Jump to content
Server time (UTC): 2020-02-19, 11:24 WE ARE RECRUITING


Dedicated Player

"“What's your road, man?""

  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited


789 h 5.56 Collector

Community Reputation

154 Relevant

Account information

  • Whitelisted YES
  • Last played 10 hours ago

Personal Information

  • Sex

Recent Profile Visitors

  • Phoenix

  • Miamomoh

  • DrMax

  • Franny

  • Stagsview

  1. Nice job guys! Have had a blast Rp'ing with you guys so far ^^ Everyone join them! Kkthxbye
  2. The questions, remarks and stuff in the middle really add weight and feeling to the whole writing. I love it. "For the thrill of the hunt is much more tantalizing than the satisfaction of the kill." I can almost imagine it being done in a short film or trailer, where someone's running in a misty forest. The sounds of branches crackling, footsteps following the "rabbit" who is lost and scrambling for safety. Narrator explaining the story, those little remarks in the middle spoken hushed, otherworldly in a female voice: "You have haven't you?" "He's making his mark"~ But my imagination running wild aside! I've loved the lore event so far, it's been very open and inviting to all. It's a thing that lives it's own life and has the possibilities to do so, thanks to how it's handled. Looking forward to more
  3. I'm a sneaky writer Hahah, we shall see! Thank you for the kind words as always
  4. It was good to have a mind set on something. The walls that had closed in became distant, despite the fact the coarseness of gravely concrete was already brushing against his cheeks. A scent of paint singing a song of inevitability of being crushed by those very same walls at an instant. The focus helped, you could only see that tunnel that lead somewhere else. That glimmer that promised even a moment's respite from being cornered by that single night so many years ago. It bought time. Seems time was not a thing afforded to his case in Livonia though. He had barely reached for the nest of wasps yet they were already covering the land. Leaving a stinging sensation that lingered as uncomfortably as the rain clouds blanketing the endless lush fields. The lust for power, for the sake of it, to gain an upper hand, the motives rarely mattered. It was the results that rang and the consequences that followed what truly gave the land it's shape. His countrymen that he had barely seen in over a decade were apart of that swarm of wasps. It coaxed out a chuckle that rang silently in the cabin he had chosen for the night. Tugging on the blanket around him to invite warmth in his amusement, the whole situation had a sense of destiny about it. That exact straying thought twitched at his lips, as they curled into a lazy smile. He had seen enough proof that fed his own logic, to know that the troupe he belonged to was correct. It was inevitable, human nature and they were there to push it along, enough of something makes the opposite happen. War, war, war Peace, peace, peace Death, death, death Life, life, life Life, nature, the universe passed in eb and flow. And he was one of the helping hands. Enough of a push, enough time in one end of the spectrum guaranteed a larger piece of the pie in the other end. It had numbed him to the horrors, in a deranged way that he himself even acknowledged. As if seeing that horrible thing mean't that another happier thing bloomed somewhere else, somehow. Albeit the words of Mr.Finn, which cracked at him like a whip. He had grown to realize, he was another wasp, perhaps a more formidable one, with a larger stinger. His earlier words had become a buzz in his ears, all the wisdom washed away by the gurgles of a beaten child whose nose he had to set in. As much as the horrors had numbed him, his instincts got the better of him, he had been a parent after all, he had been a parent.. "Heartbeats quickening, quickening the mind Blood thickening, thickening as we find Remnants, glimpses of a time Rhymes of a loving design What will snap, what will break A mirage, hollow, a fake? The rook moves simply, but in strides Of one colour, can it truly pick sides" He held the rook given to him, peering at it's crude design. He had to be more subtle, he had to take it slow. But something in that rook. Something in it made that lazy smile surface. (Did a bit of experimenting with color coding in my story this time. Red = BAD, White= GOOD. Mental struggles hhngngngngngng )
  5. Enjoyed the short journey we made together @APositiveJade ! Send my thanks to your gang. The suspense was a good way to start / end the evening of RP as well! Hope we meet again somewhere out there ^^
  6. Thanks for the fun times and rp excitement as always @Dino @Brayces @Hofer Special thanks for @Stagsview for fueling a great suspenseful beginning of a storyline. I hope everyone else gets an equal joy of discovering your little caches of horror in Livonia! I really enjoyed our IC talk. It helped me push my character forward and shone light on his doubts and insecurities. Gooood storyfuel for me ^^ Keep it going!
  7. INTRO Pawn to e4 A breeze whistled through the endless pastures, it whispered a promise of rain, tickling coolly against the countless blades of grass and petals of wildflowers. Dancing in leaps and bounds across the aptly named "Valley of blossoms". Not quite living up to the name of his current environment, a less than fresh looking man finally emerged through the thick donning a heavy rucksack. His clouded gaze and posture told of a long journey behind him, yet the simple fact of finally arriving to his destination surged a new reserve of energy for the next steps to come. "......You sure you're alright to go after what happened in that colony, Adam? You know, Mina is finished up in Portugal, she could-.." The voice sounded out from his radio, his gaze still affixed to the open field. Adam's voice responded firm and resolute, yet unable to hide the fatigue of the long trek "...I've already established some contacts over here. Whatever it is you are about to say, don't. This is what we do, it's what I do. People seem docile here. I still need time to see what kind of action is needed." ".....It's what we do, yes. Things have slowed down in the north, we lost Lars. If you survive out there, there's an opening. He never got to finish the job." "....I'll keep in touch." He simply stated as he switched the device off. Static fizzed before the noise died down. He habitually bit against his lower lip, his pearly whites gliding against the softness as he retreated deeper into his own mind. The bite grew harder until he decided to cancel out whatever thoughts were surfacing by simply taking another step forward. Before the brush was picked up, before the devil could start painting it's own image of a haunting future against the walls. He needed to move.
  8. snake GIF

    Pls come back and rp. I miss being rude to people

    1. Ouromov


      I'm working on it!  Shhhhhhhhhhhh~ says the snake. Maybe a real snake this time ;3

    2. DrMax


      I'm writing about you in my Dr. River journal atm. It's filling up the book nicely. 16 chapters on Jaro being a sssssnnnaaakkkeee

    3. Ouromov


      And 21 chapters on Nikolai's ass?  *Jaro hisses from his grave*

  9. A man stands before you, cut from the same cloth as the rest of the fortunate and less fortunate. Same scars, the same weariness clad about him like an overbearing woolen blanket that you just couldn't afford to shake off in fear of winter's chill gulping you up in a single bite. But if there was one moment of clarity you could see in those clouded eyes of his, it was when he looked at you. As if analyzing your place in front of him, in this world. His whole body poised in this action of inquiry, that dissipated as soon as it had appeared. Not much is known about his past, aside from him being born in Chernarus near the central river region and his eventual emigration to the U.S where he raised a family. For whatever reason in the past eight years the man began popping up in various countries during the downfall and eventually ended up in Southern Zagoria. A woolen moth-ridden blanket atop the rest of the pile.
  10. His gaze lingered on his radio for a moment longer after the last words flowed out. Habitually knocking the device against his temple. He was dancing on that line. That very thin careful line he had set for himself out in a moment of fear, when that new visitor came looking for his cabin. A new sensation he never welcomed to that space, let alone his head. It had followed him since that call, stepping in his shadow to his grave where it perhaps truly first reared it's ugly head. Hiding behind the trees, beneath his boat and here it was tap tap tapping on his door. Following him straight back to the island and the new dwelling he had found after his cabin had been ransacked. It whispered of loss to his drunken ear, even before it had happened. It insisted to stay away or lose it all again. Draw back, keep to yourself. Food, water, bullets, medicine. That's all you need. Crack a few jokes, ask for the news, move on. It's worked so far. It whispered nameless, like the rude visitor it was..but it had a name. Run.. run..run..before it bites. Flee before the roots take place and you begin to care. That's where the danger lies, that's where the mistakes happen. That's where lives get snuffed out. It began a whisper, but turned quickly into a loud noise. Sounds, voices, memories. Jensen, the first to go. Quick, painless. The first time he had noticed just how fragile the human life is. One moment there, another just gone. Like sand through fingers, within grasp, but slipping away just like that. That child on that alleyway holding that gun... No he wouldn't go there, not now.. Jaromir Lucic, that impish grin didn't leave him even on the operating table. Echoing through him and Milan in lessons and influences. Habits and wisdom's. It locked Milan into that medical tent for ages with the pretense of helping and learning, as if he clinged to his presence like he hadn't left the premises at all. Even after the flat-line rang out, the curtain call to his show. Then came Milan's turn. The most surprising, so careful, a kindred spirit that dwelled in silence, but began enjoying the noise around him as well. Hesitation wasn't in his nature, there was always a plan. Perhaps Milan had lingered in the same space as he was right now, forcing him to step astray. Yet here he was, allowed the privilege to taste, to feel, to breathe and linger as he willed. Why? For what purpose? "Allowed" he thought as if the dead held onto him constantly like an unnamed bargain had been struck. Reminding that it was all borrowed from them. Like those grains of sand, slipping away, but the coarse texture made him feel them against the callous heart of his palm. No, this sensation had a name too... Another thirsty swig from the bottle. As if there was a drowning god at the bottom, waiting to surface with his help. Granting him the numbness from these new acquaintances he had made in the dark moments of the night as a repayment for his efforts. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep ragged breath. Huffing it out in the stillness and quiet that surrounded him. Accompanied only by the creak of the chair he was sat upon and whatever the forest decided to converse with him in private. Numbness came with sleep. Forced, yet effective. The blessing of the drowning god hidden in that bottle of vodka came in the form of a hangover. Filling his mind and body with too many other maladies for him to think on those two visitors that made a home in his mind. It left him with that lazy smile he would don when he ran across the various survivors on that day. "Car troubles, ya? Mind telling me the news while you're at it, mm?" "Trouble in the south? No gunning, but dangerous people?" "Stay safe out there, mm?" Conversation flowed, and passed with the strangers he met. His steps eventually carried him back to where he started, he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he would have with himself again on one of those nights. (Nothing like not being able to sleep, to get some traumas up for your character going! )
  11. Appreciate it! We shall see where my motivation or lack of it will eventually lead me For now, I write!
  12. One thinks of the ocean as a warm cradle, but not the Lion that was paddling over it's chilly embrace. The mainland was already announcing it's farewell, the waves rocking his body made it seem like the treetops were waving at him. The splash of coldness that bit at his very core made his mind race even further. Thinking on the decisions made, the bridges burned that laid in rubble behind him. Even if the pathways were ablaze, you could swim back over a river, always. It would be harsh, it would require a push, a reason to rebuild. But the more his blue gaze focused on the distancing mainland, the less reasons he could think on staying. It was so easy to think that the end just made these kinds of people appear, digging them out from some deep dark pit of fire. Emptying it out for that one final dance of madness before everything became a part of that void, that reality. The reality, the new laws, the new orders. But he knew better, these people had always existed. Whether it was on the slopes of some war-torn hell hole of a country where who had more guns ruled. Or the criminals who hid in society searching and poking holes into it. Trying to attain their own freedom in anarchy or pushing their own agenda, their own view of the world that would justify their ways. Twisted, he thought. But at the same time he accused himself of hypocrisy. His hands weren't clean and principles had to be sacrificed for split second decisions. "Do or die" he muttered to himself as he struck a match into a furnace. He wondered how many times that had been the case, and how many times he would've made the decision even if he knew there was no risk. How far into the "zeitgeist" of this time he had fallen into, even though the chapter of this part of history was still to be written fully. Had he become a part of the spirit of these times unbeknownst to himself just like he had been pretending to have a family and love, because it was the thing to do. Had he truly ever thrown himself into the deep end, or just ran into the comfort of dullness the moment he had to care for something other than himself. Even Milan.. He only came when he knew something was wrong. It bit at him, the bars surrounding his stagnant and stuck ways. Like something heavy and primitive in his brain trying to free him. He could feel the pressure deep in his chest. Building up to something loud and worth hundreds of words laced in a tone or rumble. And where words would find his thoughts; there would be passion, close to the earth, so grounded that you could feel the very roots pulling at you to the primal truths he would speak. But the logical part of his mind reigned the visiting bear in. He was alone, there was no benefit on airing his thoughts. And so in the cage they remained for now. But those bars had already bent from the bite. Towards something perhaps that would drag him from the dullness that he had been stuck in for years. Maybe it was the scent of the smoke and the orange hue of the flames dancing against the blue canvas his eyes offered. He had always loved watching fire, ever changing yet so dangerous when let loose. One lick could burn, and if it embraced you fully it would reduce you to ash. Maybe he would be reduced to ash like Milan was. Maybe it was worth it? A moment of clarity amidst the madness, the "right" thing. To care so much you would be embraced by fire and consumed by it. Perhaps the warmth it would offer would make it all worth it. His lips curled upwards, as he let loose a "Hmh" of laughter. Perhaps.. It made him think of those two, forced to burn down the forest of tall trees shadowing over them, that were watching over them and sharing their wisdom. Only to limp over to the very hands that held the gas canister. not by choice, necessity as it is in so many cases nowadays. Even in that amount of destruction there is always a way forward. Nature made it so, when forests burn the soil becomes that much more rich. It becomes ground for new sprouts to grow, teeming with green. Only thing he could hope now is that growth would take over. That would be the care he could spare for now, while he was still growing on his own. As time passed, and mysteries of this new island began unfolding into another state of everyday. There was that voice again, on the radio. In these days of wolves and lions, there was the kitten. Pawing at the shadow of the tall tree that was felled from her side. Pleading and mewling for guidance, not knowing when, how and where to grow. While the night was filled with the sounds of the infected, a few knocks from a bottle of booze was enough to drown that away. But this wasn't so easy to drown anymore. It wasn't his place, yet it vexed him. It made him knock the radio against his temple habitually once more as his fingertip toyed with the button. That jaw-grip on the bars was vice-like now, the creak almost intelligible as a real sound amidst his thoughts. Yet he did not press it, his words flowed out though through those metal bars. "You need strong roots to grow, pipsqueak. Nobody can grow if they are yanked out of the ground too soon." The very next morning though.. dullness again..? No, this time it was the hangover. It made him even more jovial to his own surprise when the usual visitors came to his cabin. Unguarded and hospitable. After all, If someone smiles at you when they are hungover, you better believe that shit is genuine.
  13. WHATEVER you say Azu or whatever ANYONE says is not going to change my HOT CHOCOLATE HABITS! Give up! Hot water with a dab of milk. OR if I want to drink it cold, I'll just use milk.
  14. Details were always a fixation to him, ever since he read his first detective novel. A candlestick, a tiny splotch of blood beneath the couch, which hand was used by the suspect to sign their name eventually translated into what she liked to have for breakfast, when was her birthday, what did she like watching. They were the solution, the key, the answer to everything that revolved around him. It had worked like a charm, noticing those little things over the years and reacting to them. But as time went on, that exact key found itself stuck on the lock, immobile. With no space to escape or hide the fact that the key did not fit home anymore. Not when things were done like a manual was compelling you to do so. It had become such an instinct to fix things, like a repairman. An inadvertent lie he had been living in and still continued to even after the truth was blatantly shouted at him. A boiling point to their rocky road that lasted for the past year. "You don't even care do you!? You always try to find a solution to me like I'm some kind of new case to crack! There's no file on me, there's no guidebook! You're such a fucking robot! Did you mean it when you said you "loved" me or was that just another bunch of empty words, like a screwdriver that fit just right to a problem you needed to fix!?" His gaze found interesting details on the floorboards for the whole time she screamed at him. "I'll leave the key here." was his answer, short, blunt and emotionless. He knew what she was saying was the truth, there was no defense to this and the fact that those were the only words he could muster after those five years only further confirmed in his mind that singular truth that haunted himself and now had became a poltergeist she had to exorcise out of her life. He was playing house, pretending unbeknownst to himself, but she had gotten close enough to notice it eventually. Usually the void stared back at you as the saying went. A spark of violence, something rotten. Something sharp enough to cut or forceful enough to bruise. Something coming from that dark place. But when she had begun digging at him. She had only grown to see that the dark place in him was exactly that. Nothing. A void, that would never commit to anything, let alone her. And that scared her more. His boots carried him away, running to a place of protocol. A place where for years to come, everything was done by the manual. Even more so than when he was in the police force. And run he did, and it wasn't because of a single person. Perhaps it was because of that idea that haunted him yet controlled his every waking step. That freedom of never having had anything to commit to. Whether he viewed it as a burden or something he was petrified of having, he didn't know. Nobody had gotten close enough or stared at that void long enough to find out. Not even Leo himself. Every other night the music would blare out from his headset, immaculate for how old they were. Listening to that worn out cd with the same tunes. Trying to figure out if he really had felt anything or it was all just a well orchestrated machine for her. Eventually those thoughts just faded away with time and the music became routine. That dumb grin, it already vexed him the moment he stepped into the Chernarussian camp in Takistan. It flared out like a showman's greeting towards a red carpet full of flashing lights. Only thing the man was missing was a tuxedo and some cue-cards instead of a soldier's uniform and a gun. Leo already he would be trouble. "You must be the half-Finnski Chernarusski they sent over, ya? Name's Jaromir Lucic and the grumpy one over there is Milan Straka. I'm sure you'll feel right at home in Takistan, our asses haven't been fired at for two whole days! Peachy keen jellybean!" Leo and Milan sighed in near unison, coaxing out a snort from both after. While Jaromir spread his arms momentarily in a shrug, wafting a dismissive hand at both. "You'll need a bit of humor to get you through the desert, ya? Hot as fuck during the day and cold as hell during the night." "Oh yes... definitely trouble..." Leo grumbled to himself with a snort as he looked at the photo with the three of them. His body settled cozily against a tree near Belaya Polana as the heated orange flare of his rolled up herbal aid crackled silently. He snorted again in a manner that threatened to sail into a chuckle and cracked his neck from side to side.
  • Create New...