rosorial

OOC Section ╔═════════════《✧》═════════════╗ IGN (In Game Name): Rosorial Discord Tag (ex, metsu#7640): ibwig Have You received any warns/bans in the HimeraRP Server/Discord, if so, list them: No, I have not. Describe your experience with roleplay: I have a long history with roleplay whether that be Minecraft, FiveM, or even Roblox. Many tend to hide their experience in fear of harassment, or bullying, I take the lessons they’ve taught me from apocalypse GTA roleplay to Minecraft school roleplay along with the shift to a new server. On that note, I have specific experience with Himera as well. You may know I was consistently active in the last playtest beta, aware of the rules, and a key feature in it. I possess an advanced understanding of acting through Himera’s terms and regulations from this history, and I intend to push them along and help others grow to understand Himera’s unique take on escalation-based combat. What is Escalation in your own words: The rise of aggression through a series of person-on-person events. Do you have a microphone?: Yes, I have a microphone. List your past BMD applications: To be honest, I did have just one past application for Himera’s BMD, though I have no clue where it has gone since I am unable to view it if it has been deleted. What is your reason for applying?: I have a long history with the Himera server. I’ve always had a calling to criminal trade, through personal interests and the money involved. Through the last playtest beta, me and a group called “The Olees” played the largest part Do you acknowledge that you are not allowed to abuse the fact you get weapons for cheaper prices?: Yes, I acknowledge and swear not to abuse. Do you acknowledge that if you are arrested or killed you're role as a Dealer will be removed?: Yes, and I pledge to preserve my character for as long as I intend to serve. What is your knowledge on Black Market: I understand that the Black Market is an underground form of trade. It is specifically focused on dodging the attention of everyday civilians to keep a mysterious and threatening aura. They open and put themselves out there periodically, an opening that should not continue for longer than needed. An officer stumbling upon a deal is the worst-case scenario and should be avoided at all costs through short customer interactions. On that note, to avoid accidental discovery through a cop, your deals should be in quiet and low-profile places like that of a construction sight at night. During last year's playtest, I had not so helped, but tagged along on many deals with black market dealers which gave me “on-the-job training” of how an interaction should occur, and what should and should not be said. The Black Market’s trade qualities make it feared by the majority of players as you will never know who is truly a part of the movement unless the dealer’s an idiot and gets caught. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ IC Section (Write this as if your character is in an interview.) **The man spoke with a heavy accent.** ╔═════════════《✧》═════════════╗ What makes your character Unique?: “I’ve never exactly thought of myself as ‘Unique,’ I tend to have a good sense of judgment and leadership while in high-stress scenarios, however. I take pride in guiding my allies through death, no man should and will fall unplanned.” What is your characters reasoning for becoming a Dealer?: “Why I'm interested you say? I guess discrete markets catch my attention. I sell services, whether it be socially acceptable ones or my own. When I see a group that excels past my understanding of the world of trade, it intrigues me. I strive to be a part of it.” Backstory [Minimum 100 Words] “I think I’d have to start my story off in Kenya. I’m unsure of who my parents were, I remember locals saying they were young when they had me, but frankly, I could not tell you their names. The only family I’ve known was my brothers, who aren’t blood-related but took me under their care of the Samburu tribe, after my parents’ abandonment. Oh man, do they make sure to remind me how much of a hassle it was convincing the elders to take the village’s parentless runt... The five of us were always together, trying to hustle, We spent days and nights selling stolen crops, clothing, shoes which specifically sold for high... Water, any necessities, you name it we sold it. We ran the village's local “Bazaar” not getting entirely creative with the name, but it was the first we’ve had. Nobody knew where we obtained our stock, and that was for the better. I’ve always lived in a state of poverty, take a look at the news and you’ll quickly see Kenya’s economy is nearly always struggling, but I was okay with that. If I had enough currency to care for the ones who nurtured me when I was thrown out. I was nothing through my early years, I'm sure you could’ve guessed that by this story, but that was until Americans came and allowed our village to become something new. They held a poll where we’d write down our names, slide the thin paper slip into a dark box, and we waited. These days were some of the most anxious of my life… What? You asked what the poll was for? A trip of course. They were electing ten young Kenyans of our village to come live life in the Americas for a time. Have I stated my brother's names yet? Most of their full names are foggy so I’ll focus on first, but we were Nyakim, Khoudia, Salva, Bol, and Ota. Some of us had similar though not exact backgrounds, perhaps that is why we got along so well. Right, back to the story, we were invited to live in foster in one of the states of the “great U.S.” That is what they called it, but it seemed like a lie. Once names were placed high on a board for all to see, several of the tribesmen were picked, and fortunately, I was too. We read the names aloud as a group when our eyes traveled down the board, we saw Nyakim, Khoudia, and Ota scrunched together on the long list of future immigrants. We spent that night crying in both joy and sadness, Salva and Bol were to stay in Kenya, and we three had a chance at new world life. We were taken to a large city, from the books I recognize it as LA or Miami, but I know it wasn’t in California or Florida. We kept Samburu as part of our name to show the importance of the tribe in our lives, I think Americans call them “middle names.” If I recall I believe we moved to the northern U.S. but the memories are unclear. All I remember of those times is the great schools. We were given food items we’d never seen before at lunchtime. We learned topics never thought about back in Kenya during class. It all seemed like a miracle, too good to be true, which all came to make sense once we were grown. We had to take classes that would help us in our desired “career path,” a concept that was still new to us. We had no understanding of how the job system of America worked, we all took separate classes thinking we’d still be able to see each other hours a day doing what we liked, but this could not have been farther from the truth. I had asked a boy in my class who seemed to be richer, he wore gel in his hair and a tie in his sweater school uniform, while the majority wore crappy dress shirts provided by the school. I was foreign but I could tell when a kid’s parents had a superior paystub to my own. He told me that he had heard his father mention something about “taxes,” that word stuck with me. I began my focus on education. I’d like to take a moment to shed some light on the American school system, violence was something I was exposed to early on in life, and working on a farm periodically made that clear. In the halls of this school there were ruthless fights, kids who looked like me but spoke in another tongue, I think teachers called the language “slang.” Some kids were lighter than me targeting the just mentioned groups. I had no idea about the concept of racism at the time, but it was hurting to learn its meaning firsthand. People would bash each other's faces in, slam heads into lockers, and smoke in the bathroom. I would be lying if I didn’t say watching the fights was fun, but when we all wore uniforms to seem equal but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Khoudia was always punished the most severely. I know you may not think so, but this was a stressful step up from the life I was used to. I attended college, nothing fancy, a local one, and got a bachelor's in accounting. Branching from this degree, I started helping people with their taxes. I may have gotten the wrong understanding of what that boy said, and what I could’ve done with that degree, but I made it work. Now that I think about it, there were many better jobs that I could’ve strived for, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now if I had taken the opportunity… Oh well, the past is past, the future is mine, is that what they say? I was still living with my brothers, we had a small apartment on the 7th floor. When I say small, I mean two bedrooms, the bathroom had no sink (we brushed our teeth in the kitchen), and the one who forked up the least amount of rent had to sleep on the couch we got on clearance with a broken recline feature. That is when Ota suggested a new move, a place with a relatively fresh economy where we’d be able to seriously achieve that 75th percentile, without having generations of name clout. We saved, got passports, and flew out to Italy, riding a boat to Honshu Island. I continue my tax assistant business here in Himera, it makes do. Khoudia is still in America as we speak, and Ota, well he won’t even tell me how he achieves his money, and he has a LOT of it. He’s grown secretive since the move, it worries me. Tanoa was supposed to be a fresh start for us, and Ota is making the best of it, I’d like to as well.” First and last name: “My name is Nyakim Samburu Gatwech, though typically I leave Samburu out while signing my name. . .Why? I like to keep it simple, the three names mix people up, and confuse them when figuring out what to call me.” Alias: “I prefer to go under the name Soko, it's of my native language and refers to a Bazaar or a market, like the one my brothers and I managed.” Current Occupation Or Hobby: “I’m currently a self-sufficient tax assistant, not a real occupation just a hobby I guess. I teach and complete on my own time. It’s a position I don’t need a company to flourish with, and pays enough to make a living.” Age (25+): “I’ve just recently turned 36.. Wait no, 37. That 2020 quarantine must still be fucking with my mind!” Gender: “I am a male if that was not clear.” Nationality: “My nationality? Oh, I’m Kenyan, like said in my story I moved away early in my life but I take pride in spreading the culture my brothers bestowed on me.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Additional information: ╔═════════════《✧》═════════════╗ I have made a quick model of the times I will be active, to help you grasp an understanding of when I can be online and responsive.