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Mace

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About Mace

  • Birthday 01/24/1986

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  1. As the broadcast began there was the sound of a couple of men speaking to each other in hushed tones, along with the crackling of a fireplace. The first real sound to overtake the subtle thrum of distant conversation was the sound of a loud, pained groan before the southern man began to speak. "Howdy folks." His voice and breathing were belabored, strained with the sound of movement. In the background, one voice seemed to grow more concerned, a hushed whisper asking if he was all right. "I'm fine. Listen. Since I was an idiot and got myself shot up a bit worse than I'm used to, it looks like I'm not going to be doing much for a while." There were a few more deep, pained breaths as he shifted, the sound of movement never far away from a groan from the exertion and strain. "I'm okay. Apparently a couple of old friends heard one of my broadcasts into nothingness and got me. I didn't want to burden the people at Vybor or be more of a strain on supplies than usual, so I had them take me to my little home. Apparently things were pretty bad, but I'm alive, just need to lie low for...A while." Once more, the concerned voice came from the background, and the sound of scooting furniture grew loud, a man with a similar accent, though a slightly deeper voice, speaking quietly, though loud enough to easily be picked up. "You need to get back in bed." "I know, Chris. I know. It's okay." He sighed and spoke up again with a slightly pained chuckle. "Thankfully I prepared for something like this to happen, and I've got enough supplies squirreled away that my friends and I can stay safe and well-fed for a while. I'm not sure how long it's going to take given how bad they were telling me it looked when I was getting sewn back together, but I may not see some of you for a long time. I'm not going to name names, because I've met so many people I care about and want to see survive and thrive out here. Just remember to stay safe, and don't be an idiot like me. We're all still human, and at the end of the day we should be killing off the zombies, not each other." A few faint sounds of affirmation came muttered just beyond the capabilities of the microphone before the sound of shifting furniture was audible again, the transmission cutting off with, apparently, the speaker leaving whatever radio he had sent the message from.
  2. For once, the usual crackle of static and distortion wasn't heard as the radio broadcast began, a clear signal out to most of South Zagoria, though the signal would diminish for anyone in the western part of the small country, particularly in the southwestern portions. After a moment of dead air the sound of rustling and a few thumps could be heard, a bit of "manual persuasion" of the device before the sound of a soft, southern tenor came over the waves. "Testing. Testing. What is this? VHF, two meter band...Trying to get this signal out to see who can hear it. 250.50Mhz. I'll try this again in UHF at 500.50Mhz, the thing goes past that, right?" There was another moment of silence, a bit of poking and muttering audible before some affirmative grunts seemed to answer the question for him. "So, I managed to, somehow, get this radio set up. Testing to see if I can be heard as far out as Gorka, if that's where people still are. I've been getting bits and pieces of broadcasts the weather and all the trees have made it a bit hard to actually receive. If you can hear this and you know who I am, I wanted to touch base and let folks know I'm alive and doing well. The wolf bite is healing up, and I've had a chance to actually relax for once and do some fishing." "I don't know exactly what's going on out there with the rest of you folks, but from what I've managed to piece together it's been a bit...Dramatic, to say the least. If you can catch this message, try to update me while the weather's clear. If you have a ham radio with UHF capability I might be able to come in a bit clearer because of the higher wavelength, and I might be able to get some broadcasts easier in my little hidey hole, so don't be afraid to try to contact me on a higher frequency past 300 if you have the ability." One final pause came with the ruffling of a sheaf of papers, the southern voice muffled for just a moment. "Right. I'm working on some leather, but it's going to take a while to actually be done, trying not to do any rush jobs and get a bit more of a stockpile, but that requires time and patience. I'll give the same rundown on the UHF frequency 500.50 as I stated before, and if there are any frequencies that I should be listening to, feel free to list them for me so I can keep the radio on while I work. Stay safe everyone, and to those of my friends who seem to have been having issues as of late, if you need help don't be afraid to ask. My convalescence can be put aside for a few days to try to do what I can to help things along." The basic rundown of the message is repeated on 500.50Mhz and is far clearer and able to reach farther, though is only a bare bones reiteration of some simple facts and the reassurance of his assistance to the friends that need it, along with his usual request that everyone stay safe.
  3. Mace

    Rping as different religions?

    I think Pontiff has it on the nose. There are "The Two R's" that everyone should remember when role-playing something representative of beliefs, mental illnesses, or other cultures: Research and Respect. This is something that personally gets on my nerves sometimes when I see people (Not just on DayZRP) who role-play mental illnesses. You don't have to write a thesis about the condition, but having a basic understanding, knowing the terminology OOCly (Even if you don't ICly), and understanding what it really is like can make an interesting and diverse character, and not just someone who tries to blame everything on a mental illness that does nothing they think. For religions it's in the same vein. You're taking something that is a core tenet of a lot of peoples' lives and you're exploring it through role-play, so why shouldn't you be well-versed in it? Even if you want to play someone who is bad at the religion they practice (And this is a thing and can be quite entertaining and interesting, where they are solely a product of indoctrination from birth without the actual fundamental understanding of rules and restrictions. Just "Parents are x thus I am x and x exists.") knowing about it OOCly in order to inform your RP is always important. Personally I'm an atheist, but in both realistic and fantasy settings I've played things from religious zealots to, well, anti-religious zealots. Mace, ICly, actually enjoys learning about religions and beliefs, not because he's looking to be proselytized to, but because information is important, and if you upset someone on something as deep and ingrained as religion can be, it's going to be a very grave error on your part.
  4. The radio crackled to life with a somewhat weary groan half-caught by the broadcast before the soft, southern tenor spoke again. "Pavel, I have your bag ready for you whenever you want to come and collect it, or if you want to bunny hop on some frequencies to find something private I can bring it to you. And Eurus the hunting around here seems abysmal from what I've seen so any and all help is welcome, and I'll see about teaching you some basics in exchange for it, and whatever leather you might be needing. Just as sort of an update I do have a good bit of leather, thanks in part to my friend Skye who recently helped me out with some. I'm not nearly as well-stocked as I was in Stary Sobor before the winter set in, but it's enough to get some packs, vests, and basic clothes out to people who might need them. So again, if you see me, the guy with the orange boonie cap probably carrying a pack in his arms, let me know if you need something and we can work something out, or you can leave me an order on the radio since I have one that's specifically set to scan this channel and another for my usual radio searching. Stay safe out there people. Don't let the fact that it's getting a bit warmer lull you into a false sense of security. Keep warm at night, always boil your drinking water, look both ways before crossing the street, all that good stuff." To close, before the button was released there was a moment of fumbling, as if a few items were being knocked around before the radio cut off and left the airwaves open again.
  5. "I love you." "I love you too, now come on. If we don't get out of here soon we'll miss our chance to find those cows down by Grishino." The plush figure of the woman that followed behind the leather-clad hunter hesitated for just a moment, throwing on her backpack and slinging a shotgun over her shoulder before she bounded off behind him. "You keep talking about the cows down there, and the last few times we've been we haven't seen anything but chickens." Her voice was a soft alto, calling out behind him in a playful manner. It didn't seem as if she particularly meant to poke too hard at his ability to find the animals that had been scattered by the infection, but there was, quite obviously, a hint of doubt in her mischievous tone. "Listen," he began, already looking over his shoulder at her as they made their way across the sloping hill by the house that had been their home for the night, "I saw two herds of them in a day, in fact it was within hours of each other. If I keep looking, and if I have a lovely assistant to help me, then it'll just help find out where they are or help us find some grazing routes for the animals so we can more effectively hunt them. I'm not going to be able to support you with leather if all we find are chickens, unless people get really into down comforters." The pair shared a laugh as they continued along their way, darting through small patches of woods with Mason constantly checking the bearing of his compass to make sure that he was heading in the right direction. His companion, new as she might have been, followed after with a look of wonder as he made his way about, hopping down some of the smaller inclines and keeping an eye out for any other animals that might be around. "Okay Teddy Bear, but listen. If we don't find anything what do we do? You said you wanted to look around Grishino but are we looking for anything in particular? If we've got what we need--" "I'll teach you, don't worry. It's not that difficult. There's sort of a priority list of things that people need, and fishing can get us enough food to sell or trade that we don't have to worry about that. Medical supplies are always in high demand, as is ammunition. We should have enough shells to keep us in business for a while, but anything else we can pick up and hoard we can turn into a small pile to hand over to someone who might be hurting for enough to fill their magazine." The explanation came through slightly panting breaths as the rotund man shifted himself around and started to slowly slide down one of the steeper hills toward the open fields that they were looking for. "And there are quality-of-life things. You find a role of toilet paper that's not ruined? If you don't want to keep it for yourself, little things like that, creature comforts, they're important to people, and if we're going to start opening up a legitimate business it would behoove us to have a little bit of everything. That's why we're going down to Grishino anyway. We might be able to go west and circle up and around Sinistok toward Stary Yar on our way back, it would take all day and a good bit of the evening, might even have to find a place to sleep, but going through a few towns should start us off well enough." The conversation continued, albeit muttered and through huffs and pants as the pair broke the treeline into the small area that Mason had mentioned, the open fields rolling ever so slightly and dotted with hay bales that had long since begun to rot. As the area opened up before them, the woman came and put a hand on one of his arms before slipping both of hers around it, hugging into him. "Just lead the way." The sweet, loving lilt of her voice had caused his chest to swell with pride as he nodded, starting to lead her off toward the area he knew was most likely to have activity when the sound of howling and barking began. Immediately her embrace upon him had tightened and her eyes shot open wide, peering around, scanning the horizon for the animals she knew were close to no avail. "Well shit, fine. We'll just get wolf pelts. There's a house by the street. Just run in there, close the door, and if one gets in with you you blast it, don't worry about the meat or the hide. Get going." Mace pulled his arm from her and motioned down the hills while taking the weapon from his own, the usual pack of extra goods discarded in the grass as he flipped the safety off and began to walk slowly behind the dashing female. "No." A voice spoke from nowhere, one that didn't belong to Mason or the lady that he had found, the one that had meant so much to him. Short and succinct, the denial echoed in the air as the morning sky darkened, drawing the leatherworker's attention back around to where his partner stood, petrified before something that he could not properly process. It looked as if a mass of wolves had piled atop one another, but in another light, with another shifting of his perception it was as if the grey and black mass that loomed over her was all one piece, seamless, whole, but comprised of howling and snarling heads, all battered and broken. Jaws hung loose at broken, unnatural angles, and he could see in the collective coat of fur that was stretched across the massive creature there was the unmistakable shuffling and writhing of carrion beneath. "Mace! MACE!" She cried out to him and he swung the shotgun up, firing it just as the horrific beast fell upon her, blowing off a portion of the fur and hide only for a deluge of insects to pour from it, an unending mass of writhing and chittering pests pooling around the scene as the heads that were left set about sinking their teeth into her. Even if he could not quite see what was happening he knew it nonetheless. It always happened this way, but it was never until now that he realized what was happening. The woman was different every time. Sometimes it was someone he knew, other times a random amalgamation of features, but she always loved him, and the last he ever saw from her was her face pulling away, bleeding and broken, peering at him with eyes full of horror before the fur and fangs completely enveloped her and left nothing behind. Pulling himself out of bed, his head fell into his hands as he rubbed through the shaggy brown mass that needed to be cut again, feeling the few thick claw marks that lined his scalp, toying over the tiny bit that remained of one ear. It was still the middle of the night, and he knew better than to expect many people to be about in Sin City if he went to visit, but with one glance back at the twisted mass of dirty sheets now soaked in sweat from his nighttime torment he only had one choice, pushing himself to his feet and beginning to load on his equipment once more.
  6. Managed to scrounge up a surprise temporary solution until something more permanent can be arranged. Thanks for all the help. What I've got should easily last until I've got the money to get something a bit more decent. I really do appreciate the assistance though, thanks guys.
  7. All right. I'll start seeing what can be thrown into an emergency "hearing aid for the apocalypse" fund. Thanks for all the help. I do like the ones Rolle posted but that's some...Long term goals right now. Any more suggestions are always welcome. If you've got anything else you want me to look at for similar price points (Or if you think you've got a real beauty that's a bit cheaper I'm not going to complain) let me know. It's really appreciated though, thanks folks.
  8. Thanks, yeah, more in a "pinch" situation than not for the time being, can't exactly go spending probably more than that on a headset. Was hoping I might find one that's a bit cheap but not going to break the second I turn my head too fast.
  9. Well, after some nice RP tonight, I log out and after watching a bit of YouTube I find that my headphones are essentially FUBAR. They were never great, but now the entire left side has cut out and I'm trying to look for some suggestions on some heavier-duty pairs that might not make me have to get out on the street corner to afford them. Sound quality is important, but with how things are IRL I'm sort of prioritizing strong cables and solid construction. If anyone has any suggestions do let me know, they're all greatly appreciated. I'm hopefully going to be able to at least get something before I go totally deaf and have to take a break against my will.
  10. "Do you know what the most important part of being a businessman is, son? Oh sure, being smart, educated about the subject, and able to read other people is important, but most importantly is the ability to look them in the eye and have them thank you for your generosity when you've taken the clothes off their back in a deal." The Harriman family is known in the United States as coming from the railroad tycoon Edward Henry Harriman, and since the 1900's they have been known to produce businessmen of outstanding caliber and ability. When conspiracy theorists think of the "New World Order" and the families that often sit at its table to pull the strings of the world from behind the curtain, the Harrimans are always near the top of their list, and there is good reason. Known for their tutelage of the younger generations and the expansion from the railroad to various forms of media, stock brokering, and even many charity businesses, the Harriman dynasty is one of success where failure is not tolerated. Thankfully, Noah didn't disappoint. Diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder, his disregard for others' concerns did seem to put him squarely in the running for the sort of person who was destined to succeed in business. It was his grandfather, however, someone who had the disorder as well, that helped him understand that the "condition" from which they suffered wasn't necessarily something bad. It wasn't a horrible diagnosis not to think too much of others simply because in the business world every man and woman had to look out for themselves most of all. Becoming sympathetic or charitable was a weakness, and only created a need to give away what was struggled for and earned for the sake of others who could not do so themselves. Of course, this lesson came with a very special caveat. "Remember boy, that doesn't mean you never help out other people. The best way to convince them you're not going to take them for everything they have is to convince them you're the one losing out on a deal. You learn to act like a saint and every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be praising you from the pews." The truth of most of Noah's life is not shared with anyone, for as uneventful as it was. Instead what he does speak of quite often is growing up feeling alone and isolated by his name and his family. He wasn't allowed to take part in many things that involved him too much with children from public schools, and while he did make outstanding marks in his own classes, his free time was often relegated to work or study. The misinformation often culminates with just why he was here in South Zagoria in the first place: Charity. Knowing that the country was starting to recover after the civil war, one of Noah's businesses, a Harriman family subsidiary that worked with developing nations and offered to improve their infrastructure, contacted different people in South Zagoria, offering help with the rebuilding of more high-importance buildings and offering supplies at a low cost to expedite the rebuilding process, even at what seemed to be a loss for him. Of course with the coverage that South Zagoria received, and what travel was beginning to flow through in its resurgence, his original plan had been to take advantage of the rich and entitled who came to see the "war-torn" country recover, and know that it was himself and his family who had helped such a thing take place. It was a trip to try to push his own work and make an appearance for the sake of the people his talks were concluding with that had left him stuck in South Zagoria when the infection hit. The insanity that the world was plunged into didn't quite affect Noah, however. This was, just as he had been taught, an opportunity. He saw the result of what a vicious and violent life led to every day upon the side of the road, being feasted on or rummaged through by scavengers, and he possessed the skills and the subtlety to do something else, something that would cement the name of the Harrimans in the heart of those he met should they ever come out of their situation alive.
  11. There was a shuffling and shifting audible as the dead air was oven taken by a broadcast, the sound of a man groaning in a way that was either from a massive hangover or being run over by a V3S muted for a moment before the southern tenor began in a slow and slightly wobbly manner. "Howdy folks. With the recent events I'm uh...Ugh. I'm going to be slowly moving my workshop and supplies closer to Sin City in order to start supplying people with leather and whatever else I can scrounge up in the area. For those who don't know me, I am Mason, or just Mace. Though I've been called Leatherman and Rainbow too if you're not sure. I do take requests, but this is mostly just an announcement to let people know to look out for me in a few days time. Actually getting everything to a new location and ready to work is going to take some time. To those who don't remember me from the heyday of the little trader's camp in Stary Sobor, I can make jackets, vests, pants, the American pants, though...Well, that's going to cost extra. I can make hats, backpacks, and moccasins, as well as some small water skins and some smaller, custom bits. Some examples of things I've made in the past were book covers, rifle slings, axe slings, belts of various thickness. Anything else that isn't incredibly complex can be discussed in person. As far as what I need or what you can bring me for trade, I'm always looking for pelts no matter what animal they come from as long as they're in good condition. Try to get the whole pelt off in one piece without a lot of holes, that sort of thing. Leather working kits, usually found in workshops and garages, and often in little leather containers are always useful since my own tool set can get worn out quickly with higher production rates. Sometimes I also accept shotgun shells or other various things I might need, and if you can't find either of the former I'm always welcome to discuss prices. You should be able to tell who I am by the fact that I'm wearing an orange boonie cap and probably carrying a backpack in my arms in addition to the one on my back. Don't be afraid to approach if you need anything. When things are set up I may also try to take requests for things to scavenge in the area, and while I'm no wizard if you need something and just can't find it I'll see if it's in my little bag of wonders. Stay safe everyone. I'll try to catch any questions on here that I can if you have them, though admittedly I'm probably going to lie back down for a bit first. Look forward to helping out." The radio message cut out somewhat abruptly with the sound of more shifting, more than likely the speaker getting back into whatever bed he crawled out of.
  12. Everyone had gone to sleep, just like always, and he could hear the soft breathing as he passed by the cabins, making sure doors were closed and that none of the zombies outside that he slowly felled seemed cognizant of the fact that potential meals were only meters away. The emotions that ran rampant through the camp just before everyone else finally collapsed from exhaustion only left him feeling more conscious. It wasn't that he was more awake, as it seemed more and more the things he saw when he closed his eyes were beginning to show as shifting and flitting shapes at the periphery of his vision, the very thought of which unnerved the heavy set man to the point that he shook his head to dispel such thoughts. There was still a lot of work to do, and as he continued in the quiet patrol around the buildings every step seemed to bring about a recollection of yet another thing he had listed, promised, or simply expected of himself, and the weariness that seeped into his bones was met with snarling ferocity as he forced his body to press on. His gait was defiant, shunning the thought of rest as he lurched and pushed himself toward the edge of the nearby body of water that was his target for the night. Hunting had been, for the last two days, a bust. He knew that while many of the people around could garden and cultivate what they needed it was undoubtedly a slow and focused task that wouldn't give them the kinds of results that needed to be seen by the time others rose to enjoy breakfast. Even an off-handed mentioning of feeding the people there felt like some vow that he could not bring himself to betray, and though his eyes were heavy and lidded he slumped onto the shore of the small lake and shrugged off his pack. The world faded in and out of blackness as his eyes closed time and time again, a little longer every blink only to be forced back open. He couldn't keep this up. Could anyone? How long could he last? The only answer he could bring forth was an incomprehensible snarl at himself, his own weakness as he brought his right hand up to strike against his own jaw in a sudden, eye-opening smack that left the flesh beneath his mask and beard stinging while he unpacked his rod and the bait he had collected earlier. With his jaw throbbing from the force of the hit, perhaps just a bit more than what a "normal" person might be capable of, the line was cast out with the quiet, almost silent "plop" of the baited hook sinking down toward the bottom of the lake with the tasty morsel. Even such a simple task seemed much more difficult as he continued to push sleep from his mind. The grotesque and malformed dreamscapes that had waited for him in the rare moments he closed his eyes never allowed him any true rest, so why indulge them? If sleep was to be nothing more than his own mind finally free to harvest the malefic fruits his poisoned thoughts sowed throughout the day, he would skip it all together. Even the soreness radiating from his jaw wasn't enough to stop his head from dipping forward only to jerk upright as soon as he felt the lowering of his guard and the gradual acquiescence that his body tried to grant his mind without permission. Time and time again he felt himself drooping forward, growing slack only to jerk into awareness and rigidity again, though it took more effort each time until finally he dozed against the rock beside which his small expedition was set up. It was impossible for him to hear the zombie approach. What could have easily been heard by anyone conscious, the snarling, howling zombie had spotted him and, with a keen enough sense of predator instinct, realized the slumped figure was a potential food source. The slope that it barreled down didn't offer the best footing, however, particularly after the rain that had soaked the camp earlier. Uneven, frenzied steps led to a sickening crack as one of the creature's ankles turned completely to the side, leaving it in freefall where it came to smash against the back of the sleeping man, jostling him awake and throwing them both into the frigid waters of the lake in the middle of the night. Water rushed down his throat and tried to fill his lungs as he gasped from the surprise and the shock of cold seeping into his bones, only to realize that it hadn't been some careless accident, the zombie atop him clawing and swiping, pushing him under and thrusting its face at him, saving him from having his nose bitten off only because of the way it slowed as it hit the surface of the water and gnashed blindly at the man beneath the surface. The water was almost completely opaque to Mason as he thrashed about beneath it, the pack that he prided always having a solution to a situation in now dragging him down the slope from the shore with its weight. His lungs were already on fire, barely filled with breath before his world was nothing more than darkness and the deathly cold that gripped him and left him wanting to scream or gasp, to seek some sort of relief, even if he knew better. Time barely passed for him, his body pumping its own cocktail of chemicals into him to push him into action, making every second seem like an eternity. He fought to wrench the zombie's body away from him, shifting the weight with the aid of the water, though before he could even process it a familiar sensation rose, and the voice that had been so quieted by what he had believed was a truly enjoyable day spoke again through the frantic scrambling for survival. "You could give up. Nobody would have to know. You could just drown here and it would all be over. You should be thanking me. It's a way out." With every strain of his barely-responsive muscles to drag him up above the water the voice hissed its displeasure, but it was different this time. What had been derision and loathing now sounded sickly sweet. "This is what you wanted and you know it. A bullet to the brain is preferable, but drowning probably isn't as bad as you always thought. The cold will help make it quick. Think about it. You never have to worry about finding food, about being chewed on by wolves. You never have to fight and struggle just to live another day in this shit world. Even if there's nothing after it, isn't this what you always secretly hoped for? Just give in." His breath escaped him, bubbles slipping out from his mouth as he felt the fire in his chest as his lungs demanded respite. Would it have been so bad? Why did he have to be the one to do this? Surely they were more than capable of taking care of himself. The voice had often said he was nothing more than a coddling nuisance to them, what if it was right? The doubts had caused him just a moment of pause, the desire to sob and let the water fill his lungs palpable for just a moment before he closed his eyes and broke through the surface of the lake, dragging himself out of the inky pool and dragging his axe from its place on his back while the zombie spluttered and flailed its way back toward the shore. Twisting the weapon around, the pick head was brought down into the back of the zombie's skull, hooking into it with a sickening crack, using the weapon as leverage to drag the body out of the water and up onto the shore far enough away to keep the waters as clean as possible. Mace dropped the axe, still lodged in the zombie's skull, desperately gasping for breath and coughing to try to clear his lungs as he fiddled with straps, latches, and buttons to begin dropping his gear onto the floor, sheets of water pouring off of him from the soaked leathers. With just his flint knife in hand, and a rare moment of immodest nudity to make sure he wouldn't freeze to death too quickly, he began to slowly and clumsily drag his half-frozen limbs across the ground, his shaky and uneven footing leaving him lurching not unlike the creature he'd just killed toward a tree to try to get what he needed to start at least a small fire. "And you wonder why you're a failure. You don't even have the decency to die properly."
  13. Link to the source of punishment (report/post): Not available. For a bit of context the original final warning was posted in 2015 and reinstated after I contacted the admins noticing that my warning status had been cleared during last year's nominations for "of the year" awards. Why the verdict is not fair: Perhaps Rolle can remember, or any of the staff who were here at the time, but I was given supposedly a "permanent" final warning until it was shown that my attitude had improved. I don't dispute the verdict that some punishment was warranted, but considering that the only trouble I had gotten into until that point officially on the server was a 3 point warning for a snarky remark in a forum, I think the "permanency" of the verdict is unfair, though I think final warnings were still fairly new around that time? At least in an official capacity. Additional statements/comments explaining your point of view: So, since receiving the updated, I suppose you could call it, final warning in December, I've not actually been able to actively hold down three months of steady playtime. This is due to medical issues, surgeries (Nothing major, don't worry), recovery, etc. and some bouts with depression. Since I have only a single appeal I was hoping that my attitude in the intervening time since the original punishment, and contributions to the game and community could stand as a testament that I have (And do) put in the same sort of effort that I've always put in to try to make the game a better place for people I come across. What would you like to achieve with this appeal: At the very least the removal of the "permanency" of the final warning in hopes that I've adequately shown the sort of change that wanted to be seen by the staff, though preferably the removing of the warning all together. What could you have done better?: Though this might (Again) not be something everyone remembers, the reason for the original final warning included some reactionary and vitriolic exchanges between me and other people in the community, and while I don't consider them personally worthy of the severity of the punishment, it nonetheless is something that I've been working on in real life. It's easy for me to say I believe the actions were out of line but still not completely out of the realm of feasibility, but the fault does ultimately lie with myself. In that regard what I could have done better is what I'm doing now, and not being quite so zealous and fervent about the goings on of a game online or the people in it. Thank you for the consideration. This is something of an odd bird of an appeal I know, if it's even possible at all, and if it isn't, hey, no biggie.
  14. He awoke to the almost omnipresent twittering of birds in the trees, the rays of the noonday sun piercing through the half-broken windows in the small camp bunk and stirring him just enough to elicit an irritated grumble before finally acquiescing to the tugging of the world to draw him from his bed. Despite his reluctance to move because of just how comfortable the thin, worn-down mattress was upon its fragile frame, creaking away at the barest hint of movement from him, the portly man still rose and began to dress himself for the day ahead only to pause when he heard the sounds of others about. His time actually spent in the camp itself was sparse, as he often did his best to busy himself in one way or another. There was always game to hunt for food and hide, fish to catch, or supplies to scavenge in the surrounding towns. Unbeknownst to even the doctors that ran the small compound he had taken regular trips up north after hearing one of them speak of the nearby town of Nagornoe as "overrun by wolves" to help clear out the looming threat as best he could. The constant drive to work, to do something and let the others enjoy themselves still tugged at the back of his mind, but as he heard so many familiar voices it seemed to fade; His worries, his insecurity, the constant, looming shadow of his failure and the toll it would take upon those he saw after, it all seemed just slightly less sharp and harsh as he pulled on his well-worn leathers and slipped on his pack and the bright orange boonie cap he'd come to adore. When he had finally amassed the mess of equipment and tugged the second backpack into his arms, the squared, rotund man pushed his way out of the cabin and began to look around, immediately noticing the girl known as Vivi at the water fountain with her brother. He'd never gotten the man's name, but the last time they had spoken he had been looking for his sister. They'd only exchanged a few words, but he remembered the severity and worry that had tinged them. It was good to see them together, and as the girl noticed him she smiled and waved in his direction, her light, pixie-like voice calling out to him, though he only waved in return and gave a greeting while moving to check on things in the tents. "Huh, looks like there's plenty of food for once." The initial inspection had surprised him perhaps more than anything else. Where Ace had been working on cultivating smaller crops, the tent was stacked with salted and dried meats, rations, canned food. It was the first time he could ever remember seeing it looking better than when he had last checked in. Though he hesitated, at the sight of the wealth of spoils that loomed in front of him, he actually found himself in a rare moment, taking a few strips of jerky for himself to enjoy before continuing to see if there was anything that might be needed for his inevitable trip into town. Time and time again, whenever he opened the tents it seemed as if there had been some spontaneous wealth of materials before him. Pristine medical supplies that still smelled faintly of that unmistakable hospital disinfectant were piled next to the lodge, boxes of bullets and even a few of the rarer firearms he'd seen and heard talk about were stacked on top of one another in another of the tents. It was one of the few times that Mason had ever found himself with nothing to do. He could still go and add to the stockpiles, but everything seemed to be in such supply that he questioned if it was even necessary. Standing in front of the nearly overflowing tents, he brought a hand up to scratch at his bearded chin beneath the simple face mask he wore, only to hear the tinkling trill of the young girl beside him. "Mister Mace!" The sweet, smiling face of the girl had been a welcome change to many of the dour expression he often faced and tried to help soften with his help, and he had done his best to make the girl a backpack she would enjoy, attempting to help her just as he did Robbie and the other younger boys and girls that he had met. However, it wasn't the soft, delicate girl he was met with when he turned to face her and give her his attention, at least not entirely. She still wore her red hat, the red shirt, and he could see the stained leather straps of the pack he had made for her, but as soon as he focused his attention on her he realized just how wrong this truly was. The girl's face was a ghastly mockery of what the sweet child looked up at others with, the same in shape and look save for the fact that it looked as if many of her features had been sliced off. Her smiling moth was now an open maw, lipless save for the flapping and wriggling strings of meat that flailed and did their best impression of lips atop the yellowed, cracked teeth. The girl's nose and eyelids were similarly severed, not cleanly or proficiently, but with what looked like some crude and almost blunt instrument, leaving protruding bits of cartilage poking from the holes in the center of her face, and the bright, icy blue eyes he so often saw with wonder or curiosity now larger, lolling about in their sockets but always focusing on him. Stumbling back, he nearly kicked at the child, or whatever it was that masqueraded as her, letting out a yell of surprise that he hadn't even seemed to notice, and that had only drawn more attention to him. Kazimir, the girl's brother, lumbered forward and stood behind her, his face similarly mutilated, as if they were made into grotesque masks to mimic one another. "What is going on?" No, he knew that was what the man had meant, but it wasn't what he had said. The heavy Russian accent had come out in a series of grunts, punctuated by a clacking of the bare mouth's teeth, deepening the cracks inside them, sending splinters of the bones into the girl's hair as Mason stumbled over himself in turning and dashing around the tents toward the front of the lodge that had served as the main area that people congregated around. Throwing himself into the door with all his weight, he grunted as it cracked open and sent him sprawling across the stairs that were immediately before it, only to see that the voices he had heard, jubilant and raucous in their laughter, had paused. Barely able to catch his breath, he lurched forward, his clenched fists slamming the door closed only now to realize he'd lost the secondary bag he always had with him, though it didn't matter, what mattered was trying to figure out what was going on. "It's Mace!" The announcement had drawn his gaze toward the group sat neatly around at the tables provided, but before he could find the words to try to explain to them what was going on, they spoke again, the same voices, just as enthusiastic and eager as they had ever been to see him. "Is that Mace?" "Hey, Mace!" They seemed too numerous to be there, but he saw them all. Seated in the room that seemed to shift and stretch its dimensions as he changed his view of it, the four simple tables that he had remembered the last time he had been there stretched on beyond where his lackluster vision could even recognize, but he knew they were there. He heard the voices of every person all at once, as happy as they had ever been to run into him in the middle of some zombie-infested town, complimenting him, recalling the moments when he felt the selfish, prideful swell of his chest at the praise they lavished on him for his help, but it wasn't right. When he finally seemed to focus upon them, each of them had their own disfigurement, their own wretched and gruesome transformation, to the point where some were only recognizable through the sounds their slack or missing jaws uttered against all meaning or sense. Nearest to the door, dressed in the same white garb he'd been wearing just hours before, Mace noticed the voice of someone who seemed relatively normal, someone who hadn't spoken up, and who he lunged at to try to rock some sense into. "Eurus! We have to get out of here." As soon as his fingers grasped at the younger man's shoulders, however, he slumped to the side, a widening cut showing across his side where Mace had clipped him with an axe during a fight with a zombie while they were hunting. At first it only seemed to grow larger until he could see fat and muscle twisting and tearing itself away, blackening with necrosis and sloughing off, causing the wedge-shaped wound to split across his stomach, his body soon snapping in two as his spine was severed, his upper half toppling to the floor as the rest of the innumerable voices continued the saccharine words he'd so fondly remembered before. He couldn't tell if he was breathing any longer as he turned and slammed his weight back into the door with enough force to break it from its hinges, tripping down the stairs and falling onto his side across the grass and onto the asphalt of the cracked road just outside. There had been some faces, some voices absent, and as he clawed his way to his feet Mason's hurried steps sent him sprawling over the broken and uneven stone pathway that led to the medical building, but even as he put what he knew were meters and meters behind him the voices never faded, and the loving, encouraging words seemed to bite and gnaw at him like wolves at his heels. "Taryn, Rose!" "We're operating. Come in." The odd juxtaposition in the words of the woman who had answered him hadn't settled in but he had no time to spare and in his rush he found himself throwing open door after door and slamming them shut behind him. This wasn't the clinic that he knew and had peered at, it didn't share its makeup with the countless others in the small country, but he didn't care. Mace pushed forward, and with every set of double doors he pushed through the peeled and rotting paint seemed just a bit brighter, as if it were finally close to some semblance of safety and sanctuary from the hell he'd found himself in. It wasn't until he breached the final doors that he stood inside a surgical suite that no hospital in South Zagoria could possibly have. He could hear the soft hiss of a ventilator, the beeping of a heart, and a large amphitheater-style room where each of the malformed people that he knew, the people he cared about and did his best to help now stood in attendance. I the center of the room, beneath the blinding glare of an overhead light stood the two women, dressed in medical scrubs. All at once they looked as if they were elbow-deep in gore and yet it wasn't as immediately horrifying as the rest of what went on around him. The masks and scrub hats made identifying the pair from one another difficult, though both urged him forward with a single bloody hand, latex gloves soaked and somehow filled with a thick and almost congealed mess of blood and ichor that sloshed around their dexterous fingers and onto the ground around the table that they worked on. Despite it all, Mason felt a sense of welcoming, of belonging as he approached, his eyes slowly adjusting to the blinding glare of the light so that he could see just who it was that lay upon the slab that had drawn so much attention. Where he had recognized the people before, and even as he peered up into the windows where they stared down he could see the faces of the people he'd known, no matter how twisted or monstrous they had been made by the unknown butcher that had taken such pride in molding them into distinct, unique horrors, what lay before him was not so easy to immediately put a finger on. At first it seemed like nothing more than some great mass, a fleshy tumor that roiled and shifted beneath its thin outer layer, pumping the thick mixture that filled the doctors' gloves across itself. It was formless, faceless, and yet it writhed as if it held some frenzied animal that fought and clawed its way about to the opening it had been given. "Mace." It wasn't a distinct voice now. The glass of the operating theater had dulled the voices of the onlookers into a muffled thrum but the thing that called his name was unlike them. Male and female, young and old, he looked at it and saw from the cavernous wound that belched and heaved its fetid contents. He had expected something to emerge, a demon, a monster, anything that would have made the horrifying but the cacophony of discordant speech soon settled until a sort of call-and-response dialogue began, the wound itself moving to bend and purse like a putrid pair of drooling lips. "Mace? It's so good to see you." "She's dead because of you." "Is that you Mace? I wondered where you went." "It always happens like that." "Are you okay? I'm sorry you got hurt." "Affection, care, poison, death." Suddenly the women leaned forward, grabbing at the edges of the wriggling incision to rip it open, splitting the bulbous sac open upon the table, showing that within the tide of bile, blood, and whatever other forsaken fluids that gushed forth there was one final thing in its depths: A gnashing head that writhed and rolled about, the left side of it shattered down to its eye socket, though with the pulsing mass of brain matter that still seemed to quiver unnaturally within and the vicious way it hissed and howled he could only make out a single word: "Failure." He let out a gasp as he opened his eyes, the sight of the cracked rafters of the ceiling overhead and the smell of rain-soaked grass filling his senses, along with the fact that the only light that seemed to stream through the half-broken window came in sporadic beams from a waning moon high in the sky. He didn't need to reach up to feel the beads of sweat running down his brow, a few even stinging his eyes before he could wipe them away. Rolling onto his side, Mason let out a groan as he shifted and did his best to get comfortable, his mind still racing with the vivid scenes playing over and over again, from the idyllic landscape to the monstrous aberration that had spoken to him. Even now the song of the birds was quieted, replaced by the snarling and groaning of infected beyond the fence. No matter how he tossed and turned to try to find some semblance of comfort it seemed all too elusive, until finally he heaved a weary sigh and pushed himself up onto the edge of the bed, his bare feet settling down beside his heavy boots in the process. The heavy man leaned forward, sniffing and wiping at his face with his hands before pulling his glasses on and beginning the laborious task of securing everything he needed. If sleep was going to elude him, he could at least continue on with the sisyphean task he had put upon himself. Minutes later he stepped into the rain-soaked night and adjusted the pack in his arms, trudging past the cabins of others safe and asleep, eyeing the stocks and tents that looked more and more bare before turning onto the road. Even if he could never prove the voice wrong, he would damn sure try.
  15. I'm waiting for a report to come up with "Attempted KOS: Robbie pushed me off the slide." I can see it now and it is glorious. Edit: Also, just to be a bit more on topic, seeing all the great role-players in this group I'm really looking forward to actually getting it sit down and have a chat with them.
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