SillyGoy Member
Goius Sillius
STATUS: Really busy right now. Will probably not be able to post till next week. 9 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 7 mos ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 944 (0.21 / day)
- VMs: 2
-
Username history
- SillyGoy 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Ariamis,
PrinceAlexus,
Thayr
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
Current
Really busy right now. Will probably not be able to post till next week.
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Aww shucks, Lily, don't bloat my ego even more.
[Joshua] relationship with [Gerald]: -2 to make 33/100 from 35/100: Unfriendly; due to [Grievous Insult].
The faint smile that tugged on Gerald's lips turned into a frown; then his brow creased into a glower, with his eyes beginning to glow malevolently in fiery choler. His mouth parted a little and twisted to bare slightly his teeth into a feral snarl, wrinkling his nose. He leaned in over the table, placing his hands on its edges once more, and stared right into Joshua's eyes. Oh, how he wanted to hit the guy; oh, how he wanted to just shoot the bastard and let him bleed on the floor, having everyone watch -- his gun was literally inches away from his fingers. But, he wasn't going to, for that was, he thought, exactly what the inmate wanted him to do, and he would not be swayed so easily by someone whom he considered lower than himself. Instead, he chose to admonish.
"Listen here, you ungrateful mongrel," the tone of his voice was calm as ever, something which distinguished Gerald from other guards, though it, through subtle cues, betrayed obviously great anger. "I have lost twelve -- twelve," he emphasized, "good friends because of people like you. Be thankful that the Government even lets you live, and be even more thankful that us guards are not allowed to kill you, because, frankly, I couldn't give less of a damn if you just up and died one day, Joshua. For none of you are innocent. All of you are collectively guilty of murder in my eyes, regardless of age or gender, or whether you actually committed the crime in the first place."
He did not wait for an answer, however. Stressed and infuriated by this unpleasant encounter, Gerald chose to leave immediately, heading to the rec room to find his quarry and get this detail over with, guards and inmates alike looking uncertainly at him.
Though, he could not help but think: dark mocha or latte? Which flavor should he pick from the vending machine next?
"Listen here, you ungrateful mongrel," the tone of his voice was calm as ever, something which distinguished Gerald from other guards, though it, through subtle cues, betrayed obviously great anger. "I have lost twelve -- twelve," he emphasized, "good friends because of people like you. Be thankful that the Government even lets you live, and be even more thankful that us guards are not allowed to kill you, because, frankly, I couldn't give less of a damn if you just up and died one day, Joshua. For none of you are innocent. All of you are collectively guilty of murder in my eyes, regardless of age or gender, or whether you actually committed the crime in the first place."
He did not wait for an answer, however. Stressed and infuriated by this unpleasant encounter, Gerald chose to leave immediately, heading to the rec room to find his quarry and get this detail over with, guards and inmates alike looking uncertainly at him.
Though, he could not help but think: dark mocha or latte? Which flavor should he pick from the vending machine next?
Gerald’s ears twitched, his mouth scowled; then his legs stopped, and he turned around.
“And what,” his voice called out, in a deceptively calm tone but purposely loud enough to disrupt conversations among nearby tables, his bootfalls stark as he approached one end of a particular one. “Are we talking about here, lady and gentlemen?”
He placed his hands on the table decisively, effectively slamming them against the hardwood. He sweeped his head from right to left, blue eyes staring at the faces of a gaggle of unremarkable inmates, some of whom were familiar, others, not so much: Ami, Cyrus, Xerox, and, of course, Joshua -- a very prolific troublemaker, at whom he stared at with ferocious intensity even through his almost indifferent facial expression, which was, obviously, hard to read.
“I believe it appropriate to remind you, Joshua, that the law regarding public gatherings and speaking ill of the Government applies here as well.”
He withdrew his hands from the table and straightened himself up.
“Your name comes from the Bible, yet you are probably one of the biggest sources of commotion whenever we allow you anywhere. You should behave, for only through cooperation can prosperity follow,” he quoted a parliamentary edict. “Trust me when I say that the Government is only trying to help you people. This, all of this,” he gestured all around him, “is but part of a grand, master plan, I assure you. For all we know, they could be building a city dedicated to housing the Evolved somewhere out there, where you and the others can live in peace while, well, not managing to bother us normal people.”
As he spoke, the edges of his lips seemed to be tugged upwards in a faint smile. Either he was mocking the inmates, or he actually believed what he was saying.
“And what,” his voice called out, in a deceptively calm tone but purposely loud enough to disrupt conversations among nearby tables, his bootfalls stark as he approached one end of a particular one. “Are we talking about here, lady and gentlemen?”
He placed his hands on the table decisively, effectively slamming them against the hardwood. He sweeped his head from right to left, blue eyes staring at the faces of a gaggle of unremarkable inmates, some of whom were familiar, others, not so much: Ami, Cyrus, Xerox, and, of course, Joshua -- a very prolific troublemaker, at whom he stared at with ferocious intensity even through his almost indifferent facial expression, which was, obviously, hard to read.
“I believe it appropriate to remind you, Joshua, that the law regarding public gatherings and speaking ill of the Government applies here as well.”
He withdrew his hands from the table and straightened himself up.
“Your name comes from the Bible, yet you are probably one of the biggest sources of commotion whenever we allow you anywhere. You should behave, for only through cooperation can prosperity follow,” he quoted a parliamentary edict. “Trust me when I say that the Government is only trying to help you people. This, all of this,” he gestured all around him, “is but part of a grand, master plan, I assure you. For all we know, they could be building a city dedicated to housing the Evolved somewhere out there, where you and the others can live in peace while, well, not managing to bother us normal people.”
As he spoke, the edges of his lips seemed to be tugged upwards in a faint smile. Either he was mocking the inmates, or he actually believed what he was saying.
It's going to be great having a real-life military veteran RPing with us. It'll certainly be very interesting, and I can already see some of us scratching our heads as we are corrected for our mistakes regarding subjects about, well, basically everything military.
Also, I just posted this handsome fellow's character sheet in the appropriate thread.
I hope to play with you guys soon.
Also, I just posted this handsome fellow's character sheet in the appropriate thread.
I hope to play with you guys soon.
Name: Hans Dietrich Amsel
Rank: Private
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Physical Description:
Skillset:
Hans Dietrich Amsel was born in the quaint little town of Escholzmatt to a craftsman and a clothier on January 1920 as the youngest of four siblings, the eldest two being sisters. His father, Adolf Dietrich, owned a small workshop employing nine people who made furniture from wood. Likewise, his mother, Irina Vladiminora, had to her name an equally humble clothing business right across the street. As such, his living standards were higher than some.
He spent his childhood enjoying interwar peace, and he did moderately well with regards to academics. Like any other boy, his mornings would start with the voice of his mother waking him and his protesting siblings. The smell of father’s coffee, once he had fought off sleep, would then fill his nostrils as he raced down the stairs with Alexander Dietrich, his brother; with his mother and sisters, Leonora and Sophia, admonishing them both and telling them to be careful. Breakfast would be waffles, light meats, milk and fruits, and then he would take a shower so he could dress up for school. Unless, of course, it was the weekend or a holiday, in which case, he would go outside and play.
He was living a comfortable life, definitely. The only significant negative financial bump in his young life was when his father made a failed business venture, which the family took well and quickly recovered from with his mother’s successful business. He and his brother began to take active roles in their father’s workshop as they became fine adolescents; their sisters to their mother’s. Highschool came with relatively low levels of rebellion and more than a few cases of coming home drunk or being discovered with a girl in some dark place, but family ties were mainly strong.
He was, like every other young man at age 17, called up for military service, having completed his highschool education. Sent to a camp where he was drilled endlessly along with others, he was eventually given the unprestigious rank of Private and his very own rifle in the 3rd Jäger Battalion: a unit which, unfortunately, Alexander wasn’t assigned to. Two years of active duty went by relatively unremarkably, and he tucked his m1934 in the darkness of his closet in the middle of 1939 to aid his aging father with the workshop, meanwhile his brother, his elder by one year, went on to university, studying medicine and aiming to, someday, become a doctor.
Civilian life, uneventful though pleasant, lasted for only months for Hans as tensions with neighbors prompted the Principality to mobilize, picking out the Amsel brothers by lottery. Hopeful that war wouldn’t come to his homeland, he donned the uniform once more, kissed his parents and sisters goodbye, and walked to the bus station with dread.
Psychological Profile:
Hans has no outstanding features personality-wise. Like any other young man, he likes women, drink and good, hearty companionship. He is unambitious, content with helping with and eventually taking over father’s business when the time comes while his brother carries the heavy burden of being the family’s child star and hope for a better future -- a future postponed, with the calling of reserves, which Alexander is part of. This worries him.
Another thing that gnaws at his heart is war looming on the horizon. Oh, he would fight like any other brave Bergen man in service, but he desired for it not to come. He understands that if fighting broke out, the homeland would be far, far different than what it is right now.
Being the youngest of four siblings, he is an inborn follower and is not fit to be in a position of command.
Equipment:
Rank: Private
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Physical Description:
Skillset:
- Woodcrafter: Give Hans a piece of wood and a knife and he will make you a beautiful statue.
- Marksman: Hans is skilled with his Gewehr, more so than the average soldier, though not enough to qualify for sniper.
- Jäger: Hans is part of of a Jäger unit and so is trained for alpine warfare. With legs honed to steep slopes and hands calloused by gripping sharp rock, he is a Bergen mountain trooper through and through.
Hans Dietrich Amsel was born in the quaint little town of Escholzmatt to a craftsman and a clothier on January 1920 as the youngest of four siblings, the eldest two being sisters. His father, Adolf Dietrich, owned a small workshop employing nine people who made furniture from wood. Likewise, his mother, Irina Vladiminora, had to her name an equally humble clothing business right across the street. As such, his living standards were higher than some.
He spent his childhood enjoying interwar peace, and he did moderately well with regards to academics. Like any other boy, his mornings would start with the voice of his mother waking him and his protesting siblings. The smell of father’s coffee, once he had fought off sleep, would then fill his nostrils as he raced down the stairs with Alexander Dietrich, his brother; with his mother and sisters, Leonora and Sophia, admonishing them both and telling them to be careful. Breakfast would be waffles, light meats, milk and fruits, and then he would take a shower so he could dress up for school. Unless, of course, it was the weekend or a holiday, in which case, he would go outside and play.
He was living a comfortable life, definitely. The only significant negative financial bump in his young life was when his father made a failed business venture, which the family took well and quickly recovered from with his mother’s successful business. He and his brother began to take active roles in their father’s workshop as they became fine adolescents; their sisters to their mother’s. Highschool came with relatively low levels of rebellion and more than a few cases of coming home drunk or being discovered with a girl in some dark place, but family ties were mainly strong.
He was, like every other young man at age 17, called up for military service, having completed his highschool education. Sent to a camp where he was drilled endlessly along with others, he was eventually given the unprestigious rank of Private and his very own rifle in the 3rd Jäger Battalion: a unit which, unfortunately, Alexander wasn’t assigned to. Two years of active duty went by relatively unremarkably, and he tucked his m1934 in the darkness of his closet in the middle of 1939 to aid his aging father with the workshop, meanwhile his brother, his elder by one year, went on to university, studying medicine and aiming to, someday, become a doctor.
Civilian life, uneventful though pleasant, lasted for only months for Hans as tensions with neighbors prompted the Principality to mobilize, picking out the Amsel brothers by lottery. Hopeful that war wouldn’t come to his homeland, he donned the uniform once more, kissed his parents and sisters goodbye, and walked to the bus station with dread.
Psychological Profile:
Hans has no outstanding features personality-wise. Like any other young man, he likes women, drink and good, hearty companionship. He is unambitious, content with helping with and eventually taking over father’s business when the time comes while his brother carries the heavy burden of being the family’s child star and hope for a better future -- a future postponed, with the calling of reserves, which Alexander is part of. This worries him.
Another thing that gnaws at his heart is war looming on the horizon. Oh, he would fight like any other brave Bergen man in service, but he desired for it not to come. He understands that if fighting broke out, the homeland would be far, far different than what it is right now.
Being the youngest of four siblings, he is an inborn follower and is not fit to be in a position of command.
Equipment:
- Gewehr m1934; starting with 9 5-round clips
- m1918 Bayonet
- Standard Jäger kit of rations, poncho, etc.
- Small notebook and two pencils
- Carving knife
Garrison, I assure you that my views in real life do not carry over to Gerald. I posted completely in-character; he simply hates Evols.
Garrison said *snip*
Maybe Gerald is being a bit too insensitive, but then again, he's been indoctrinated into sociopathy, and he generally hates Evols for the massive amount of damage they've done to lives and property, not to mention nearly killing him at one point:
SillyGoy said "...with a trio of jagged scars running down diagonally from over his heart to his navel."
I'd even go so far as to say he's a bit of a sadist.
Posted.
The door swung open with a rasping, rusty screech, revealing three black silhouettes against a backdrop of white light. It was then shut and promptly locked when these figures entered the dimly-lit hallway, the illumination evening out so that it was possible to recognize them now: a trio of prison guards, two of whom toted rifles and flanked their more important-looking comrade at the middle, whose face was, strangely, bare, without the impersonal helmet and mask to hide his features.
Aside from the lack of headgear, the guard at the middle was still suited up just as heavily as his fellows, though without weaponry. His hair was blonde, trimmed, and neatly kept, with locks just above being considered short peering slightly over his forehead. Light blue eyes that stared analytically, judgmentally, surveyed the miserable contents of prison cells left and right through gaps between gray, steel bars as he and the other two walked down the gloomy corridor purposefully. His exceptionally pale skin seemed to glow every time he passed under any of the widely-spaced, overhanging lamps.
Gerald lifted his chin up to drink from his can of iced coffee, but he kept his eyes down and to the side to stare down to quiet submission one inmate who looked like a troublemaker, glowering malevolently from the darkness of his cell. This gesture annoyed him greatly, so he actually stopped, waited for the prisoner to back down, and then continued on his way.
Satisfied that he had cemented his dominance, he allowed himself a bully’s smile and shook his can around mindlessly, feeling the liquid slosh around within. The packaging said, in bold words, “Espresso”. Gerald liked the flavor. It was strong on his tongue and it kept him awake when such was needed of him. Now, he wouldn’t admit it, but he had a caffeine addiction, and it was obvious that he was very much fond of coffee.
He and his two bodyguards abruptly stopped before a cell, just before the mess hall’s entrance. Procuring a key, he unlocked the door and opened it.
“Kat Wonder. Burn victim of some sort,” he said, like reading from a roster, his pronunciation of the letter ‘r’ barely perceptible through his British accent. “You have been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff her.”
His order was heeded immediately and in the most efficient manner. Kat, who was hugging her knees at a lonesome corner, was propped up, slapped, and cuffed. Being a timid girl, she did not resist, and so her body was rather limp at the hands of Private Regalado as he held her firmly still in the corridor. All around, hands gripped their cells’ oppressive bars as inmates tried to peek out and gawk at the commotion, with other prison guards smacking their fingers away with batons, saying, “Nothing to see; there’s nothing to see.”
Meanwhile, Gerald and Johannes proceeded to another cell, neighboring Kat’s from across the hallway. Handing the key to the latter, the sergeant took a moment to sip from his can as the cell was opened.
“Barry Lenard; blue hair, red eyes, earrings like a faggot,” he sipped from his beverage again. “You have just been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff him.”
And it was so. Barry was introverted like Kat, so he wasn’t exactly emotionally prepared for a sudden seizure like this. His lower jaw hung agape with confusion as he was restrained, his brow furrowed with incredulity as he was dragged out, and the increasing rapidity of his breathing marked his great anxiety and stress at the whole situation. He stared at Gerald, right in the eyes, red and blue irises making a contrast, wordlessly asking him why, to which the guard merely smiled in mockery, before knocking back his coffee and finally finishing it with a satisfied “Ahh~.”
“Johan, Regs, get these two to Todd;” he ordered. “I’ll take care of the last one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir.”
Consulting his mental checklist, Gerald thought of Rilyn Naor. 'The hell kind of name is that?' Dark brown hair, glasses, effeminate build. The last of the wanted three, reported to be in the recreational area, connected to the mess hall. Which was good and convenient, because not only was he just two meters away from it, it also had an abundance of trash bins to throw his empty can into. As he approached the doors, a guard politely opened it for him -- an unnecessary gesture, and thus appreciated by the NCO.
The strange smell of a crowd of dozens of peoples’ personal scents, weird food, and the soap they used to clean the area wafted into Gerald’s nostrils. He did not welcome it at all, and wished that he had decided to wear his helmet for this detail. Licking his lips of residual espresso flavor, he craned his head around to look at mainly the guards, whose discipline he was examining. Many of the force here were complete greenhorns without any actual field experience, and it showed in the way they carried themselves and their rifles.
But he would deal with that later. Spying a trash bin near that troublemaker Joshua’s table, he walked over and rightly disposed of his garbage.
Aside from the lack of headgear, the guard at the middle was still suited up just as heavily as his fellows, though without weaponry. His hair was blonde, trimmed, and neatly kept, with locks just above being considered short peering slightly over his forehead. Light blue eyes that stared analytically, judgmentally, surveyed the miserable contents of prison cells left and right through gaps between gray, steel bars as he and the other two walked down the gloomy corridor purposefully. His exceptionally pale skin seemed to glow every time he passed under any of the widely-spaced, overhanging lamps.
Gerald lifted his chin up to drink from his can of iced coffee, but he kept his eyes down and to the side to stare down to quiet submission one inmate who looked like a troublemaker, glowering malevolently from the darkness of his cell. This gesture annoyed him greatly, so he actually stopped, waited for the prisoner to back down, and then continued on his way.
Satisfied that he had cemented his dominance, he allowed himself a bully’s smile and shook his can around mindlessly, feeling the liquid slosh around within. The packaging said, in bold words, “Espresso”. Gerald liked the flavor. It was strong on his tongue and it kept him awake when such was needed of him. Now, he wouldn’t admit it, but he had a caffeine addiction, and it was obvious that he was very much fond of coffee.
He and his two bodyguards abruptly stopped before a cell, just before the mess hall’s entrance. Procuring a key, he unlocked the door and opened it.
“Kat Wonder. Burn victim of some sort,” he said, like reading from a roster, his pronunciation of the letter ‘r’ barely perceptible through his British accent. “You have been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff her.”
His order was heeded immediately and in the most efficient manner. Kat, who was hugging her knees at a lonesome corner, was propped up, slapped, and cuffed. Being a timid girl, she did not resist, and so her body was rather limp at the hands of Private Regalado as he held her firmly still in the corridor. All around, hands gripped their cells’ oppressive bars as inmates tried to peek out and gawk at the commotion, with other prison guards smacking their fingers away with batons, saying, “Nothing to see; there’s nothing to see.”
Meanwhile, Gerald and Johannes proceeded to another cell, neighboring Kat’s from across the hallway. Handing the key to the latter, the sergeant took a moment to sip from his can as the cell was opened.
“Barry Lenard; blue hair, red eyes, earrings like a faggot,” he sipped from his beverage again. “You have just been deprived of all rights except for one, wherefrom you are to remain silent. Cuff him.”
And it was so. Barry was introverted like Kat, so he wasn’t exactly emotionally prepared for a sudden seizure like this. His lower jaw hung agape with confusion as he was restrained, his brow furrowed with incredulity as he was dragged out, and the increasing rapidity of his breathing marked his great anxiety and stress at the whole situation. He stared at Gerald, right in the eyes, red and blue irises making a contrast, wordlessly asking him why, to which the guard merely smiled in mockery, before knocking back his coffee and finally finishing it with a satisfied “Ahh~.”
“Johan, Regs, get these two to Todd;” he ordered. “I’ll take care of the last one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir.”
Consulting his mental checklist, Gerald thought of Rilyn Naor. 'The hell kind of name is that?' Dark brown hair, glasses, effeminate build. The last of the wanted three, reported to be in the recreational area, connected to the mess hall. Which was good and convenient, because not only was he just two meters away from it, it also had an abundance of trash bins to throw his empty can into. As he approached the doors, a guard politely opened it for him -- an unnecessary gesture, and thus appreciated by the NCO.
The strange smell of a crowd of dozens of peoples’ personal scents, weird food, and the soap they used to clean the area wafted into Gerald’s nostrils. He did not welcome it at all, and wished that he had decided to wear his helmet for this detail. Licking his lips of residual espresso flavor, he craned his head around to look at mainly the guards, whose discipline he was examining. Many of the force here were complete greenhorns without any actual field experience, and it showed in the way they carried themselves and their rifles.
But he would deal with that later. Spying a trash bin near that troublemaker Joshua’s table, he walked over and rightly disposed of his garbage.
© 2007-2026