I will not be posting for a couple of days. Some irl stuff has happened and I just need to cool my head off a bit
SgtEasy
Member
S'algood bro
STATUS: Bro, how does this site stay the same but change so much in just a few years. Damn 2 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 3406 (0.82 / day)
- VMs: 11
-
Username history
- SgtEasy 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Altered Tundra
Status
Recent Statuses
2 yrs ago
Current
Bro, how does this site stay the same but change so much in just a few years. Damn
2
likes
5 yrs ago
Damn its been 4 years and it took a car crash, medical school and a pandemic to get me back here. Memories be crazy
5
likes
8 yrs ago
I'm gonna be away to the islands for three days so I'll be back Tuesday NZT <3 Will try and get online but I'm pretty sure there's no signal
1
like
9 yrs ago
Got an 18 hour flight ahead of me today, wish me luck y'all :)
7
likes
9 yrs ago
Merry Christmas from NZ to RPG, have a fun one and hope you have prezzies <3
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
In
From Stardust, to Stardust: Tales of Andromeda, a Sci-Fi Fantasy RP
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
I will not be posting for a couple of days. Some irl stuff has happened and I just need to cool my head off a bit
Mindanao, Philippines, 6 years before
(Italics are translated from Filipino)
"Miguel, you're up"
Miguel Ordornio kicked the door in, barging into the room. He shouldered his AR-15, aiming down the sights. The room was the typical lounge one would find in the Philippines. An absolute shit hole. The walls were kept together with bits of cement and sheet metal, the floor was a mix of bamboo and metal while the room itself was empty except for a single chair illuminated by a single hanging light.
The Filipino looked back at his comrades, silently gesturing that the room was clear. He walked forwards, carefully creeping at the rim of the light. "You! What are you doing here?" Miguel span to meet the voice, looking into the eyes of a man in the doorway to his right. He was aiming his gun at him. Cursing slightly, Miguel aimed at his head, only to get grazed on his shoulder. Blood seeped from the graze almost instantly, but the soldier shouldered his rifle and fired. Two in the chest, one in the head.
Miguel hissed in pain as his comrades filed in, one of them checking his wounds. He patted him on the shoulder, whispering "Just a graze." Miguel shouldered his rifle again, nudging his comrade to the doorway on his left. He acknowledged and kicked the door off it's hinges. A small fraction of a second, then gunfire erupted.
The terrorists were ready.
The man was cut down, bleeding profusely. Miguel threw a flash bang into the room, and arrived at the doorway, firing round after round until his gun clicked. He turned, careful not to step on his comrades' corpse and looked back.
"Independence motherfucker." Into the eyes of a man.
"What the fu-?" The man slapped him in the face, grabbed Miguel's collar and threw him into the room. He blacked out.
Present Day. Miguel
Miguel stared down the man's barrel, his Beretta useless in his hands. The man, claiming to be SWAT, looked familiar. Despite the obvious threat, he spoke up with a strained voice. "I am SWAT too. I-" Miguel choked up "I don't know what happened there. One moment, I'm revving up an SUV I've found in a city parking lot, next thing I know I wake up in whatever hell is place is."
He turned, making sure the shambler was still quite far away. He looked back at the man, illuminated by the fire next to him. Miguel almost recognised him instantly. "Roland Anderson? You're a SWAT commander!" He straightened almost instantly, not one to be sloppy in front of a man in the higher rankings. "I've heard of you before. D'you know Rodriguez Salinas? He says your a legend, says that he worked with you. Showed a picture of you too." Miguel glanced at the wreckage. "I'm sorry for crashing into your car sir." Miguel reddened, embarrassed in his current predicament
(Italics are translated from Filipino)
"Miguel, you're up"
Miguel Ordornio kicked the door in, barging into the room. He shouldered his AR-15, aiming down the sights. The room was the typical lounge one would find in the Philippines. An absolute shit hole. The walls were kept together with bits of cement and sheet metal, the floor was a mix of bamboo and metal while the room itself was empty except for a single chair illuminated by a single hanging light.
The Filipino looked back at his comrades, silently gesturing that the room was clear. He walked forwards, carefully creeping at the rim of the light. "You! What are you doing here?" Miguel span to meet the voice, looking into the eyes of a man in the doorway to his right. He was aiming his gun at him. Cursing slightly, Miguel aimed at his head, only to get grazed on his shoulder. Blood seeped from the graze almost instantly, but the soldier shouldered his rifle and fired. Two in the chest, one in the head.
Miguel hissed in pain as his comrades filed in, one of them checking his wounds. He patted him on the shoulder, whispering "Just a graze." Miguel shouldered his rifle again, nudging his comrade to the doorway on his left. He acknowledged and kicked the door off it's hinges. A small fraction of a second, then gunfire erupted.
The terrorists were ready.
The man was cut down, bleeding profusely. Miguel threw a flash bang into the room, and arrived at the doorway, firing round after round until his gun clicked. He turned, careful not to step on his comrades' corpse and looked back.
"Independence motherfucker." Into the eyes of a man.
"What the fu-?" The man slapped him in the face, grabbed Miguel's collar and threw him into the room. He blacked out.
Present Day. Miguel
Miguel stared down the man's barrel, his Beretta useless in his hands. The man, claiming to be SWAT, looked familiar. Despite the obvious threat, he spoke up with a strained voice. "I am SWAT too. I-" Miguel choked up "I don't know what happened there. One moment, I'm revving up an SUV I've found in a city parking lot, next thing I know I wake up in whatever hell is place is."
He turned, making sure the shambler was still quite far away. He looked back at the man, illuminated by the fire next to him. Miguel almost recognised him instantly. "Roland Anderson? You're a SWAT commander!" He straightened almost instantly, not one to be sloppy in front of a man in the higher rankings. "I've heard of you before. D'you know Rodriguez Salinas? He says your a legend, says that he worked with you. Showed a picture of you too." Miguel glanced at the wreckage. "I'm sorry for crashing into your car sir." Miguel reddened, embarrassed in his current predicament
I wanna post but it seems like I would have to wait until Tomebinder posts?
Okay, I posted. Hopefully not to short. I had to work on an uber long post for one of the NRP's I was doing
Miguel
Miguel clutched his head, a small weary groan escaped his lips. He sat down, the stress hitting him in waves, legs shaking like thin branches in the wind. "What have I done?" he muttered "I-I might've made mistakes before b-but this was the dumbest thing." He looked at his bloodied hands, white powder smeared in the red. There was whispers in the air, telling him of people up on the bridge. The former veteran of war looked down on his vest, the words "Through hardship, to glory" etched on the stained blue Kevlar. The motto of the former 2nd Philippine Army Company
"Through hardship, to glory" Miguel said under his breath, getting himself up. He reached into the broken glass, grabbed his pack and opened it, revealing his carbine. "Thank God it isn't wet, this gun is a bitch to dry." He grabbed it out and pulled out a fresh clip, putting in it with a satisfying click. He put the strap on and let it dangle on his shoulder, taking care that the safety was on. The Filipino then grabbed his Beretta out and put it in his pocket, then shouldered his backpack.
Miguel grit his teeth together, pain stabbing his left shoulder. There was a cut on it, dried hours ago but it was still a cut. He ignored it and continued up a set of stairs in front of him, the whispers growing louder and louder. "Freaking hell. Why the hell did this happen to the world?" He muttered under his breath, walking on the road and then to his right and onto the bridge. It was a mess. An upside down car was to the side, a small flame to the right. He heard whispers but the recent concussion didn't serve well for his vision.
Something moaned behind him. He span, Beretta locked and loaded. It was a shambler, around 10 feet away. A shuffler it might seem, can't really do much. Deeming the shambler not a threat, he continued towards the wreckage, the corner of his eye watching the decaying corpse behind him, ever watching him. He called out, enough for the people in front of him to notice but not enough for the shamblers to freak out. He lowered his Beretta. "Hey! I don't mean any harm but I think I crashed into you. Are you guys okay? I'm local SWAT, I was separated from my unit. Any chance you guys going to Easton?"
Miguel clutched his head, a small weary groan escaped his lips. He sat down, the stress hitting him in waves, legs shaking like thin branches in the wind. "What have I done?" he muttered "I-I might've made mistakes before b-but this was the dumbest thing." He looked at his bloodied hands, white powder smeared in the red. There was whispers in the air, telling him of people up on the bridge. The former veteran of war looked down on his vest, the words "Through hardship, to glory" etched on the stained blue Kevlar. The motto of the former 2nd Philippine Army Company
"Through hardship, to glory" Miguel said under his breath, getting himself up. He reached into the broken glass, grabbed his pack and opened it, revealing his carbine. "Thank God it isn't wet, this gun is a bitch to dry." He grabbed it out and pulled out a fresh clip, putting in it with a satisfying click. He put the strap on and let it dangle on his shoulder, taking care that the safety was on. The Filipino then grabbed his Beretta out and put it in his pocket, then shouldered his backpack.
Miguel grit his teeth together, pain stabbing his left shoulder. There was a cut on it, dried hours ago but it was still a cut. He ignored it and continued up a set of stairs in front of him, the whispers growing louder and louder. "Freaking hell. Why the hell did this happen to the world?" He muttered under his breath, walking on the road and then to his right and onto the bridge. It was a mess. An upside down car was to the side, a small flame to the right. He heard whispers but the recent concussion didn't serve well for his vision.
Something moaned behind him. He span, Beretta locked and loaded. It was a shambler, around 10 feet away. A shuffler it might seem, can't really do much. Deeming the shambler not a threat, he continued towards the wreckage, the corner of his eye watching the decaying corpse behind him, ever watching him. He called out, enough for the people in front of him to notice but not enough for the shamblers to freak out. He lowered his Beretta. "Hey! I don't mean any harm but I think I crashed into you. Are you guys okay? I'm local SWAT, I was separated from my unit. Any chance you guys going to Easton?"
Yeah I'm New Zealand and I sent an envoy to the British Isles. No response.
I'm still with you guys
In
From Stardust, to Stardust: Tales of Andromeda, a Sci-Fi Fantasy RP
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Nation Roleplay
My race is aggressive if you attack us. There has only been one time in Democracy history that the presidents felt the need for an aggressive war. That was the Ly'Nus Campaign. The whole economy was geared towards war. The factories made tanks and Rangers, the mines produced wealth for the War Machine. We're like a snoozing, cuddly bear. If you wake us up, you will die. Or get hurt. Either would be fine. I also forgot to put the Ly'Nus Campaign in my history. Oh well
Sorry for not being around much guys. Been watching from afar really. Waiting for a response. Sorry bout that
© 2007-2026