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Server time: 2017-08-20, 02:23

DocCrimson

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About DocCrimson

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  1. I enjoyed @Ruan's RP. Very fascinating character and we role play similarly. I guess @Samti's RP was good too >_> Also cannot forget @Uldamenat the Green mountain campfire chicken roasting RP. Until we realised it was green mountain and drove away like vats out of hell on a truck he found. P.S. To: Samti, you know I love you
  2. Hello Hello.

    Oh... *Slowly brushes away the corpse with a broom.* Uhhh. I'm grand like, how're you? ^~^"
  3. Hello Hello.

    How did you know? I'm so proud of it. *Snaps another person's neck.* Thank you for noticing my art.
  4. Hello Hello.

    ;3 You're welcome.
  5. interesting choice of clothing.

    Looked like an American flag from the thumbnail. Jesus.
  6. Hello Hello.

    Let the records show, that I regretted nothing.
  7. Hello Hello.

    Thank the Big Beans in the sky for multi-quoting! Thank you so much for both of your warm welcomes! And Shane. I hope I won't be bothering you too much with support stuff. Would be a crying Sha(n)me.
  8. Hello Hello.

    Hello! Thank you for the warm welcome. You gonna be my buddy...? >:3
  9. Hello Hello.

    Oh no. But I know the meta of this land. The most powerful weapon in my novice arsenal. The power to get out of your grasp in retaliation! *F11* (Thanks a bunch for the welcome by the way.)
  10. As soft as a Mishka

    Nope nope. Not even whitelisted at this point in time. And thank you very much! I just think it's kinda eh because all it really tells us is the character's backstory, as counterintuitive as that sounds. It's boring unless you really want to get to know Mikhail and his frail mind - reinforced with bookforts >:0! Hopefully I'll have some time after the exams to properly flesh this all out, want to do some more work on Yalta being overrun and his stalking through the destroyed streets. I'd love to incorporate the Aerial Tramway in Yalta as well... Think it would be an interesting set-piece.
  11. Hello Hello.

    But I'm not a STALKER Crimrade D: We must Cheeki Breeki together. Please don't kick the slav out of the fun, he wishes to join in.
  12. Hello Hello.

    +1 Please don't kill. Thanks a bunch for the welcome. May I have one of your Kalash?
  13. Hello Hello.

    Thanks a bunch! Hopefully you will... Hopefully with no guns D:
  14. Hello Hello.

    Ooooh. I actually was interested in that but was afraid the Ask a question tab would kick me out if I asked another one so soon. I'm rather confident - but not overconfident, just more so specialise in passive RP, since the combat in this is completely different. But I just don't really know how you guys do it here, in regards to some specific situations, would it be any problem to PM you a couple of small questions?
  15. As soft as a Mishka

    1992: Mikhail Weiss was born to a Nathalya and Ahren Weiss on the 19th of November in the city of Simferopol, Ukraine. 1992-2002: Mikhail was a regular sort of kid, to be quite frank, quite boring in comparison to the hijinks his peers got up to on a regular basis, breaking into abandoned military barracks to vacant construction yards. The only truly interesting thing that happened to Mihkail in his childhood was at the age of ten. A construction site suddenly appeared on their field, a new apartment complex the adults said. But, he and his friends were pissed, the field was not looked after at all, they’d spend ages running around and after each other in the tall unkempt grass, but now? No more. So. Soon, but almost suddenly. Someone climbed the fence, opened the gate and the rest pushed. Mikhail pushed and the car careened down the hill, aiming straight for the construction site wall. It left a nice bump that would stay there till the end of the construction, but this wasn’t the only victory the kids would have. After a while of prying and pulling, they slowly pried off the doors off the abandoned “Kopeyka” and slowly dragged it to the scrapper. Once they got the money from the scrap metal, they quickly ran out and up the creaking metal steps to the internet cafe. The third and fourth victories were for those who won at the silly childish games of Counter Strike 1.6 and Quake. 2012: With rising tensions between Ukraine and Russia the Weiss family decided to move down to the coastal city of Yalta to the apartment of Ahren’s mother until she died in 2013. The Parents of Mikhail set up a quaint book store called the “Knizhnoe Gnezdo” - the book nest - and worked there till Mikhail was done with school. 2014-2015: After taking over the bookshop business from his parents for just over two years Mikhail grew accustomed to the quiet life in Yalta, far from the fighting between Ukraine and Russia over the annexed Crimea. Then it all came down like an avalanche: The riots. The fighting. The yelling. The screaming. The shooting. He barricaded himself in the back room of the bookstore, smothering himself with layers of cotton, gauze, bandages. The cold war might’ve ended just before he was born, but the militaristic teachings of the educational system stayed, anti-fallout masks, grenade tossing, rope climbing… He knew the mask wouldn’t help him, but the Devil made work for idle hands, and he wouldn’t entertain him in this living hell. The shutters were down, the doors were deabolted. Days passed, nights passed. Mikhail stayed in the bathroom of the bookshop, waiting till the sounds stopped, like a stagnant lake, rotting and smelling of death. Slowly he got up, grabbing his bag and any canned goods he could scavenge from the cupboards. Water was collected from the toilet cistern and bottled. Slowly opening the backdoor to the bookshop Mikhail made his way out. The gate over the door creaked and in return the city reeked. He slowly made his way down to the shore, he knew everything was either dead or a part of “them”, he thought Chernarus was a localised incident, a new form of rabies, some viral strain. He knew there was nobody around him, so he forced both his head and eyes down and made kept walking. Tossing his bag into a small boat he paddled out into the black sea, only daring to look back on the lost city when he was starting the small engine. 2015-??-??: Waking up on the shore. Mikhail groaned, his jacket was heavy with seawater and his unkempt hair covered his eye along with the radar cap. Crawling further onto the beach he fell onto his back, squirming out of the uncomfortable jacket, like a drunk out of a steam room. After traveling from country to country, mostly on the outskirts of cities, Mikhail decided to paddle out to an abandoned ship, navigation lights flashing helplessly, mimicking the final emotions of the crew. And there he found it, a small library, filled to the brim with books and a stash, a small wooden box filled with bottles full of the clear tantalizing liquid. Then he realised. His backpack. His rifle. But most importantly his books, he got up in a drunken stupor and threw water side to side as if his possessions were simply buried under the frothing water of the sea. Then he realised, he was alone yet again, the books brought him back, back to a time when it was quiet and safe. Then he fell down, just like his tears.
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