Ulrik is unremarkable on first look, and that has served him well over the years. Standing at 6'1", he's considered average height on his home planet of New Oslo, his greying black hair and somewhat trimmed beard giving a contrast to his sharp jawline. With an average build with a just enough muscles to keep finding shirts with wide enough shoulders to fit, he isn't necessarily standing out. However, his face carries a few scars and modifications, souvenirs from wars of past, and the brown marbles that sit under a stern brow glimmer intelligently, observing everyone and everything.
ORIGIN:
Born on the planet of New Oslo back when it was still a part of Kuritan space, Ulrik was raised in the spirit of both the Kuritans, and the local populace who can trace their origins back to the nordic countries of old Terra. A citizen of the Draconis Combine until very recently, he is now a citizen of the Rasalhague Republic.
PERSONALITY:
Ulrik is a man weary of life, with an almost inexhaustible pool of both patience and indifference. A military veteran turned to a mercenary, he doesn't talk much about his past or his experiences during the Fourth Succession wars in the Draconis armed forces. He speaks when spoken to or when speaking to someone, never one to draw out a conversation longer than it needs to be. Some may say it's just how he is, but those who knew Ulrik, or Grey as he is affectionately called because of his greying hair, they know that he has reasons to be so indifferent. The wars of past have changed him, and he'll be the first one to admit that he has done and seen things that will forever haunt him in every moment of his life.
However, that doesn't mean that Ulrik is a cold or harsh person. Though he might not engage in chit-chat by himself, he has no problem sharing a drink and a few stories, or cheering up a fellow soldier if they need it with a few words of encouragement. He's not the type to crack jokes, but he's a sincere, empathetic person, whose indifference and bluntness earned in the line of duty is reserved for life and the Great Houses, not those around him. Sort of a cold father figure in his own right, he doesn't patronize people, but takes responsibility for his actions and the actions of those around him.
All around, Ulrik is a no-nonsense leader who doesn't take no for an answer, but will do his best to make sure his subordinates are safe and taken care of. As long as you don't bother him by asking stories of his military career, Ulrik will always be available to talk with or help, just don't expect a heartfelt conversation about feelings. That part of him is either buried too deep, or it died when he earned his purple hearts.
When not on duty, one can usually find Ulrik at the simulators, where he has a bad habit of fall asleep in the pods whilst reading an e-book, instead of using the machines. If not there, then the commander is either spending time at the bar, quietly observing the rest of the crew with a drink by his side, or down in the mech bay polishing every last bolt on his aging Centurion, perhaps the only thing that the commander has publicly shown affection towards.
Generally accepting of all people, even Capellans, Ulrik seems to have a particular gripe with the Federated Suns, and it is one of the few topics that can get him heated up to a point where he starts to speak before thinking. Whatever the reason is, he isn't willing to share it with anyone.
HISTORY:
Born and raised on New Oslo, from a young age Ulrik knew that he wanted to become a Mechwarrior. Raised near the only mech factory in the area of space near Rasalhague, he'd see them machines being built and shipped off almost every day. He was always fascinated with the machines and how they worked, and even though his mother never liked the idea of him becoming a soldier, his veteran dad never refused to let him watch the machines. Perhaps seeing a bit of himself in his son, nowadays Commander Grey sounds a lot like his father that he sometimes mentions during the rare occasions he talks about his past.
Eventually, Ulrik left his home planet to enlist in the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery. Beginning his career as a humble foot soldier, Ulrik slowly climbed up the ranks until he was able to transfer and take command of a newly formed lance of medium mechs. By this point he had enough experience, and luck, fighting mechs as an infantry to respect their awesome firepower, but also to learn that even the kings of the battlefield can be struck down with enough planning. He was still enthusiastic to finally pilot his lance at a relatively young age and realize his dream, but reality soon came knocking.
Medium Mechs are the king of the battlefield, the jack of all trades, the affordable, effective solution to most problems. However, as soon as you're not fighting pirates or inorganized militas, the bitter reality starts to slowly set in: too slow to chase down skirmishing Lights, and too lightly armed and armoured to effectively fight Heavy and Assault mechs, more often than not Medium Mechs become the punching bags in larger engagements, and the first ones to take casualties.
Though Ulrik managed to avoid the fate of many others, his years as a lance commander saw the bright-eyed and promising young NCO become the man he is now. Though he rarely talks about his rank and role in both the Draconis and Rasalhague military before he became a mercenary, it is clear he made a solid career out of warfare by the time he retired. Rarely he talks about the "times of peace" as he calls it, but his lips are sealed shut about the Fourth Succession war and the four years since then.
Whatever the he did, he will not tell, and it is probably for the best. The only thing to turn an otherwise patient man irate, war is a difficult business, that not many wage for as long as Ulrik did in the 31st century. Officially retired now, he supposedly only asked for his mech as his payment for years of service. Now he serves his home planet and people once more with it, being one of the few commanders chosen to lead the new recruits who are supposed to carry out the unofficial business of the Rasalhague Republic. It's probably best this way if one is to ask Ulrik: he's had enough of being in a military, and finally he gets to dictate where he goes to fight, more or less. Too old and stubborn to quit the one profession he's perfected for a lifetime now, Ulrik has made it clear on several occasions that the only time he'll retire is "When some FedScum shoots an AC/20 through my Centurion's core, and even then I hope to give him a big hug before I go to Valhalla through a fusion fueled blaze of glory."
SKILLS:
Gunnery: 4
Piloting: 6
Guts: 5
Tactics: 7
ABILITIES:
Brawler: Over the years Ulrik has learnt that often the most effective weapon wasn't his AC/10, and later his Large Laser, but rather the fists on the Centurion. Though by no means an agile mech, he has a way of making the machine dance in close quarters combat. Of course, he knows better than anyone else that if it comes to a brawl, some part of the plan had already gone very wrong.
MISC: Ulrik is pretty seriously addicted to nicotine, to the point where he smokes almost a box of cigarettes every day, if supplies allow it. Doesn't talk much about it, like many other topics, but the few times he commented on it he claimed he needed it for his nerves.
Type: Centurion CN9-AL
Name: "Kitsugi"
Mass/Class: 50 ton Medium Mech
Armor: 11 tons of Standard Armor
Top Speed: 64 km/h
Armanents:
1x Large Laser
2x Medium Laser
1x Small Laser
1x LRM-10 w/ 2 tons of ammo
Heat Sinks:
16x Single Heatsinks
Quirk:
Improved Targeting (Short)
Misc: "Kitsugi" is Swedenese for "coffin", a derogatory term often used by FRR/DCMA infantrymen to refer to 'Mechs.
Personality: Alvin is used to being treated badly by others, due to his bastard birth, being captured after his first few sorties as a MechWarrior, and his time as a prisoner of war and later slave of the Draconis Combine. Nevertheless, he sees the value of good relations with the rest of his squadmates (having subconsciously given up on his commander as a lost cause and all attempts to foster goodwill as a failure), and seeks to treat them as kindly as possible. When one convinces him they are to be trusted, usually by treating him with kindness, Alvin tries to resist latching on to that but also seeks to return it.
As for larger goals, he lacks those, except perhaps an interest in more democratic structures of governance than even the Federated Suns has. However, Alvin sincerely wants the Rasalhauge Republic to succeed and become the best nation it could be, shepherding it through its growing pains so that it can one day be a shining beacon to the galaxy. Then maybe he can return to Argyle in peace; he's not actually banished from there or in any legal or extra-legal trouble with the rest of the Davions of Argyle - He's just mostly ignored.
Back to the subject of his commander, Alvin is scared and paranoid that his commanding officer, Ulrik, is out to get him, that the latter's hatred of the Federated Suns - Which he knew comes from some atrocity that the FedSuns did commit and cover up - would one day cross the line to its own atrocities and war crimes, and that Ulrik is out to sabotage any bonds he forms at best or bar him from any chance of promotion and advancement at worst... Or just literally stab him in the back or shoot his mech's cockpit in the middle of a battle.
History: Born in Argyle as a legitimized bastard of one of the Davions of Argyle - He didn't know who; it might even be one of the women - Alvin was raised in a high-class orphanage where his every need except for parental figures was provided for. It was a lonely life, with friends which came and went, the subtle snubbing of society, and occasionally, visits by representatives of the Davions of Argyle to test his aptitude in various matters and his potential usefulness to them.
In that regard, was above-average in all respects and mastered only a few subjects, and was able to enter Military School and eventually, be trained as a MechWarrior. Graduating at the age of 18, Alvin was deployed to the very last battles of the Fourth Succession War as part of a lance of MechWarriors composed of people similar to him; bastards, the inconvenient, and those whose reputation was marred by minor offenses. They were expected to redeem themselves through distinguished military service but underestimated the power of the Draconis Combine.
Alvin found his lance surrounded, ground down, and annihilated by a Draconis Combine ambush, with him as the only survivor after his Shadow Hawk was crippled. And these ambushers were permitted to take prisoners, prisoners they held only contempt for due to their not being able to kill themselves before capture.
They took him to a prison camp where they deprived him of everything, even basic human dignity. They broke him in three days of torture, forcing him to throw away his integrity and reveal everything he knew. Then they spent four more days inflicting pain on him 'for his own education'. Then the young man was handed over as a slave to one of the Draconis Combine's lesser houses, where he grew clinically depressed to the point where he seriously considered... He does not want to talk about that. All Alvin knew was that although he had been legitimized, no one came to rescue him; he was not important enough to be saved. Then, he realized that he had to escape; if he wanted to die anyway, it didn't matter if they executed him for failing.
Even then, he found unexpected help; the daughter of the family wanted the thrill of adventure and was willing to betray her kin in order to get it. And that meant helping him escape.
And so Alvin escaped along with her, and he managed to return to the Federated Suns and establish his survival, although it was noted that the only notable achievement he had was escaping with help. At the end of the day, he was a nonentity, not important enough to care about negatively or positively. And so, with a heavy heart, he left Argyle once more on a JumpShip, taking odd jobs as he went, before finally winding up on Rasalhauge, where he signed up for a new mercenary company that promised to provide him Mechs - Hopefully a Heavy one he can survive in or a Medium one he was familiar with.
Finding out his commander hated the Federated Suns made him regret his decision right away, but Alvin was not going to run away from this bad decision. Instead, he'd get to know his squadmates, hope to find some reason for living anew, then, if his commander hadn't succeeded in killing him by the end of his service, he'd take the severance pay and continue wandering the Galaxy on JumpShips if he can't find happiness back in Argyle or found another reason for living.
Skills:
Gunnery: 3
Piloting: 3
Guts: 3
Tactics: 3
Abilities: (We'll keep track of pilots' abilities here once they earn any. These are usually beneficial modifiers for specific situations and will be "awarded" during the RP if it feels like a pilot earned it. Same soft statistic as Skills, used mostly for the flavor to give a unique flare to every pilot.)
Misc: Albert is a bookworm, ready to buy books when others would buy alcohol, the taste of which he finds disgusting (although he does drink when it pleases his squadmates). He also likes soft things, such as pillows and stuffed toys, which he keeps discreet from his squadmates. He sometimes acts like a child, both in positive and negative ways; this is speculated to be a trait from his days in the orphanage.
Callsign: Spent the last two years under "Dash" - Dumb Ass Stabbed Himself. Because he did. If anyone asks, he doesn't know how he got that callsign. Suffice to say he's looking for a change of callsign in addition to a change in scenery.
SPACER
Standing at an unimpressive 167 cm (5'6") and weighing 65 kg (143 lb), fit as would be expected of a MechWarrior to cope with the heat and general physical demand of piloting a BattleMech, Karel carries himself with a straight back gain a few centimeters, at least psychologically. This is something he consciously has to remind himself of, as he developed a slouch during his FWLM service to get away from the oppressive innards of a Wolverine's cockpit.
Voice: Brian Bloom (John Bradford, XCOM 2)
Age: 34
Origin: Free Worlds League, Marik Commonwealth, Marik II
Personality: Karel could be described as a choleric man of hair-trigger temper. Someone once said his patience ran out sometime in 3029 and he's just been on standby ever since, though fortunately his outbursts go away as quickly as they come and rarely leave a negative impact on his view of whoever set him off. Though a smart commander will find a way to use his lazy side, it does creep into his work, preferring to expend the least amount of effort to do whatever needs doing so he can go take a nap. In a fight, this directly translates to a somewhat broader range of what constitutes acceptable collateral damage as well as Karel's direct approach to problem solution - hit it until the noises stop. Which, although effective in many situations, is best supplemented by a commander with a bit more tactical finesse, as while rules may be bent and loopholes abused, he knows better than to break them.
Following his disillusionment with FWLM and resignation, a wiser man might have hung up his neurohelmet and looked to other ways to make a living or tried for a position at AMI or a similar institution, but if anyone asks, he'd rather keep doing what he knows he's good at and enjoys doing. Unofficially, he doesn't want to brave the uncertainty of starting anew elsewhere, although he'd rather pilot an Assassin than admit to it. Despite being light years and centuries removed from the lands his family trace their heritage to, he's retained their almost genetic affinity for pale lager and greasy food, both of which are best enjoyed together and in good company, that most often being his fellow MechWarriors and the unit's support personnel.
History: The third son of a minor noble family, with two siblings far more talented, charismatic and/or dedicated than him, the prospects of inheriting anything of note were minimal. With the family estate and businesses out of reach, he turned to the Free Worlds League Military to make his mark in, enrolling in the Allison MechWarrior Institute. Contrary to his mediocre results in previous education, caused by lazyness and a "Who cares?" attitude, he tucked his head in and held onto the top five percent of his class with teeth and claws. While mediocre at best when it came to leading and planning, he showed promise in piloting and gunnery.
As one of the smallest cadets in his class, Karel quickly got slated for Wolverine duty as he would have an easier time managing in the cramped cockpit, or so was the reasoning anyway. Straight out of the academy, Lieutenant Chalupa ended up in the 6th Marik Militia, joining them just in time for the Nanking raid. Its success spawned some unrealistic expectations of service in the Free Worlds League Military, as well as effectively making the start of his career its peak from where everything, even a success in its own right, would seem a letdown. A reliable subordinate but uninspired commander, he gave a decade of his time to the FWLM, tangling with the Lyran Commonwealth and Tikhonov Free Republic during the waning years of Third and the duration of the Fourth Succession Wars. Though by no means a tactical genius, even he grew tired of the numerous tactical, strategic and political blunders that plagued the Free Worlds League during this time, starting to look for greener pastures elsewhere.
In 3031, after ten years of service, Captain Chalupa resigned his commission and joined up with the Sapphire Swords Mercenary Company. No one knew how, and any who knew refused to tell, the Sapphire Swords got their hands on a Cicada that had never been refitted with new heat sinks, the defective original models forever staining the 'Mech's reputation in his eyes. Regardless, he stuck with the SSMC until its dissolution due to poor accounting in 3034, taking up the FRR contract because it was the only place he could afford to get to.
Skills:
Gunnery: 4
Piloting: 4
Guts: 2
Tactics: 2
Abilities: N/A
Misc:
Fluent in English and Czech. Has working knowledge of Arabic.
A good shot even outside of a BattleMech dating back to childhood hunting trips with his father and eldest brother.
Karel's always had a talent for painting, which he's further honed throughout his service as the unofficial nose art technician of whatever unit he was assigned to, a role he'd embraced with enthusiasm.
Type: Mongoose MON-67
Name: Mad Goose
Class: Light (25 t)
Armor: Standard (5,5 t)
Top Speed: 129 km/h
Armament:
Medium Laser (LA)
Medium Laser (RA)
Medium Laser (CT)
Small Laser (HD)
Heat Sinks: 10 Single
Quirks:
Command BattleMech
Easy to Pilot
Stabilized Weapons (Small Laser and CT Medium Laser)
He trims his beard regularly. He always carries a smile but never shows his teeth. He throws his shoulders back and walks upright, making him appear taller than actual. He wears a plain T-shirt and thick slacks inside his quarters but wouldn't be caught dead outside without his overcoat.
Age: 26 Earth years
Origin: Taurian Concordat, born and raised
Personality: An offensive baseliner. In socials, in combat, in romance, he won't engage before calculating a high probability of "success," or his definition of it, then storm forward with unabashed investment. He can wait hours, days, weeks for this opportunity depending on the situation. He's quite patient and observant, though sparingly few friends realize it. He talks so boorishly that acquaintances dismiss him as an irrelevant triviality. Whether this is a front or a genuine aspect of his character, not even he knows himself. He has pondered that occasionally in moments of self reflection. From others' perspectives, the vast majority of interactions are bright, brief, and brash.
Where are the allegiances of such an elusive fellow? They lie with small creatures. An outcast himself once, he sympathizes. He recognizes death and loss; he's seen and caused plenty across his short lifetime. Nonetheless, he'd open up his hatch to release an entrapped dragonfly should the need arise. If he finds a homeless person, he'll divert his routine to keep the vagrant warm and well fed. He'd do his best to reroute his biped around buildings, roads, and electric lines, if only because he understands their vitality to the common man's everyday activities. His quest to find purpose will cause no collateral damage.
History: The Sulser's dairy industry, like most on Illiushin, was renowned throughout known civilization. The youngest of six siblings, however, Hamazasp was impeded from higher positions of company leadership. He found solace in simulation. His older sister fell ill, and he assumed her duties. Misinterpreting his benevolence as a power grab, she demanded his exile when she recovered. Instead, his mother assigned him a role in their newly-established branch within the Draconis Combine, the family's furthest domain: banishment in every way but literal, thankfully with honor still intact.
He labored diligently towards his newfound duty for little benefit. Unfortunately, despite his product's quality, name recognition prevented it from mainstream attraction. Illiushin's gouda advertised and sold itself with its reputation; Shinonoi colby jack felt off brand and fake. He tried to market through his home network, but they wouldn't return his calls. Finances forced him to downsize, eventually to where he himself operated the machinery. Managing a franchise doomed to fail depressed him, but the levers' and switches' methodical coordination calmed and comforted him. His childhood simulations provided useful advice, but practice was another matter entirely.
He steered the business to its dying day. He personally slaughtered each of the remaining cattle, the last employees long since departed. His hands' work stillborn, he roamed the Inner Sphere for new opportunities. One night, while contracting on Vega VII, he received a quarter life crisis. He wondered how it would feel to handle a metal titan for real. He knew that mechanical operation was different but wanted to know the extent of its difference. Foolhardy? Sure, but he had nothing better to do. Would it kill him? Maybe so, but his parents wouldn't miss him. Very well. He'd sign himself up.
The Fourth Succession War altered the political galaxy's course and shape, but powers that be forgot to include Darius in that restructuring. A planetary government, extremely paranoid that the Buckminster Prefecture couldn't rescue them from "impending conquest" (their words), purchased and established a reconnaissance lance to guard their critical access points. Unexperienced with these matters, they made rookie mistakes aplenty: purchasing mint condition machines, background checks, cutting protection to maximize firepower, decent wages, et cetera. The pool of competent mercenaries was already exhausted several times over, and Hamazasp stood at barrel's bottom.
He was handed a Spider SDR-5K and no further instruction or training. His video games informed him of which dials went where, which was sadly more education than his peers had. Gradually the team became a cohesive unit, but their missions consisted of naught but escorting elected officials' cars. For a single instance, they engaged a gang of bandits who maintained simple motorized infantry and vehicles. As was typical in the Benjamin Military District, no apocalyptic threat descended from the sky, merely a boring peace. Violence was not the First's demise; it was bankruptcy. Its maintenance sapped their sponsor's treasury until the locals resolved to sell the 'Mechs and default on their contractors' payments. Hamazasp's Spartan lifestyle was no stranger to him; he carried on as his comrades faded into obscurity and poverty.
Then Rasalhague came knocking. They offered food, pay, and a brighter scene. He answered the call. Perhaps he'd see some honest to goodness action.
Skills: Gunnery: 1 Piloting: 2 Guts: 4 Tactics: 5
Abilities:
Misc: Keeps a pocket harmonica, and plays it as the mood arises. Maintains a physical library of novels and reference material, as space allows. For growing up on a world that specializes in cheeses, is oddly lactose intolerant.
Mass/Class: 20T (13T frame) LIGHT Fire Support Armor: 4T StarSlab Top Speed: 129.6 km/h run; jump N/A Armaments: M Laser MG x2 (with full pack of ammunition between them) Heat Sinks: N/A Quirks: Compact ’Mech Narrow/Low Profile Cramped Cockpit No/Minimal Arms Weak Legs
Zohra's callsign dates from her time serving in the Arkab legion. Many a mercenary comrade have come to believe that this is due to her obvious love of tofu, an affection that is regularly displayed in the food that Zohra cooks.
However, in truth, Zohra acquired her callsign as a result of one of the few times she lost her composure piloting her BattleMech. As Zohra tells it, soon after being assigned to the 2nd Arkab Legion, she had been conducting a simulated battle with her new lance commander. Facing a souped up Archer in a bog standard Dragon BattleMech, Zohra had managed to win not a single engagement against the more veteran MechWarrior. Throughout the battle and indeed, after each victory, her lance commander would offer a helpful hint of "this is technique only, but you might want to try this..."
After nearly an hour and a half of sweat-drenching, muscle-aching, and skull rattling desert combat Zohra admits that she had decided she had enough. Weathering a critically damaging hit that would have taken off the left arm of her BattleMech, Zohra brought the Imperator-A Autocannon/5 of her Dragon to bear and headcapped the Archer in a shot fit for the record books. Venting her full frustrations and victory infused elation over the comms, Zohra cringes when recalling that she shouted "This is technique only, but fuck you!".
The rest of the training operation proceeded in awkward silence that bled into the company debriefing. Finally as Zohra's BattleRom was being replayed, her lance commander rose to her feet to offer the helpful feedback of "technique only, never tell your instructor to fuck off" before storming off. Left behind, drowning room full of roaring laughter, Zohra found herself being given the callsign TOFU...
Technique Only Fuck You!
Appearance:
Clocking in at a respectable five feet seven inches, Zohra has the athletic build that characterizes most professional soldiers. She has olive skin, dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair kept short, reaching just below the nape of her neck. With ambitions of being punched, an observer might unwisely choose to describe her lips as generous.
A child of the desert, Zohra still favors several thin, covering layers of fabric to shield her from the elements. However, in the interest of pragmatics, she is usually dressed in clothes that would be best described as business casual, leading some to confuse her for a member of the admin staff. Her only concession to fashion is a pair of discrete earrings that she wears when not suiting up for a jaunt into combat in her BattleMech and an Azami necklace her favorite sibling gave her.
When piloting her BattleMech Zohra wears the iconic garb of a MechWarrior. Well-worn combat boots, tattered shorts, that border on dangerously short, a breezy tank top, and fire resistant gloves. Due to the cramped nature of a BattleMech cockpit, Zohra keeps her sidearm, an ancient venerable model of 9mm pistol that still works like a charm in 3044, in a chest holster attached to her Cooling Vest, and a long curved blade tucked into right boot.
Age:
23
Origin:
Hailing from Algedi V, the heart of the planets controlled by the Azami Brotherhood, for much of her life Zohra owed loyalty to the Draconis Combine as part of the complex treaties that allowed the Azami Brotherhood to remain an autonomous political entity in return for various concessions offered to the Draconis Combine.
Personality:
A young, talented MechWarrior, still full of unwarranted romanticism, and bristling with a hungry desire for adventure, Zohra, is in many ways the idle candidate for a rag tag mercenary outfit.
Unhesitant in battle, she maintains a strong concern for others, especially civilians when outside of the cockpit. Exceedingly kind, Zohra possesses an intuitive sense of compassion and morality that often seems at odds with a vocation as an Inner Sphere mercenary. To quiet her conscience and occasionally lingering doubts, Zohra performs small acts of deviation, deeply personal rituals that she hides from all but her closet friends. Devout in her own way, Zohra would say that she practices her own pragmatic brand of the Islamic faith followed by the Azami. She is tolerant of the many differences found in many a military unit and holds views largely compatible with life as a mercenary. Although she is a touch more conservative in her clothing than many of her colleagues, Zohra has no qualms about drinking alcohol and cheerfully engages in discreet, always brief intimate relations during R&R, when time, professional obligations, and operational security allows it.
A social creature, Zohra is fond of music and an able musician with all manner of stringed instrument, her most cherished instrument being an exquisite steel-stringed mandole. An engaging speaker and gifted listener, Zohra flourishes under the gaze of others and happily seeks to place herself in the middle of any social functions.
Something of a free-spirit, Zohra is considerably open-minded, a trait that served her well in her time with the Arkab Legion. A product of the flexible school of battlefield tactics espoused by the Arkab Legion, Zohra has internalized the culture of mission command so cherished by her former comrades. Trained to conduct autonomous operations against local targets and raid deep behind enemy lines, often without regular contact with a centralized command, Zohra has a particular approach to warfare not often appreciated by more traditionally inclined military leaders.
Taught by her commanding officers by her commanding officers that the only truly mortal sin was to hesitate, Zohra considers seizing the initiative and acting to be her primary imperatives in combat. She firmly believes that there is no priority higher than achieving the mission objectives at hand. Frustrating many a social general, Zohra remains convinced that orders can be disobeyed, rules can be broken...as long as the mission is successful.
Thick skinned, it is apparent to the learned historian that Zohra is the descendant of a long line of people that had survived for centuries on an inhospitable desert planet without any hours of darkness. There is an inner strength to the young MechWarrior, a humble confidence, and an iron will that let's her keep going when she really, really shouldn't. Far from reckless, when convinced by situational necessity and youth in equal measure, Zohra has an occasional habit of performing brave actions that border on the excessively dangerous for her own person.
History:
Zohra Amina Imalayen was born in 3011 in the jeweled city of Algiers found on Algedi V, the capital planet of the systems controlled by the Azami Brotherhood.
Her father, Abdelkader, was a hydroponic engineer, responsible for designing, building, and operating the hydroponic systems critical to growing plants in on Algedi V. Her mother, Djamila, was a low level mining executive. The middle child of three children, Zohra has an older sister, Hadda, and younger brother, Nazim.
Growing up Zohra lived comfortably, her parents making fine salaries, and while far from rich, they were able to create an environment where Zohra and her siblings could thrive. A pleasant child, Zohra achieved high marks throughout her compulsory education. Channeling an aptitude for creative writing, Zohra won a prestigious prize in her final year of studies, securing a scholarship that allowed her to attend the Jefferson Preparatory Academy, a preparatory school traditionally reserved for only wealthiest citizens on Algiers. Despite early misgivings and concerns about her "common" background, Zohra adjusted well, thriving in her new environment, easily finding a place among the most elite Azami citizens.
Poised for a promising legal career, at the suggestion of her parents, Zohra ultimately rejected pursuing a career as an attorney-at-law following a short, but successful semester studying jurisprudence at Luthien University on Luthien IV. Instead with exceptional marks in hand and glowing recommendations from several acclaimed professors, Zohra applied to and was accepted as a student the MechWarrior training program long established at the Algedi War College.
Showing a remarkable aptitude for piloting a BattleMech, Zohra adapted quickly, in her own words "like a fish breathing water", not that she had ever seen a fish or large body of water. Graduating in 3032 at the top her class, she was assigned to the 2nd Arkab Legion, an Azami planetary militia regiment integrated into the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery (DCMS). Serving with the so-called "Defenders of the Faithful", Zohra was nominally stationed on Tannil, scant light years from the border between the Draconis Combine Federated Suns. She participated in border skirmishes and defensive operations against the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns (AFFS). Given the specialization of the 2nd Arkab Legion, Zohra gained considerable experience and participated in several unavowed DCMS raids deep into Federated Suns territory.
Finding little joy in garrison duty and the never-ending low intensity conflict that the Draconis Combine was locked in with the Federated Suns, Zohra eventually elected to resign from the DCMS, to the horror of all save a particularly eccentric uncle infamous among her relatives for a long career spent as a mercenary AeroSpace fighter pilot. Armed with glowing recommendations from her lance commander and commanding officer, but missing anything approaching a BattleMech, Zohra found herself answering a most interesting call for MechWarriors from the newly formed Rasalhague Republic.
Skills:
Gunnery: 3 Piloting: 3 Guts: 3 Tactics: 3
Abilities:
Miscellaneous:
Zohra is a native speaker of Arabic, Japanese, and English (mostly to save all of you from my terrible translation talents). Furthermore, she is oddly (some would say alarmingly) talented with melee weapons, bladed or pointy, small or large, and wielded in hand or thrown at a distance.
Type: The type and variant of your mech.
Name: The affectionate name given to the machine by your pilot.
Mass/Class: The weight and class of your mech.
Armor: How many tons and what type of armor your mech has.
Top Speed: How far can your mech run/jump.
Armaments: The amount and type of weapons that your mech carries, as well as how many tons of ammo it has available.
Heat Sinks: The amount and type of Heatsinks your mech has.
Nickname: As much as she'd like for people to use her stolen rightful title, Nakano's accepted the fact that she can't actually make them.
Appearance: Fuka does not look like a graduate of a military academy or an officer in the Dragon's Combined Soldiery, her veteran status belied by her youthful appearance and sunny disposition. Having grown up with wealth and taste she dresses up whenever the weather allows her to, donning colorful kimonos and hakama in all manner of social situations. It's worth noting that to Fuka, combat is a social situation.
Outside of her dress, there are two notable abnormalities to Fuka. Firstly, her height. She's very tall for a woman, particularly one from Kagoshima, standing at 6'1. Her great height is counterbalanced by her leanness, her figure carrying the toned muscles of a long-distance runner (understandable, considering the amount of sprinting she did during her Acadamy days). The second is her left arm. If one looked closely they'd be able to notice that it's merely coated in latex to mimic living skin, an advanced prosthesis to make up for the loss of the original during an artillery barrage.
Age: 23
Origin: A native of Kagoshima, and a noble to boot. Had she stuck around Fuka would have been in line to become the tozama daimyo of a portion of it, but she deserted instead.
Personality: Fuka is not motivated by politics or morality or any philosophy. All of those are boring stories made up by cowards to make themselves feel better about killing. Fuka fights because she's good at it and it's fun, and if people are willing to pay her to why would she turn them down? War is an adventure, a game with the highest possible stakes. She has no loyalty to anyone except her flight and the people paying it, a true mercenary.
These ever so slightly sociopathic tendencies are counterbalanced by her genuine cheerfulness. Her uninterest in house politics makes it easy for her to make friends from pretty much any corner of the Inner Sphere. She has an appreciation for the fine things in life: good clothes, good food, good music, and good times. She likes being on friendly terms with her comrades because the flight that can't work together is the first to get destroyed. A quick way to her heart is by joining her on the hunting trips she tries to schedule regularly, her love of big game trophies only accentuated by having someone to show them off to.
A holdover from Fuka's honor-bound upbringing is that she has little to no respect for captives, seeing them as both not good enough to win and not brave enough to take the honorable way out. They exist to do what she wants, whether that means her laundry or being sold for a few C-Bills.
History: The Nakanos are a line of minor nobility within the Draconis Combine, dedicated servants of House Kurita who have long served in various branches of the military and militia. Fuka was to be no different, allowed great luxury growing up at the expense of her future service. From an early age she was taught the importance of loyalty to the Coordinator and the tenets of bushido, told that she must present herself as an example to the lower classes.
A shame then, that she never paid much attention to those lessons. Fuka was always more interested in gratification than she was in service, so while she was looking forward to a military career it was entirely due to a childish fascination with war. Her relative's stories made getting shot at fun, and that was all Fuka cared about.
Even if she had wanted to join the Infantry or the Admiralty Fuka was trained in the use of BattleMechs, slipping into the cockpit of the family heirloom Archer with her father to watch him maneuver before eventually being given the controls herself. The moment she put on the Neurohelmet, she knew she didn't want to do anything else.
Military academy seemed a natural fit for a kid with a love of mechs, and indeed Fuka was enrolled at Sun Zhang, but she chafed under the strict control of enlisted life. She was noted as something of a strategic slacker, just managing to toe the line of decorum without ever impressing her instructors. The sole exception was in combat, where she proved to be a natural at shooting and brawling (although her brute force style left little room for the nuances of piloting or tactics).
But with the ongoing Fourth Succession War the Combine was not in a position to turn down recruits, even if they were perhaps uninspiring. Fuka was awarded her daishō and assigned to the Sun Zhang Cadres, sent off to prove herself in some of the nastiest conflict zones House Kurita could find.
To the surprise of her family, her comrades, and even herself Fuka managed to excel. The shift from the training hall to the real world gave her the push needed to demonstrate her skill, using her penchant for gunnery and melee to support her lance while letting her comrades cover for her shortcomings. In one particularly noteworthy incident, her flight caught a team of FedSun mechs out of position and essentially vaporized them. In a single salvo all but one of the Davionites were killed outright, save for the pilot of the Shadow Hawk that Fuka managed to cripple.
With a successful raid under her belt Fuka happily sent her captive off to get broken in, uninterested in owning a slave but pleased with the kudos she'd get for him at home. The feeling of accomplishment carried her through the rest of the war, right up until the final few days when a bombardment blew her left arm at the shoulder.
Fuka was largely unphased by the event (once the pain subsided, of course, she'd happily admit that she was screaming like a stuck pig until the medics got some serious sedatives into her), simply chalking it up to luck. Plenty of people left the war in much worse shape than she had, and it wasn't like she couldn't afford a replacement limb. Hell, any disappointment she might have felt was quickly forgotten when she was informed that she had graduated from the Cadre and made a junior lieutenant.
The end of the war and her "wounded veteran of a noble family" status afforded Fuka some time off, sent home to convalesce before the next inevitable engagement. Now once again constrained by societal pressures she had time to consider her position. The war had been fun, but the rigor and structure of military life annoyed her. She was proud of having been made an officer, but that was only because of the sense of personal achievement. She didn't want to spend her life polishing her boots and her superiors' asses, she just wanted adventure.
Her slave was now working on the Nakano estate, and his presence gave her an idea. While she had no actual problem with his mistreatment (after all, if he didn't want to be captured he would have sat on a grenade) but his want of freedom inspired her to seize her own. Fuka deserted her family and her liege and stole their property along the way, smuggling the Bastard out of the city in a crate of laundry. After that, Alvin was left to his own devices because Fuka had her own problems.
On the run and liable to be shot for treason if discovered she beelined for the newly independent Rasalhague, intending to use it as a stopping point before continuing on in search of a company looking to hire. Conveniently, there was a company looking to hire in Rasalhague!
Now her main goal is to get her hands on a proper heavy or even assault mech, so as to continue the carnage.
Skills:
Gunnery: 5 Piloting:1 Guts:5 Tactics:1
Abilities: We'll keep track of pilot's abilities here once they earn any. These are usually beneficial modifiers for specific situations, and will be "awarded" during the RP if it feels like a pilot earned it. Same soft statistic as Skills, used mostly for flavor to give a unique flare to every pilot.
Misc:
Members of the Pillar of Gold are expected to practice art in all its forms as part of their advanced place in society, so Fuka is a fair hand at many types of artistic expression. However, she's best as a musician, playing a steel guitar and singing. She's also a trained martial artist, the practice of unarmed self-defense taught both at home and in school. Outside of her swordsmanship Fuka is a practitioner of Kūdō.
Speaks both her native Japanese and English perfectly, can understand French and German but struggles somewhat in speaking.
Is well armed even outside her mech, as befitting a samurai. Besides the traditional katana and matching wakizashi she wears due to having earned them in Sun Zhang, she also keeps a modified G-150 hunting rifle, chambered in 11 millimeter for big game. The final weapon is a simple Nambu autoloader. If asked Fuka will gleefully share that it's intended for herself if her mech is ever disabled.
Smokes, really only because she thinks it looks cool.
Appearance: Remy is a 6'2" middle-aged caucasian man with leathery tanned skin covered in lascivious tattoos. He's got a strong square jaw framed by a thick moustache, and long flowing brown hair that passably covers his bald spot most of the time. While he's developing a slight beer gut, underneath that is the hard musculature of a lifelong fighting man. When he talks, Remy's voice sounds like someone jammed a bottle brush down his throat and he decided to keep it there out of spite.
Age: 46
Origin: Originally from New Delos IV in the Free Worlds League, though he hasn't been to his home planet or considered himself a Marik in decades.
Personality: Remy acts like a man who's never heard of the concept of moderation. It's hard to name something that he hasn't drank, smoked, snorted, or tried to hump. He usually has a filthy joke for every occasion, and will be all too happy to share them with anyone in earshot--unless there's kids around. He's reckless, cocky, and quick to start a fight if he thinks one's coming, or sometimes if he's bored.
Despite this, he's also a capable Mechwarrior, and can be trusted to get the job done-- after all, the sooner the work is done, the sooner he can get back to sloughing off. He also has a strong paternal streak, and is occasionally prone to fits of melancholy when in one place for too long.
History: Remy Clarke will talk your ear off about his wild and lewd stories from his career as a mercenary, but doesn't like to talk about his life before that-- if asked, he'll more than likely brush the question off with a rude joke, and if asked again he'll reply with a headbutt to the nose. A former member of Hansen's Roughriders, Remy spent several years as a front-line fighter for one of the loudest and rowdiest mercenary commands in the Inner Sphere before seeking his own fortunes as a freelancer. His reasoning for leaving the Roughriders, much like his life before becoming a mercenary, is a subject best left dropped if one wants to keep all of their teeth.
The only bits of information one can get about Remy's early life are those which are matters of public record. The first official record of his existence isn't a birth certificate, but an arrest record on New Delos IV, where a 13-year-old Remy Clarke was charged with vandalism in 3002. Multiple following arrests suggest that Remy had been a juvenile delinquent in the industrial city of Campbell, involved with a rock-band-turned-street-gang known as the Sonic Assassins. At 17 he was conscripted into the local militia as an alternative to prison, and training records indicate surprisingly high test scores that put him in consideration for Battlemech training. By 3012, Sgt. Remy Clarke was transferred to the 3rd Marik Militia and assigned his first 'Mech, a 50-ton Hunchback.
During his time in the militia, several disciplinary reports suggest that Remy had gotten involved with political radicals, particularly those who supported Anton Marik's opposition of his brother the Captain-General. In 3014 Anton Marik declared an open revolt, and combat records show that Remy had fought on the front lines as part of the rebel forces. Within a year, however, the revolt had collapsed, in large part due to Anton betraying Wolf's Dragoons and forcing them to switch sides, and Remy's unit was one of many on New Delos IV that was utterly destroyed by the notorious Black Widow Company.
No records exist of Remy's whereabouts for the next five years, but he would resurface again in 3019, joining the famous and infamous Hansen's Roughriders. A command well-known for being loud, rowdy, and devastatingly effective, Remy was a perfect fit for the Roughriders, where he gained a reputation for simply holding down the triggers of his 'Mech's weapons until either the enemy exploded or his 'Mech shut down from overheating. He applied this same approach of excessive force to nearly everything else he did, from exercise to music to drinking and fighting, earning him the nickname "Overkill."
The next ten years with the Roughriders were a whirlwind of heavy firefights, bar room brawls, failed romances, and obnoxiously loud music. From New Olympia to Hesperus II, from Sevren to Shiloh, from Suk II to Satalice, Remy survived six major battles against elite enemy forces, four 'Mechs shot out from under him, five bullets, twelve stabbings, fifteen arrests, and three attempted bands.
Unsubstantiated rumors suggest that around the outbreak of the Fourth Succession War, Remy had begun fraternizing with his company commander, Captain Dinah "Midnight" McAuliffe. In May 3029, the Roughriders attacked the planet Satalice, and after heavy fighting against a Kurita 'Mech regiment, conquered the planet. Captain McAuliffe did not survive the battle, and shortly afterward, Remy Clarke was granted release from his contract with the Roughriders. Of note, an inventory of McAuliffe's belongings that were disposed of after her death included a diamond ring and an unassembled baby crib.
For the past five years, Remy has wandered from one hiring hall to another, piloting whatever 'Mech he can find, and working as hired muscle if there are no 'Mechs to be found. The rise of conflict in the Rasalhague region has attracted Overkill, hoping that being where the action is will lead to some steady work and a new DropShip to call home.
Skills:
Gunery: 3
Piloting: 3
Guts: 5
Tactics: 2
Abilities: TBD
Misc:
Remy has an old electric bass guitar which he carries with him at all times, even cramming into his 'Mech cockpit if it will fit.
Despite being lewd and off-color nearly all the time, Remy has a soft spot for kids and will do his best to be wholesome and polite when they're around.
While he's the type who sneers at religious or spiritual matters, Remy's very superstitious when it comes to Battlemechs. His lucky charm is an old joystick pulled from the cockpit of his first 'Mech, "Murder One." According to him, as long as that joystick is installed in whatever 'Mech he's piloting, the "spirit" of his first 'Mech stays with him. Therefore, no matter what make or model he's piloting, he always refers to his ride as "Murder One."
Type: The type and variant of your mech.
Name: The affectionate name given to the machine by your pilot.
Mass/Class: The weight and class of your mech.
Armor: How many tons and what type of armor your mech has.
Top Speed: How far can your mech run/jump.
Armanents: The amount and type of weapons that your mech carries, as well as how many tons of ammo it has available.
Heat Sinks: The amount and type of Heatsinks your mech has.
Quirk: Any notable feature associate with the type, or the specific mech.
Callsign: Bloody Bucket, BB for short "Look, somebody has to clean up the rest of the guy who used to pilot the salvage. So grab the steam cleaner and help me get the mashed kidney out of the seat, or shut up and let me work!"
Kat spent most of her life fighting or farming, being the personification of ‘swords to plowshares’. Her body is the ideal build for working machines, being rather small, able to fit and reach where she needs to during maintenance. As far as fitness goes, she is strong enough to tighten all of the screws she needs to and move around canisters of POL, but won’t be knocking the lights out of anyone without the assistance of a big wrench.
Her face seems worn out by her years, a bit rugged and wrinkled. Katrina dyes her hair a silver color and if you combine the two she looks older than she actually is. She wears quite a short cut to fit under a helmet, with her hair barely reaching under her ears. The woman’s dark green eyes contrast with her skin and fair hair.
While in action she wears a combat jumpsuit of black color, made with protective padding and plates, as well as a helmet with tactical visor. On the dropship she changes to orange engineering overalls. In her downtime she prefers comfortable clothing, like sneakers and sweatpants.
Age: 49
Origin:
Katrina comes from the ‘western’ border of Rasalhague, one of the worlds that the Lyran Commonwealth ceded to the new power. Hence, she lacks the ‘space wiking’ heritage.
Personality:
The wrench wench. Everything in Kat’s world has an analogy in something mechanical, and if you want to explain something to her, that is your best approach. She can use mechanical terms even to describe growing crops. Her head is good for technical stuff and little else. It does her well in card games though, which are her favorite pastime other than ‘more work’.
She is a little bit worse off as far as common sense goes, coming off as a bit dense in general, day-to-day business, and with her enthusiasm about any given piece of tech a bit as an overgrown kid that loves legos.
She is friendly enough not to care that she’s one of the oldest of the crew, knowing she has actual experience behind her skills rather than maybe a fancy noble name. Kat doesn’t usually initiate conversations, most often too busy being elbow deep in grease, but if one finds her with anything, she will not shy away and talk or help.
History:
As a farm girl, Kat was no stranger to manual labor from the get go. However, the tools and especially the agri'mech always attracted her attention more than the soil or the crops. She was able to disassemble the engine for maintenance and put it back together in working order at the age of 16. It came to no surprise that her teachers recommended her for a technical university.
Unfortunately for her, the only university that didn’t require her to pay tuition fees her parents simply didn’t have was the military academy, so she had to sign up for service after completing her degree. She has qualified as a mech'warrior, and was a part of a Valkyrie lance, removing the occasional issue with long range missile salvo.
Until one day, the problem turned out to be a mercenary piloting a Highlander. That battle sent her out of the cockpit for two reasons - One of her legs was rather badly injured, and her Valkyrie was stomped flat. She returned to her roots, requesting a reassignment to the engineering corps, where she expected to spend the rest of her career as a commander of an Oppie. With the recent rise of the state sponsored mercenary groups though, she decided to adventure some more while her health allowed it, whether she be put into a 'Mech again or as an engineer.
Skills:
Gunery: 4 Piloting: 2 Guts: 6 2 - Permanently lowered due to leg injury Tactics: 4
Abilities:
TBD
Misc: - She walks with a limp, and can be seen taking painkillers form time to time - Voice actor: Michelle Forbes (Helena Cain, Battlestar Galactica 2003)
Type: The type and variant of your mech.
Name: The affectionate name given to the machine by your pilot.
Mass/Class: The weight and class of your mech.
Armor: How many tons and what type of armor your mech has.
Top Speed: How far can your mech run/jump.
Armanents: The amount and type of weapons that your mech carries, as well as how many tons of ammo it has available.
Heat Sinks: The amount and type of Heatsinks your mech has.
Quirk: Any notable feature associate with the type, or the specific mech.
(Almost all of this data is readily available on Sarna, the excellent website for all things BattleTech related. However, we'll be breaking the rules a bit here and there, and adding things to Quirks, such as damage sustained in previous engagements that we have been unable to repair, or other oddities.)
Appearance: Stands at 5'11". Lean frame but with developed muscle. The right half of his face is covered in burn scars.
Age: 26
Origin: Gei-Fu III, Capellan Confederation
Personality: Jaromir is out for two things. One: his continued survival. Two: a way to prosper. With his native state thinking him either dead or a deserter, mercenary life is the only way left for a trained MechWarrior to make it in the Inner Sphere. To that end, he'll do whatever it takes to survive and thrive, desperately clawing at any opportunity he sees.
Just because he's a desperate opportunist, however, doesn't mean Jaromir is some sort of antisocial psychopath. He's sociable enough when approached, and cooperates just well enough to get the job done, despite him always looking out for himself first. It's ironic for a deserter to know how not to burn bridges, but knowing when not to piss people off was paramount to survival in the CCAF, and it's still relevant as a merc.
Jaromir has little in the way of personal honor or scruples, and generally tends to weigh unsavory options by way of risk versus reward. If he refuses to conduct unethical or immoral actions, it's not because he's opposed to doing such: it's because he doesn't think those specific actions in that moment are worth the risk of discovery or failure.
History: For the son of two Servitors, life within Capellan space already wasn't all the propaganda cracked it up to be. From a young age, Jaromir saw how the highborn of the Confederation trod over his family, and sought to do his best to avoid such a fate for himself. He threw himself into his state-sponsored studies, motivated to avoid the same fate as his parents. Above all else, he simply wanted to survive and thrive within a system where he could have everything stripped from him in an instant for speaking the wrong thoughts out of turn.
Upon turning fifteen and earning his citizenship, Jaromir sought to join the Capellan military, whose soldiers existed outside of the caste system. While he wasn't able to obtain sponsorship into one of the more prestigious military academies, Jaromir's aptitude tests managed to catch the eye of a noble looking to fill out the last few spots in Sarna Military Academy's latest class of freshmen. Cadet Zhu thrived in MechWarrior training, and graduated from the SMA in the top fifth of his class percentile just in time for the Fourth Succession War to kick off. Almost immediately following his class's graduation, they were assigned their units and shipped off.
For his part, Jaromir joined the 2nd Ariana Fusiliers just in time for the unit to be defeated alongside the rest of the Capellan defenders at Tikonov. While he and a number of Fusiliers made it off the planet alive, that first defeat planted severe doubts in his head about his chosen path. Was it worth it to defend a system he didn't even believe in? Would the reward at the end even be worth it should they win? These doubts festered for months until what was left of the 2nd Ariana deployed in the absolute disaster that was Operation RIPOSTE. As his unit was cut down around him thanks to faulty intelligence, the last remaining loyalties Jaromir held for the Confederation snapped. Under the cover of the 2nd Fusiliers' defeat and the explosions surrounding the killing field, he ejected and managed to evade capture long enough to disguise himself as a civilian and stow away off-planet.
Over the next four years, Jaromir drifted from planet to planet as a mercenary, joining outfits that would provide him with BattleMechs. It was the only skill he had, and he was loathe to abandon it after years of blood, sweat, and tears poured into learning how to pilot. Fortunately, his mercenary career was more successful than his military one, and the C-Bills finally started to come in. Until one bad job wiped out most of his company, and he was back where he'd started. It was then, drowning his sorrows in some dive bar on Rasalhauge's border, that he heard about the Republic forming merc companies and providing them with mechs. With nothing to lose, Jaromir set out to join up, intent on getting back onto the battlefield to earn his pay.
Skills:
Gunnery: 4
Piloting: 3
Guts: 3
Tactics: 2
Abilities: N/A
Misc:
Fluent in English, Mandarin, and Russian. Knows some Japanese, but only in relation to kanji.
Carries an auto-pistol and two reloads on his person at all times.
Enjoys fruity cocktails and doesn't give a damn when someone gives him shit for it.
Type: Trebuchet TBT-7K
Name: Lao Ying
Mass/Class: 50 tons/Medium
Armor: 7.5T Starshield
Top Speed: 86 km/h
Armanents: 1x PPC 1x AC/5, 1T ammo 1x SRM-2, 1T ammo
Heat Sinks: 11 single
Quirk: Easy to Maintain Fast Reload (Torso Weapons)
