Name: Zeke Cross
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Appearance: http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/330/7/3/adahy_by_bayanghitam-d4h93z7.jpg

Rank: PFC
Class: Shocktrooper
Weapons and Equipment: MAGS M1, Bowie Knife, Flask of whiskey & Grenades
Personality: Abrasive, Silent, Disturbingly apt at the use of violence
Bio: Born on the streets Zeke quickly discovered his knack for violenxe, darkee trhan the other children he was often singled out for abuse, because even among the urchins cruelty trumped decency. At the age of 8 Zeke fell in woth an organized crime family and learned streetsmarts in lieu of a actual school based education. At th age of 16 he broke off from his adopted caregivers and started his own organized crime family which quickly folded under the pressures of mistrust and youthful angst. Following the failure he drifted from town to town earning his keep as a handyman or if the situation called for it, a leg breaker. Eventually he same to a semi permanent rest when he found stable position as the barkeep and bouncer of a small pub.

RP Sample: "Jerry's at it again!" Zeke sighed as Sinclair the lead wench screamed at him shrilly. It had been such a nice day too. Zeke quickly finished wiping up the counter as strode boldly to the southwest corner of the establishment, old Jerry was making a real ass of himself, quite a feat 10 pints in as he was. Zeke clasped his hand on Old Jerry's shoulder "Time to go" he intoned with his flat passionless voice. "The fuck I am-" Jerry never got to finish that rebuttal as he was soon ass over ears and tumbling out onto the cobblestone street.

"Another day" Zeke sighed to himself as he wiped his hand on his apron and walked into the rear of the pub, the owner Mac stayed back there doing the books and Zeke still had his Day's wages to collect. It would save time to have Mac just govfe the money to the whpres down the street becuase that is where it was invariably going but Zeke always found the feel of !omey in his hands to be a comforting one.

Rosie is my waifu

Name : Brenna Sykora
Gender : Female
Age : 21
Appearance : Brenna stands at about 5 feet 9 inches, with pale skin. Long, sleek black hair that is sometimes in a mess. Her eyes are a teal like color, but tend to look out of focus or looking off into space. Average body type. Wears glasses, while they are not required to be worn 24/7, she does find that they help with everything.

Rank : PFC
Class : Shock trooper

Weapons and Equipment : MAGS M10, B Type M1 Grenade

Personality : A hermit by nature. she tends to lock herself away from social interactions, only socializing if unable to retreat from it or if she's with a friend. Even when socializing, she tends to keep her sentences short and to the point, which leads to her other personality point. She's blunt, sometimes harshly blunt, she doesn't want to beat around the bush or waste time, this could be seen as a good point in combat, but considered cold and heartless when she does actually socialize.

But Brenna is also an intellectual person, usually found reading, writing, or drawing. She may also Daydream, which normally consist of sitting in peaceful plains while listening to the natural sounds of the world.

Bio : Brenna was orphaned when she was only five years of age, for reasons unknown. She was taken up by a woman who raised her, and once Brenna was ten, the woman told her she was an orphan and that she took her in so she would be able to live out a normal life. She then spent most of her time reading and drawing, completed her schooling and moved back to the border town she was raised in and lived on it's outskirts, doing her best to keep social interaction to a minimum while still having access to a job and a source to buy daily needs such as food. But she always felt inadequate, why would her biological parents orphan her? So she vowed to find them so she could ask them that question.

Brenna avoided jobs that required social interaction on a daily basis, and took up a job as a baker for a bakery. And used the money she made to buy ingredients for cooking. She constantly tells herself that her cooking is sub par, even when some of the locals have said otherwise. She loved the peaceful way of life she had established for herself, and hoped to never lose it, but with the murmurs of war approaching she felt that it would be lost fairly soon. But she was prepared to defend it to the best of her abilities.

RP Sample : A normal day. A very beautiful one. Brenna looked up at the sky as she was returning home, few clouds in the sky. It was scenic, she hoped it would stay like this till she got home so she could sketch it. Her eyes returned to the pathway, a rod of bread in her vision, and the smell of ingredients filling her nose. Apparently the townsfolk loved her cooking, but she felt they were only saying that because she lived alone and felt some sympathy. "Sympathy" she spoke, trying to get a feel for the words on her lips. 'It's wasted to feel sympathy towards me, there's nothing to feel sympathetic towards. I'm not ill, I'm not made fun of, nor am I physically disabled....Oh well'

After a few more minutes of walking, she arrived at her house and turned around to look at the sky. A small smile crept on her face. The sky still looked the way it did. 'Thank you sky.' she thought to herself. Then turned to walk inside when she heard a light crunch beneath her foot. Stepping back, she saw flowers with a small note. 'What?' She quickly stepped over it and put the bag of groceries on a table before going back to the front door to pick up the flowers and the note. But decided she'd read the note once she had dinner cooking. But something prevented her from starting to cook dinner, and instead read the note. Which turned out to be a note from a secret admirer, but sadly, she'd never be able to write the person back because there was no return address. 'Probably an honest mistake when writing this...but...why would anyone want to be with me?' She thought to herself, then went on to cooking dinner and writing a return letter should she ever find this person. The next few nights were sleepless until she accepted the fact that the person might have evacuated the town with the impending war.

I have to pick a favorite?
Well alright...I'll pick Catherine O'Hara

Name: Marilyn “Merry” Evans
Gender: Female
Age: Seventeen
Appearance:

Rank: Private
Class: Engineer.

Weapons and Equipment: A basic Gallian-2 Rifle, a standard weapon for any Engineer, and a Viper-E-1 Pistol. Merry does not carry grenades or any form of explosive on her, as explosions scare her. For equipment she carries engineer tools and ragnaid canisters for healing allies.

Personality: Merry is one of those people with a complete "can do" attitude. She tries her hardest in everything she does, and tries her hardest to keep her teammates positive too. This positivity can come off as clingy annoyance to people who don't like constant interaction. She can also come off as childish or innocent, but she is far from this. Merry has a rather complex past, one she doesn't often share with others, that shapes her into a rather complex person.

Merry has a very youthful personality and an optimistic outlook to life and adventure. She can be quite reckless in a sort of 'charge ahead first, think later' sort of way. Despite this she loves being given orders as it takes the pressure off her her needing to make a plan. Merry will sometimes get stir crazy when being forced to sit still for long periods of time but normally she'll go about everything with a cool approach. She sometimes struggles to be affectionate and outwardly emotional however she manages to controls fear/sadness/clinging emotions. Under stress Merry will either, yell and angry get though it or lock up and be unable to continue. Despite this Merry is an extremely hard worker and loves her work. So much so that she would rather sleep in her mechanic garage then her room. She often has trouble sleeping if she is not surrounded by her work, and no one likes a sleep deprived mechanic on her third cup of coffee.

Bio: Merry grew up in the cold, and often unforgivable, Diebal Mountains. She lived in a small village of Wooly Goat herders, mostly made up of family members and a few stray Darcsen who wanted to get away from the mining. Merry grew up surrounded by people who cared greatly for her, as children often died early in their lives due to the cold, and thus is greatly comforted by being around people. There was no official school system up in the mountains, so Merry got all of her necessary schooling from an elderly Darcsen. She was taught how to hunt and shoot by her mother and aunt, a custom in the mountains, and gained her love for tinkering with machines at a young age from her father and older brother. Ever since she was young Merry was always itching to take stuff apart and put it back together, which often lead to a lot of broken machines when she was still learning.

Life in the Diebal mountains were often harsh, since there is snow on the ground all year. This has lead to Merry becoming very hardy. She doesn't seem at all phased by the cold and years with little food due to famine adapted Merry into rarely needing big meals. But when she is offered an abundance of food she can't help but want to eat all of it, as if not knowing when her next meal will be. This also means that extremely hot temperatures makes her uncomfortable and she is often found complaining if it is even considered slightly warm.

Regardless of the cold, life in the cold mountains was peaceful. The small villages rarely had any visitors, except for the rare trader, and the only dangers seemed to come from wild animals and the possibility of supply shortages. The populations of the villagers were also rather small, meaning everyone knew everyone. There was no time to dislike each other, as everyone needed to work together to survive. Merry, because of her young and quick body, worked as a mail deliverer between each of the small villagers. Once, while delivering a stock of rations to a group of Darcsens, an explosion went off in a nearby mine. Merry was easily overpowered by the falling snow, but was rescued by the group of Darcsen she was delivering to. And although no one was killed by the blast Merry remains jumpy around explosives.

RP Sample: The small log cabin was already a buzz with energy. The sun had just peaked over the lowest mountain tops, signaling the beginning of the day for the family. The eldest siblings of the family had already gone about and woken up the youngest siblings, who hobbled out of their cots, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Merry's mother and older sister had begun lighting a fire for breakfast, a meal large enough to fill a family of well over ten people. Merry happily helped the eldest members of the family to the table, her grandparents and an elderly Darcsen who had been crippled in a mine explosion. Meanwhile her older brother helped corral the now overly awake children into their wooden chairs. As Merry and the men of the family took their seats, her mother and aunt began to pass around plates of food. Starting with the oldest and youngest members and ending with the men. Even before digging in Merry was salivating, her empty stomach turning with anticipation. Her mother said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, it would fuel your entire day if you fill the tank right.

And man did the tank feel full. Merry hadn't shied away from filling her plate, once she was sure everyone else had their full. Warm breads, thick cuts of meat, and eggs shimmering in grease. Everything that Merry had asked for in her birthday breakfast. Merry turned seventeen today, she was practically an adult. Her mother even let her have her first cup of coffee today, as before she was scared that it would stop Merry's growth. The smell of coffee had always intrigued Merry, it smelt strangely enticing. Sadly, Merry found herself extremely disappointed in the bitter taste of the coffee, and with a frown slid it across the table to her father. The older man laughed, the sound deep and rumbling, as he stirred in a spoonful of sugar and cream. Two extremely expensive and luxurious products up in the mountain. Merry decided, even if the coffee still wasn't to her liking, that she would finish the drink. After awhile the youth found that she was enjoying the warmth of the drink. As she looked out at the window at the brewing storm she couldn't help but think that there was no better place in the entire world.

Other: Montley Leonard is my all time favorite.

"If you're going in there, then so am I."

Name: Damien Varrot
Gender: Male
Age: 19

Rank: PFC
Class: Scout
Weapons and Equipment:

Gallian-X1,
Grenade bandoleer with space for three B-Type M1 grenades
Small Ragnaid canister and first aid pouch
Father's knife which doubles as a bayonet

Personality: In times of peace, Damien is a real calming presence, kind and care free, he makes an effort to be encouraging and reassuring to his squad mates. Deep down there's a fire in him, one that wants to bring out the best in his fellow soldiers. Damien brandishes a certain brand of eager confidence that teeters on the line of cockiness. He mainly does it to bring out the camaraderie between his squad mates, especially his fellow scouts, since they're usually the first into the fray. Part of him does it to forget about the horror that war has brought to him and his home, about what he's endured so far. In battle, he is reckless, throwing himself into the fray so nobody else has to. If it's risky and dangerous, he's the first to volunteer. This has given the young scout a secret thirst for glory he tries hard to hide, reminding himself that war is no glorious competition, and that he has others to look for, although his seemingly natural ability and family's military history can't help but bring it out of him, especially in moments of victory.

Bio: For as long as he's been alive, Damien Varrot has been taught to live by a code: Protect your home, protect those close to you and always give everything you got. Damien was born and raised in the city of Vasel, where his father worked for the Town Guard and his mother helped run a clothing store. Damien's father Edward, who was brother to Captain Eleanor Varrot, was also a career Gallian military man. Lined up to follow in his father's footsteps and join the military, Edward Varrot enlisted Damien in the Vasel Junior Military Academy, where Damien would begin to hone his skills as a soldier. This was just as the drums of war began to echo in the distance, and murmurs of war muddled throughout Vasel. When the Empire approached Gallia's border, Damien's father received orders to deploy after 5 days. Immediately Damien tried to enlist in the army, but without graduating first, he wouldn't be able to enlist. His father refused to try and help Damien enlist, saying it would be best to finish school and allow things to blow over with the Empire. Little did he know of the wave of conflict that would rush across the country side and into Gallia's cities, Vasel being one of them.

"Stay in Vasel, Damien, take care of our home."

As the Empire approached, the people of Vasel scrambled to assemble a large enough Town Guard to defend Vasel whilst it's population evacuated. As volunteers trickled in, Vasel stood out as a natural leader, helping Town Guard leaders plant strategic defense posts and how best to use the city's geography to their advantage. Given a gun and his own part of Vasel to defend, Damien would get his first taste at war protecting his home like his father told him. Sadly, the town's forces got rolled over and as East Vasel fell to the Empire, Damien was forced from the fight, his comrades making him retreat and abandon his home. Giving up the Vasel bridge in the process, Damien took the loss of his hometown to heart as he and his mother fled to Randgriz, where he would be offered a position into the Gallian Militia, appointed to be a scout due to having more experience in battle than some of his peers, albeit just a little, and appointed to PFC thanks to his family's military history and participation in the Vasel Junior Military Academy. Damien declined, deciding to head out towards the border and help those who needed to get to Randgriz and hopefully find his father, it's there that his story truly begins.

RP Sample: The tank shells and grenade blasts sent gentle tremors through the cobblestone streets of Vasel, the panicked pitter patter of boots were trickling through like raindrops on a window. East Vasel was lost, the only thing left to do was to leave with your life while you still could. Damien tripped over an empty apple crate that had been left in the street, dropping his rifle in the process. Picking himself up, shouts of Empirical soldiers could be heard echoing through the alleyways. Damien scrambled to his weapon, cocking it and pressing up against the nearest wall. As pops and bangs rang blocks away, it was footsteps and murmurs he tried to listen for. More voices, shouting orders, they were coming his way. Walking quietly along the wall, Damien's route was cut off as three Empirical scouts popped out of the alleyway intended for his escape. He immediately crouched down, gripping his weapon as he tried his best to shrink behind a table that had lost a leg and leaned over. As the scouts snooped around, peering inside empty shop windows and abandoned wagons and the like, they had slowly but surely made their way towards the cornered Damien, who would surely be found. Outnumbered and outgunned, picking up a rock and throwing it in some random direction was the only chance he had, so he would go for it. Tossing it into the air for what seemed like forever, the sound of a window breaking drew the scouts attention long enough for Damien to escape, but instead, he aimed his Gallian and opened fire.

He promised himself he would come back for his home, and he would never lose another battle again.

The Gallain countryside was beautiful, like a canvas painting in motion, but it was no place for a city boy like Damien. He was used to cobblestone streets and alleyway shortcuts to and from his favorite places, out there, there was only one road to follow. Damien secured his cap to a snug fit before the wind would blow it off, he had been on the road for almost a half a day, but he was much closer to the border now. Soon he'd find his dad and figure out a way to help out again. The Empire's advance halted as soon as Vasel fell so taking it back was first priority to Damien. The truck driver honked twice and Damien peered over the cab to see a Darcsen family walking with their things, prompting him to tap on the cab twice, signaling the driver to pull over. The guy agreed to take him as far as Rinneheim, and that was all he needed. The truck's brakes screeched as it came to a halt, Damien standing to his feet and giving the family a friendly nod.

"You folks need a ride? This guy's taking me to the next town."
"That'd be great, Empire just raided our farmland, we've just lost our home."
"That's okay, I lost mine a few days ago. Hop on, I'll help with your things."
"Thank you sir, not many would lend a helping hand to Darcsen folk like us."
"Darcsen never bothered me, plus they'll be plenty in Rinneheim, you'll see."

Damien finished helping the family onto the truck, giving the driver the signal to take off again. It was only another hour to Rinneheim, and there would surely be someone over there that would help him find his dad. He'd find more than he'd bargain for in Rinneheim, the start of something that would change his life and homeland forever, and as the wind began to compromise the secure fit of his cap, Damien had no idea that he would be a part of history and that he would have his chance to shape it himself. Luckily, that Gallian Militia offer was still on the table. The Principality of Gallia was home, and he would protect it to the bitter end.

Haven't played in a while, but Ted Ustinov never let me down.