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Steam Name: moosely mistaken
Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:15679431
How long have you been roleplaying?: Too long!
What are you applying for?:
- Colt python snubnose w/ standard lead hollowpoints
- Winchester 1300 sawn-off w/ coin-shot 12 gauge shotgun shells (silver substitute, not as potent as pure silver)
- A bottle of eternal whiskey
Why should you have this?: I am a bastard.
Backstory:
Jeremy Carmichael enlisted into the US military at the age of seventeen with parental consent to support his terminally ill father. He endured his initial basic combat training at Ft. Benning GA, finishing his extended training as a combat infantryman. Carmichael met the prerequisites for Airborne school, enrolling himself into weeks of hellish PT and bonebreaking jumps at day, dawn, and night-time periods. Graduating with wings on his chest, Carmichael shipped off to Vicenza Italy as a ranked Specialist into the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team, 503rd Infantry Regiment. He spent his first two months picking up tertiary skills such as advanced CLS and operating a variety of various weapons to keep his senses sharp for an upcoming deployment. The deployment rotation had been delayed for another upcoming task.
Carmichael's unit had been assigned to a discreet reconaissance operation in conjuction with the Italian Armed Forces after both respective chains of command had been called in for an emergency rescue due to reports of law enforcement agents and civilians receiving heavy casualties during a multiple homocide investigation near the Vatican's local area. The operation had been shrouded with questions as Carmichael's unit had been equipped with strange ammunitions and told they were 'armor piercing' and that it was necessary for such precautions in the event that the presumed 'terrorists' were attempting to sabotage local law enforcement. Italian SWAT operator teams and the CDC had quarantined the entire area for a 10km radius. All power to the area had been cut, as well as water. Civilians found within the borders were detained and immediately evacuated from their homes. The media had stated an outbreak of a viral flu had spread in the region that was currently being contained. A lie to mask the truth.
The joint task force between IAF and 173rd did an armored patrol through the urban streets. Figures of dysmorphic 'wolves' had been reported by the front of the convoy, attacking other shadowy figures with 'glowing red night vision devices' at unnatural movements of speed on the rooftops. The patrol stopped, and within five minutes the IAF had begun to open fire. Carmichael's unit was caught off guard and didn't quite understand what they were suppose to be shooting. Before they knew it, lycanthropes had attacked them in droves. They tore apart a majority of the soldiers before being wounded by silver rounds themselves and retreating into the night. Vampires were also left dead on the streets, shredded in halves and pieces. Carmichael's unit had disbanded after the event, leaving Carmichael with a severe PTSD profile and an honorable discharge.
He later became an alcoholic and a minimum wage working Joe after leaving Italy's walls, scarred forever with the sight of wolves ripping apart his fellow soldiers. The story of 'werewolves' had further ruined Carmichael's reputation back home, and left his family to abandon him with claims that he was 'clinically insane'. Until one day the media outbreak that 'fables' were real was televised in a local pub he regularly visited to get his fill of twelve year old scotch. A familiar feeling rose in Carmichael's chest, calling him to arms. Jeremy went back to his apartment and searched his closet where he kept most of his TA-50, and found an adidas shoebox buried in dust. He opened the shoebox lid, revealing a blue-finished cut-barrel snubnose Colt python handgun, that had definitely seen abuse during it's service time. "Take care of Maria for me, kid." was scrawled on a yellowing piece of notepaper in cursive, legible in black ink beside the pistol. A photograph of Jeremy's father wearing a Boston PD uniform posing with some firefighters was tacked underneath the shoe-box lid, shriveled and faded from moisture residue. Jeremy stowed the old pistol into his belt-line and scooped up the loose hollowpoint rounds that sat at the bottom of the box into his jean pockets.
A Winchester 1300 defender rested on the top shelf behind all of Jeremy's sneakers, old worn combat boots, and spiderwebs from the nasty little arachnids living in the corners of his closet. It sported an illegal pistol grip sanded down where the stock had been cut off with a hacksaw, cut short at the barrel in a hack-job for a sawnoff configuration. Jeremy grabbed it off the shelf and stuffed it in an UCP assault pack with his name-tape still sewn on it's flap. He grabbed a box of 00 buck that sat on the shelving where the shotgun was hidden by shoes, taking them to the kitchen table to cut them open at the top. He meticulously plucked out all the deer slugs from each of the shells and replaced them with dimes, nickles, and quarters from a jar that sat on his table. A jar full of his 'beer donation' as it was labeled with duct-tape and black permanent sharpie. He melted candlewax on the top of the shells to retain the coins stuffed inside, burying them in his pockets. Not even days later, Jeremy was out on the streets, blinded by hatred and on a mission against the Lycanthropes.
Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:15679431
How long have you been roleplaying?: Too long!
What are you applying for?:
- Colt python snubnose w/ standard lead hollowpoints
- Winchester 1300 sawn-off w/ coin-shot 12 gauge shotgun shells (silver substitute, not as potent as pure silver)
- A bottle of eternal whiskey
Why should you have this?: I am a bastard.
Backstory:
Jeremy Carmichael enlisted into the US military at the age of seventeen with parental consent to support his terminally ill father. He endured his initial basic combat training at Ft. Benning GA, finishing his extended training as a combat infantryman. Carmichael met the prerequisites for Airborne school, enrolling himself into weeks of hellish PT and bonebreaking jumps at day, dawn, and night-time periods. Graduating with wings on his chest, Carmichael shipped off to Vicenza Italy as a ranked Specialist into the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team, 503rd Infantry Regiment. He spent his first two months picking up tertiary skills such as advanced CLS and operating a variety of various weapons to keep his senses sharp for an upcoming deployment. The deployment rotation had been delayed for another upcoming task.
Carmichael's unit had been assigned to a discreet reconaissance operation in conjuction with the Italian Armed Forces after both respective chains of command had been called in for an emergency rescue due to reports of law enforcement agents and civilians receiving heavy casualties during a multiple homocide investigation near the Vatican's local area. The operation had been shrouded with questions as Carmichael's unit had been equipped with strange ammunitions and told they were 'armor piercing' and that it was necessary for such precautions in the event that the presumed 'terrorists' were attempting to sabotage local law enforcement. Italian SWAT operator teams and the CDC had quarantined the entire area for a 10km radius. All power to the area had been cut, as well as water. Civilians found within the borders were detained and immediately evacuated from their homes. The media had stated an outbreak of a viral flu had spread in the region that was currently being contained. A lie to mask the truth.
The joint task force between IAF and 173rd did an armored patrol through the urban streets. Figures of dysmorphic 'wolves' had been reported by the front of the convoy, attacking other shadowy figures with 'glowing red night vision devices' at unnatural movements of speed on the rooftops. The patrol stopped, and within five minutes the IAF had begun to open fire. Carmichael's unit was caught off guard and didn't quite understand what they were suppose to be shooting. Before they knew it, lycanthropes had attacked them in droves. They tore apart a majority of the soldiers before being wounded by silver rounds themselves and retreating into the night. Vampires were also left dead on the streets, shredded in halves and pieces. Carmichael's unit had disbanded after the event, leaving Carmichael with a severe PTSD profile and an honorable discharge.
He later became an alcoholic and a minimum wage working Joe after leaving Italy's walls, scarred forever with the sight of wolves ripping apart his fellow soldiers. The story of 'werewolves' had further ruined Carmichael's reputation back home, and left his family to abandon him with claims that he was 'clinically insane'. Until one day the media outbreak that 'fables' were real was televised in a local pub he regularly visited to get his fill of twelve year old scotch. A familiar feeling rose in Carmichael's chest, calling him to arms. Jeremy went back to his apartment and searched his closet where he kept most of his TA-50, and found an adidas shoebox buried in dust. He opened the shoebox lid, revealing a blue-finished cut-barrel snubnose Colt python handgun, that had definitely seen abuse during it's service time. "Take care of Maria for me, kid." was scrawled on a yellowing piece of notepaper in cursive, legible in black ink beside the pistol. A photograph of Jeremy's father wearing a Boston PD uniform posing with some firefighters was tacked underneath the shoe-box lid, shriveled and faded from moisture residue. Jeremy stowed the old pistol into his belt-line and scooped up the loose hollowpoint rounds that sat at the bottom of the box into his jean pockets.
A Winchester 1300 defender rested on the top shelf behind all of Jeremy's sneakers, old worn combat boots, and spiderwebs from the nasty little arachnids living in the corners of his closet. It sported an illegal pistol grip sanded down where the stock had been cut off with a hacksaw, cut short at the barrel in a hack-job for a sawnoff configuration. Jeremy grabbed it off the shelf and stuffed it in an UCP assault pack with his name-tape still sewn on it's flap. He grabbed a box of 00 buck that sat on the shelving where the shotgun was hidden by shoes, taking them to the kitchen table to cut them open at the top. He meticulously plucked out all the deer slugs from each of the shells and replaced them with dimes, nickles, and quarters from a jar that sat on his table. A jar full of his 'beer donation' as it was labeled with duct-tape and black permanent sharpie. He melted candlewax on the top of the shells to retain the coins stuffed inside, burying them in his pockets. Not even days later, Jeremy was out on the streets, blinded by hatred and on a mission against the Lycanthropes.
Last edited by moosely_mistaken on Sat Aug 30, 2014 4:38 pm; edited 3 times in total
