uBORNuWORKuDIE

May your nights be cold, your lakes close by, and your steering straight and true, brother :D

Back into SA after a long break. Drove my first V3 and managed to maroon the thing on the thinnest wooden fence in Chernarus, within 5 minutes of discovery. I finally crafted my ghillie top, hood and weapon wrap....now my life is filled with the struggle to avoid hypo/hyperthermia and wringing out the damn thing every time the Russian sky opens up. In order to maintain a consistent body temperature while travelling I had to drop my Gorka jacket (because I'm a lazy bastard and don't want to store the top in a backpack for every time I want to use it). I am now shirtless with the additional challenges of dealing with a severely restricted carrying capacity... but I FRIGGIN LOVE MY GHILLIE, and love how my survival has gotten that much more challenging :) When i'm not travelling, hot to death, struggling with my new life as a bush, or wrecking machines on the Chernarus countryside, I've been people watching (through binos not a scope) - not helping nor hindering anyone's progress - hanging out in the hills like some creepy apocalyptic voyeur, just watching the show...

I usually don't reply (to anything) but, today only, i feel empathy for this type of rant. OP, I understand your frustration. I've experienced the same feelings when i first started playing the DayZ mod back in August of 2012. I was hooked on the potential of Dean's vision hook, line, and sinker. I began honing my skills as a lone wolf, stalking the northern rim from Lopatino to Krastnostav and back, using Poebda to stay hydrated. I avoided everyone I saw and shot at everyone who saw me; win some, lose some. It became a morbid existence. It was about 2 months of hyper-paranoia and hermitdom until I was confronted with my first unicorn. When I saw my first Hero I instantly realized what I wanted to be when I grew up. Coyote backpack full of precious life. Gifts given as if they were leftover fruit, the owner not wanting them to spoil. He gave me a canteen 2 steaks, my first CCO SD (didn't last long), saluted, and bid me good luck. I began blood-bagging everyone in sight. If they asked, If they didn't ask. I joined many people, offering battlefield triage to squads, gangs, spouses, lone wolves, anyone who asked for assistance in Side, Hero, Bandit-it didnt matter. I wanted my (plaid) stripes, and nothing was going to stop me. I achieved my goal (and then some) but I learned a few valuable lessons along the way. Disclaimer: I realize everyone has a different playstyle, and I am only sharing the small corner of knowledge my humble adventures have accumulated using a similar playstyle to what OP is attempting. 1. Heroes die. All the time. As a matter of fact, when you play as a Hero expect to die. 100%. If you've watched movies, you know when the hero is going to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Hopefully, you look bad-ass and get to take a few bad guys with you sometimes. 2. People are asshats. I've been lured in, satchel charged, sniped, mowed down, betrayed in Shakespearean epics of deceit, sacrificed to the blood god, more times than I can count. If you can think of it, someone can think of something worse. Keep this in mind when you initiate a dialogue with a stranger toting a fireaxe. 3. Don't be "nice". What is hard about being nice is that it expects reciprocation. People can be offended if the sentiment isn't reflected. The thing about being nice is it can be interpreted as weakness, which is a big no-no in survival-of-the-fittest Chernarus. You have to be positive instead. Being positive allows you to be "nice" but remain in control of the situation without showing weakness. You can maintain a commanding tone without sounding like a scared child or a shithead. 4. Your actions are essentially contributing to the larger sum of an idea: There is good in Chernarus. You are part of it, but don't get confused. The price your good deeds will bring is vulnerability. You have to be willing sacrifice everything, literally everything,every time you say "Hello" to someone. Don't expect them to be nice. Don't expect to live. But, by all means, DO enjoy the ride. It will get better as time progresses. More zombies. VEHICLES. The thing is: People are going to act the same no matter how many awesome features Dean throws in here. Come to terms with the potential consequences of your actions or this place will beat any remaining fuks you still have to give right out of you.

Makes me happy

This server deserves more traffic. With all of the additions to Chernarus, admins who do not abuse tools, and the variety of players I have encountered, I have to say this is one of my favorite DayZ experiences to date. The traffic on this server has dropped off so it is a good opportunity to establish yourself and get familiar with the small community available, My encounters have all resulted in a fulfilling experience (with survivors and bandits alike) and have inspired me to take the experience I have collected in DayZ and continue my Hero quest on this server. I will help anyone who needs it, as cautiously as possible. However, the people make the community and this one needs more. Give it a try. You may be surprised.

My first story which inspired mt to create my account and post my first story. One of my tent locations was compromised and leaked through a YouTube video. I decided to defend what was left when I got home from work. The name used in this story has been changed at the request of my buddy. As you now know the backstory of the cause of this organized defence, I will jump right into the action. By 'organized defence' I mean "Bill": armed with his trusty hatchet (you may laugh but his character is going on 30+ days of survival), and myself: armed with my trusty, military-grade L85 with thermal scope. We both don our best ghillie suits and make our way to the operating area. 2 wookies in a Russian state filled with infected, flesh-craving zombies and tent raiding bandits. The plan was simple: ambush any and all tent poachers who approach my now empty storage device. The initial content assessment of my tent was heartbreaking. Night vision goggles, GPS, a large amount of ammo and my silenced MP5 were all missing. This motivated the operation to last much longer than expected. Having the tactical advantage of a large christmas tree almost directly next to my tent provided us with a simple tactic: "Bill" would lie in wait at the center of the tree (this would prevent anyone with thermals from detecting his position) and pounce on the would be robber as he rifled through what was left of my supplies. "Bill" would take the kill as his humanity has grown to Hulk-like levels (over 18,000) so the deaths of the offenders would do little for his transformation into banditry. I would position myself about 300 meters away in a treeline to overwatch the red zone and rain 5.56mm death if needed. After about 40 minutes of waiting in doubt, I see the bright white sillouette of a player approaching. The pilferer stopps and scans the area before him with his binoculars, unaware that 2 angry mossmen are plotting to relieve his shoulders of his head. With no threat from thermal support, we remained safe within our death nests waiting for our little bambi to approach. Seeming satisified with the state of his security, the unknown player approached in a crouch run. My heart was beating a mile a minute, the stress a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The unsuspecting player kneels before my storage altar and in a few seconds he is sacrificed to the tent gods with the business end of "Bill"'s axe. Grim satisfaction filled my heart. We search his body, take some food and drink (we pretty much have every piece of gear we want) and bury the body with his poor M16. It didn’t even get to bark a response. Happy with our success, "Bill" repositions himself and we wait once more. The stress now replaced with confidence and high morale. Our next contestant arrives about 1 hour later, much more cautious than his predesessor. I barely make out a flat object approaching. He is a bright white caterpillar crawlling against a murder red backround. It takes this player about 20 minutes to make his way to his own impending doom, all the while stopping and looking around wildly in third-person. Another bambi without thermal support. Never rising from his crawl, he enters the killzone. As "BIll", once again, emerges to deliver the Jason Vorhes to our new friend, the player is prone no more. He is now at a crouch trying frantically to shoot his attacker who is strafing around him, face-to-face, like a creepy merry go round. The sharp echos of high-caliber death filled the area. Eventually, the poor Bambi's AK goes silent, expending its death-dealing contents to no avail. A few seconds later, another sacrifice to the tent gods is ferried across the river courtesy of his axe. The spirits of the dwarves from Khaz Modan could find no faults in "Bill"'s axework. Our success continues until we encounter our sixth raider. The balls on this bright white trailblazer are HUGE. He crests the hill south of the killzone at full sprint, never looking for any signs of threat. He seems to scream "Help, I'm alive!" and we are committed to solving his 1st-world-problem. Absolutely ZERO fuks are given by this Indiana Jones as he makes a 500 meter run across an open field seemingly unarmed. He casually kneels before the tent and our favorate axe-murderer is upon him. This fearless bambi stands tall and after "Bill"'s axe rises and falls about 8 times, the bambi is still standing. I am struck by panic and take no consideration to the proximity of my ally. I close within 150 meters of the combatants and fire 2 successive shots into our superhuman guest with no effect, narrowly missing my axe welding friend. As my mind raced to formulate a plan, "Bill" retreats behind the tree that enabled this whole night of fun. Then, suddenly, something unexpected happened. The in-game sound of the wind blowing, calmly blowing across the landscape, is shattered…..by the theme to The Neverending Story. The music blares as he chases "Bill" (who is now terrified, expressing his intent to log out through our Raidcall channel) around the tree which has now taken the role of a parked car in a neighborhood game of FreezeTag, his pursuer still armed only with that catchy tune. I fire 5 more shots towards our happy little guest. I can visually confirm that 2 found their mark. Zero fuks are given by the bambi. My rate of fire gives away my position and I see him making his way towards me. By now "Bill" has left the game, terrified. I am convinced a gigantic, flying dragon-dog is on it's way so I log out as well. We laugh about the experience in Raidcall for a few minutes and recount the highlights of the night. Before our commitment to wave goodbye to zombie survival and bambi ambushes for the evening, we decide to check our tents on a different server. The new server has no players. We enter and make our way to another of our camps. About 15 minutes into our hike we hear the faint sound of our nightmares: the theme to The Neverending Story. Holy Sh*t. We frantically look around. My thermal scope scans every possible direction of approach and I see the bright white ghost in the distance. He is running full sprint towards us, still unarmed, favorite song at the play. Based on our experience the last time we attempted to engage this player, we ran. We ran so far away. However, Falkor had his own agenda for us. After running about 30 meters, he appears in front of us. We keep running. Forrest Gump was right about one thing in his life at least. He gives chase and we decide to split up. He follows me as "Bill" logs out. After about 15 more meters of Gumping, I do the same. We do not log back in that night.