Gephfryee — Roleplayer Guild

Tiberius awoke with a start, which he regretted as he discovered that he possessed a rather inconvenient migraine. Up sitting up, he also discovered that his entire body was quite sore, the reason for this, he learned, was because rather than getting into bed like any normal person, he'd managed to fall asleep on a pile of empty vodka bottles which, if he remembered correctly, he had drunk the night before. Things were about to get even worse, though, for upon standing he found the sudden urge to piss himself and puke his liver out at the same time. Outside, he relieved himself of yesterday's drinks and all of the food he'd eaten for the last half-week.

A few hours, one nap, and two more vomiting spasms later: Finally certain that he was done paying for all the sleeping medicine that he'd downed yesterday evening, Tiberius opened up his supply crate to rummage for food and drink with which to form something passable as a breakfast.
"Faen."
He'd forgotten that the vodka was all he had left, and that was finished off last night. He'd meant to go kill something and sell if for food two days ago, but had been too lazy to do so. With a sigh of exasperation, Tiberius suited up, packed his backpack, loaded his guns, and set off in the general direction of Agroprom. There were always bandits and soldiers to be killed there, and Kalashes and their ammo sold for quite a pretty penny, especially in large quantities. Of course, choosing to hunt in this area also meant that you one might find oneself having to deal with a few more enemies than might generally be preferable, because, you know, who doesn't love being surround on all sides, trapped in a tree with a semi-automatic rifle while being violently pounded by angry bandits and Ruskies because they're pissed off since you may or may not have blown the brains out of one of their buddies.

Tiberius plodded along his way, merrily singing Ja, vi elsker dette landet. He'd just crossed over into Agroprom and, much to his glee, wasn't immediately fighting a group of bandits with SMG's and shotguns, since sniper rifles aren't exactly instruments of precision in close proximity engagements. This wasn't all that was making him happy, however. He'd had the good fortune to not only not be ambushed by bandits, but also come across an unsuspecting patrol of about ten soldiers a kilometer out. Perfect prey for a sniper.
He quickly found a decent position on top of a low hill with a few bushes for cover, plonked down into one of the shrubs, and set up his rifle. He made a pan across the group to see what he was looking at in terms of money; all of them were toting Abakans, meaning they were Spetsnaz, which in turn meant that he'd be getting Berill's and SKAT's off of them. By his calculations, Tiberius reckoned that that would be at least a few thousand rubles, which was more than enough for his needs. Assuming that the merchandise wasn't damaged, of course. If he wanted everything intact, he'd need to aim for the throat and kill, or go for the knees and finish them off with his kodachi once he made his way over to them. He decided to make a game of it and kill every other one now, and let the others suffer a bit before he put them down.

He scoped in to the group leader, who seemed to be something on the order of a captain, but that was irrelevant. Breathe in, hold, squeeze the trigger... poof. Tiberius snickered as the poor man's throat was torn out and he desperately clutched at the scraps of skin that still kept his head on in a state of confusion. He watched the horror show for a moment, reveling in his handiwork, before moving on to the now scattering and confused soldiers that still stood. He blew out the knees and ankles of one soldier as he tripped trying to get behind a rock. He tagged another that popped his head up too far over a rock. One stepped out and fired a few bursts in Tiberius' general direction. The fool found himself incapacitated a moment later when he received an express delivery bullet to the waist and feet. Things went on like this for about six minutes or so until every one of them had been downed or disabled.

"Hell jævla ja! Vodka og pølser til middag i kveld!"

Tiberius quickly gathered his things and sprinted down to where the wounded Spetsnaz lay. Once he was noticed, a few of the survivors feebly fumbled with their pistols in a desperate attempt to shoot Tiberius, and one managed to hit him square in the right shoulder, but his head soon rolled off of his shoulders and his attempts at resistance ceased. Once the others saw this, they pleaded for their lives, promising money and artifacts in return. Tiberius chuckled at the notion, beheaded another two, and finally just stomped the remaining pair to death, leaving their skulls little more than a messy, red, pulp. Everyone dispatched, he unarmed, looted, and undressed the soldiers, tying all of their belonging onto the most intact body of the group with a length of rope, which he then used to drag the loaded body. He was off to 100 Rads for a hefty trade and a few drinks.

100 Rads Bar: Tiberius was met with mixed reactions as he walked into the bar dragging a dead body behind him, but most of the Duty soldiers and veteran STALKERS ignored it since they knew him and this was pretty regular behavior. He managed an easy 9,000 rubles from the various items he'd brought in, half of which he promptly traded for ammo, gun repair supplies, and most importantly, various forms of vodka and meat. He decided he might as well hang around and see what was happening back here in [i]civilization[/], since it'd been a while. Although, just as he'd sat down to chat with an old acquiantance from Duty, a a trio of two men and a woman came running in babbling something in what sounded like German's attempting to speak Swedish and doing a piss poor job of it. However, it sounded like money, so Tiberius was interested.

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