Dreadsauce

Respawn

Replace "Pirate" with "Bandit".

If you're looking for a 3rd. Skype: oblivions.harbinger

Tried this map out today. Phenomenal, I love the atmosphere, can't wait to play more. Also: The wind. The goddamn wind. The periodic far-off screaming mingled in with the howling wind is absolutely terrifying. Y'did a good job with it.

I found a Ghillie in a low-value spawn, once. I've found all sorts of stuff too; grenades, Dew, backpacks. Check EVERYTHING, you never know what you might find.

MEANWHILE. IN NAMALSK. "Way up north, where the air gets cold, there's a tale about Christmas that you've all been told. And a real famous cat all dressed up in red, and he spends all year workin' out on his--" The sounds of gunfire interrupted Dread's song. Stopping, he readied his Revolver and turned in place, looking about. More gunshots rang out, and Dreadsauce could tell over the howling wind that there was a conflict going on in the northeast, by the Old Hospital. Checking his bag, and seeing that he had but a single lonely can of Beans, Dread made up his mind and began hiking over. ---- He did not have to walk far into the city to spot the source of the conflict. There, cowering in the doorway, crouched a young man with a revolver clutched in his hand. Striding down the aisle, taking pot shots, was a Bandit, armed with an AK-74. The marauder laughed, firing another burst and driving the other man back behind cover. Tossing away his clip, he turned to the side. Suddenly, Dreadsauce felt a warmth within his chest. Normally he would wait for the bandit to kill the poor lesser man before swooping in, but not this time. This Bandit would not take another life. With images of angels flashing through his head and a tingly feeling in his chest (that very well could have been pneumonia), he raised his gun and fired a single shot at the Bandit's head. Red mist and brain matter exploded from the rifle-toting man's turban. He convulsed once before falling over like a sack of bricks. Stunned, the man in the doorway could do little but gape at the twitching remains of his attacker. With a grin, Dreadsauce began sauntering over to the Super-Market, pleased with his good deed. The victim ran, heading for the back room. With a frown, Dreadsauce followed; he would be sure that his act of kindness was recognized. He darted after, following him out back. The man cowered in a corner, biting his nails. He looked up, eyes wide, as Dreadsauce entered his field of vision. Dread began to speak. "Hello! I am the man that just--" The victim fired a shot from his revolver, that passed just under Dreadsauce's tender bits. Dreadsauce slowly looked down at the man's gun, then to his groin, then back. "Hey, watch where you point that thi-- OH GOD." Dread stumbled backward, blood erupting from a bullet hole in his side. The crouching man simply stared, his expression hard. With a scowl, Dreadsauce drew his revolver once more. "Shooting the man that saved you? That's a paddlin'." And so they began. Dodging and weaving, bobbing and darting. The two men danced a deadly duet of guns and bullets, constantly side-stepping and circling one another as they popped off shots. Dread took three more bullets; Bambi took four. As they danced out into the street, Dread did a pirouette and pulled his trigger, barrel pointed at the man's head. Click. "...Oh, shit." Flopping his legs up comically high like a marionette, Dread ran back into the Store. Bambi took the time to huddle against the wall and bandage himself. Our hero swore under his breath, dashing over to the Bandit's corpse, leaking blood all over the place. "Shoot at me, will he? Take my generosity for granted, will he? We'll see how he likes this!" Bambi darted out to the back of the store, gun raised, eyes narrowed. He stopped, however, at the sight of Dreadsauce pointing an AK-74 right at his face and flicking the fire mode to "Automatic". Dread gave the young man one last, withering look before pulling the trigger. ---- That night, Dreadsauce plunked down onto the forest floor by his campfire, spooning beans into his mouth as he picked up a pencil, starting to write in his battered, worn notebook. "Dear Diary, Today, I helped someone in desperate need. I saved his life by slaying the filthy, gun-toting and murderous bandit that had pinned him down. Yet, he turned his gun on me." Dread swallowed a mouthful of beans before continuing. "I learned that Generosity and Kindness are both utter, absolute bullshit and practicing them gets you shot in the face." He paused, before adding one final line. "Sorry, Rarity and Fluttershy. But it's true. Sincerely, Dreadsauce."

Another victim of the Dew Curse.

Once, scouring Elektro for loot after respawning, I came across a can of Dew lying by a hatchet in the middle of a house. Obviously I took it as a portent that I was to take the Dew and with it the Curse, so that I may prevent grave misfortune from falling upon others. Taking the Dew and wielding the Hatchet, I departed into Elektro and took up residence at the two-floor building by the school and supermarket. After an hour and a half of vigilantly scanning the streets from the second-floor windows there came a strapping young lad with a hatchet. After forcing him downstairs we came to an agreement that we would split the house even; I got top and he got bottom. It did not last. My homicidal tenet returned 10 minutes later, bolted up the stairs and chopped out all my blood. In my death throes, he bandaged me and proceeded to drag me whilst unconscious so that I could not move when I woke up (though given the fact that my legs were broken, I could not have moved anyways). Dragging me out back he ordered me to slay the horde of zombies that had gathered from the commotion. If I preformed admirably he would give me meat and morphine. I failed, but before I was eaten I managed to inform him of the Dew and my sovereign duty to defend it and keep the Curse in check. Understanding, he selflessly (or foolishly) pried the can of Dew from my cold, dead hands once the zombie scum had been dealt with. I can only pray that the Curse did not destroy him, as it had destroyed me, and that he did not partake of the beverage.

I seldom listen to music, as I prefer to be able to hear when folks are around. But when I do.

MEANWHILE, IN A PRIVATE HIVE, AT THE BALOTA AIRSTRIP. "Hey, man, I need your help! I've only got half a clip left in my revolver and there are zombies on my tail!" "Easy, bro, I won't hurt you. I only have a single bullet left in my Lee Enfield. We can help each other" Captain Enfield turns his back to loot a pile of debris. Dreadsauce puts his rapeface on, drawing his revolver. Two revolver magazines and five Enfield shots later, both men lie dead and feasted upon by zombies. The moral of this story: Lying is bad.

'Ello. It seems that, in fifty percent of cases, my attempts at taking beans by force via axe have proved futile. I have been out-maneuvered by other axe-men and had my brains turned into hamburger meat by folks with pistols. I seek your aid, bandits. How do I shot axes better. My current plan is to axe harder while playing "Be A Man" as I swoop in for the kill. But this probably won't (read: totally will) work. Hence, this thread. Gimmie tips. Pweez.

This. Like cold molasses being shoved through a bendy straw. It's nuts, this forum lag.

nope.avi I LOVE the current bandit skin.

Laughs and shenanigans. The sheer lulz of it all. I frequent a private server where you start out with a hatchet and supplies. Can't tell you how much fun it is to chase down fellow new spawns and even folks who've been up and running for a bit, gibbering like a madman over direct comms all the while.

Tabletop Roleplayer, here. Always fancied adding a bit of head-canon backstory whenever I play vidya gaems that don't have any sort of definitive lore and enjoy fleshing out my characters a bit. I've always played it off as the characters are either US/Russian soldiers that weren't pulled out when the zombies came or Chernarussian natives. In the case of Lingor, they live on the island itself or are extremely unfortunate tourists. The survivors in Takistan are American soldiers or Takistanis. Dreadsauce himself is, in all incarnations, an American press reporter who has become mentally unstable due to the stress of the zombie outbreak. He's a fearless, bloodthirsty, humorous, paranoid nutcase with an inexplicable fondness for canned beans. The characters never bother leaving Chernarus/Lingor/Takistan because there are no ships/jets left and the survivors are too paranoid to work together on an escape plan. The rest of the world is zombie-free, but Lingor/Takistan/Chernarus are all considered hardcore quarantine zones and as such there isn't any hope of outside aid. Recon choppers are often shot down, explaining chopper crashes. The zombies are the result of a virus, or some form of biological weapon. The latter would make sense due to the ongoing conflict in Chernarus and botched exportation of the bio-weapon could explain the presence of zombies in Takistan and Lingor. Characters start with no gear and on the coast because they'd have wandered up and down the coast looking for some sort of evacuation. Realizing that they're sorta boned, they head inland to scavenge supplies to survive the outbreak.