, in which we meet a highly suspicious individual who matched the general description of the potential attackers. They were non-responsive when we questioned the singular individual, and we surmised that they were most likely giving call-outs of our location OOC.
A few minutes passed before the initiation was finally dropped, thus beginning the firefight. Due to the amount of people in the area there was widespread crashing occurring, thus the constant connection and disconnection logs. I did not actually hear an initiation, instead I crashed once the bullets began to fly, in which I immediately reconnected to find my friends corpse being looted by one of the aggressors. I shot the man, then was killed by returning fire.
My group is often nomadic, and travel where our services are needed. If we aren't tending to something in Berezino / Olsha, which we usually do end up doing, we often travel either on the coastal highway or inland of it, think places like Polana, Staroye, and Pusta. Occasionally, we go out to 'The Triangle' in search of supplies, but thats a rare occurance.
I liked the mob spin you put on today's fight night, especially the subtle threats and you-know-whats @TurkRP whispered into my ear. It scared my character and sent all the right feelings. Fantastic job, and I do hope there will be more Tsepovs next fight night. Hope you lot get approved.
I do believe the very start of our involvement in this situation was when @wastingdoor's character, Deacon, was met by @ContheTank's character, Sam. They talked IC, and Deacon told Sam that he used to work for the good doctor, but was betrayed by them and he's now looking for revenge. Now, our group is very excited by the prospect of a man who knows the inner workings, so we schedule another meeting with the rest of our dynamic group at a later date. (I do not recall the exact time of this.)
So, the meeting is scheduled and we all meet Deacon at Black Lake, in which he further divulges the secrets of the G.D. (Good Doctor), which was the fact that they usually like to base in castles / prison facilities, every G.D. patient has either a toe, or finger cut off, and that G.D. patients frequent the bar almost constantly.
About ~1 day later, we are RPing in Berezino and we hear Olsha was attacked, in which my group was sent out as the first responders to analyse the threat and to search for survivors, as well as give medical aid. The participants in this group, as well as friends who decided to tag along to assist are @The Jester, @ContheTank, @K2U, @Lord Seal, @JasonBR, @RocJag, and myself.
We all arrive, and begin to scour Olsha, the surrounding forest, and Svetlojarsk for both G.D. patients and potential survivors. Eventually, we decide to USE one of the leads Deacon gave us to go search one of these castles, in which we find a (presumed) Good Doctor stash location, and strip it of weapons and torture tools.
Shortly after, @ContheTank told me that there was meta involved with what information @wastingdoor's character was giving us, in which I immediately DMed @vanon02 my apologies.
As for the exact time and date of the raid on the GD stash-house, I cannot recall. Perhaps 4:00 am UTC to 6:00 am? I apologize for the inconvenience.
Jan Preck is a self proclaimed bachelor, though whether that is due to his own volition or his inability to attract women is left up to debate. He was born to a middle class family of modest means, often taking after his father in most respects. As a child, he often saw fighter jets from nearby Fort Weston soar over his head, enrapturing him with their speeds and sounds. This fascination never left him, with his whole life obsessing over one day piloting a craft so beautiful. His parents, although they probably shouldn't have, indulged a young Jan in his passion, buying him model plane set after model plane set, buying a (very useless) book on how to become a pilot, as well as other things when the money wasn't tight. Jan often was self aware of his poverty, especially when he reached middle school age. It was then he really grasped onto the situation at home, and how it affected his family. The times were tough, and it only seemed to be getting tougher. He felt almost helpless when his father had to foreclose their home, and felt disconnected from most of his school peers. His grades steadily declined, and he felt at rock bottom. But there was still a glimmer of hope. That passion of aerial craft? It lingered within him, festering and hatching into a beautiful furious creation that pushed him to pass the requirements to join the airforce. At 18, he was ready to serve his country, much to the pride of his family. Basic training came and went, and he soon found himself flying for the Reagan and H.W. Bush administration. He eventually left, due to a series of old joint issues flaring up, forever grounding the winged bird. In his retirement, he wrote a memoir about his life, to little fanfare. Seeming lost once more, like all those years ago, he eventually left his home, using up his savings to tour the world, to see the places he always wanted to fly to, even if it wasn't him in the cockpit. The newly freed Europe offered bountiful sites to see, the now torn down Berlin Wall, the Tower of Pisa, all of it. His pension paid for most of it, with his 401k aiding as well once that was able to be collected. Then , the plagues began. The flu nearly killed him, thankfully he did in fact miss the second wave. Soon realizing his own mortality, it spurred him to travel faster, and further, planting a dot on a map and picking out the tiny nation of Chernarus. Thankfully, the Russian government re-opened just in time for him to catch a flight, to enjoy the beauty of Chernarus and her ample beauty. Unfortunately, a third wave was coming. And the patients? Frenzied.
Of course, no lyrics, however to be honest i could probably make some up for it.
Often times I just make up songs as I go along, the civil war still happened so often I sing patriotic war songs that I kinda make up. May make a thread of them, may not.