6slyboy6

Rise of Rasalhague

Chapter 2:
Arrival at Lamar IV

~Ankhanne, Briefing Room~

The chirp from his watch woke Ulrik up from his daydreaming, and indicated that it was time for him to begin the briefing. Looking over the info on his tablet one more time, he finally placed the rugged device down on the table and then stared into the eyes of his otherwise silent pilots. Once more the only sound in the room for a few second was the sound of people shifting, and the sound of barely functioning fans rattling in the air conditioning system. Last time he was here, he wasn't really sure what to say to his pilots given how little info he actually had available. This fact remained mostly unchanged: he still wasn't sure what to say, but at least they finally had intel which did bring a small smile onto the otherwise stern man's face.

He gave himself a second to look over the faces of all the MechWarriors one more time before he sat down on the edge of the table and tapped the tablet besides him with one hand. "I see everyone has had their beauty sleep like I recommended. Good. Hopefully we won't die today then." Hopefully. Taking a mix of rookies and misfit veterans into a dropzone against unknown hostiles was a gamble he didn't like the odds of, but at least fatigue won't be the reason they get shot. At least not mental: he wasn't sure about the metal fatigue of the rustbuckets they received from the Republic.

"I'll keep it short and sweet this time. About an hour ago we entered orbit, and we've had some time to analyze our scans. The good news is that we have a reasonably detailed topographic map that we've updated to all your rides. The bad news is that we'll be fighting an uphill battle in what appears to be a small valley." Grabbing his tablet momentarily, the screen behind him flickered to life and showed a much more detailed version of the map they had seen before. At one end of the gently winding valley nestled at the foot of the crater was a large circle marked as the "drop zone", whilst on the other end a sizeable military structure embed into the side of the hill was marked and outlined in red. "We'll be landing at the foot of the valley, as close as the Ankhanne can get us. Even the best of these eggships don't like it when you land them on an incline, and we're not risking a mission failure before we can even embark."

Ulrik walked besides the screen and pointed at the middle of the valley with two fingers. "This is our route. We identified the enemy base, and it seems to have minimal static defense. However, we've seen an unknown DropShuttle land there just a few hours ago, and we've picked up a few mech signatures patrolling the area, mostly below 40 tons in size. No transponders on either the shuttle or the mechs, so we still don't know the identity of the OpFor."

He slowly switched sides in front of the screen, and dragged a line with his other hand on either sides of the valley. "Zohra, Karel: we'll have the two of you scan either side of the valley in case the patrols start coming back: I don't want to be surprised by a few Panthers peeking over the edge and picking us off from a distance. Fuka, Alvin" He turned over to the two Mechwarriors before patting the screen with his fingers at the mouth of the valley. "You two are with me, we'll take point and push up in the valley. We'll need to take the brunt of the fire if combat ensues, preferably without getting our mech shot out from under us. The rest of the lance will stay behind and follow at a distance. Until we know what we're up against, I don't want anyone to run towards our target."

Turning to the screen, he zoomed in on the compound and used the tablet to highlight a few key points. "We know there is a hangar inside the facility for mechs as well as aersopace fighters and shuttles, but we don't know how big it is under the surface. Our Scans show the facility is old: it must've been established some time after the planet was abandoned and the radiation hazard was gone. Once we get here, we'll make our way inside and secure the facility, by force if necessary. We take any equipment we can move, and destroy anything we can't: remember, the goal is to make sure that our mystery friends can't conduct raids on Rasalhague territory anymore. Bonus points if we figure out who they are."

Ulrik waited for a few more seconds before he looked down at his watch, eyes narrowing as he examined the time: 12:11. That didn't leave them much time before planetfall. "Alright, let's wrap it up and head to the bay. We're landing in 20." With that, he quickly turned off the screen and motioned at the door for everyone to get going. "If you have any other questions, do it once we're all strapped in."

---

~Ankhanne, Mech Bay~

Strapped into the cockpit of his Centurion, Ulrik finally felt at home. He preferred the cold, calculating action of combat to the often confusing role of trying to lead their merry band of mercenaries. But now that he robotically turning switches and pressing buttons, movements that have been burnt into his memory over the years, his mind was finally clear. Finally he pressed the ignition, and the machine hummed to life around him, fusion core and myomer bundles coming to life as the displays in the cockpit lit up. Running a quick diagnostics check, he looked around the bay to see his MechWarriors doing the same, and the mechtechs doing the last, final minute adjustments as the klaxons began to blare and a warm, orange light filled the bay.

"This is your 60 second warning for atmospheric entry. Strap in, everyone." He made sure that everything inside the cockpit was secured tightly, and had just enough time to adjust the chins traps on his neurohelm before the ship began to rattle underneath them. At first it was gentle, almost unnoticable, but over the next few seconds it slowly intensified into an ungodly rollercoaster that felt like they had been put into a paint shaker.

It only lasted a minute before the ship had finally slowed down, but it was enough to remind Ulrik why he hated large DropShips like this over the smoother entry of smaller shuttles. Few seconds later a message popped up in his helmet's HUD, and he frowned as he adjusted his mic into position. "Final checks everyone, make sure your diagnostics show green, we're doing a running start. Plasma blackout is over, and scanners show that the hostiles have finally noticed us: we'll have company as soon as we land. Remember the plan: Karel, Zhora, take the flanks, the rest is with me up the middle. Fall back if you meet anything you can't outrun our outshoot. If things go tits up, we run back here and hope the captain kept the engines warm. Let's not lose a mech on the first assignment." With that he slowly reached down and grabbed the stick of his trusty Centurion, enjoying the familiar touch of the time-worn plastic that had been smoothed to near perfection over years of use.

Suddenly a mighty roar filled the hangar as the retro boosters fired up for the last meters of the landing, and an uncomfortable 2,3 Gs weighted down on the crew for a few moments before disappeared, and with a loud THUD the Ankhanne came to a halt. As the rockets finally died down, an eerie silence follower for a few long seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, before the gates of the mech bay slowly began to open. Leaning forward in his seat and pushing up the throttle, Ulrik got his Centurion into a light stroll as he walked up to the opening gates, and saw as his MechWarriors left their cubicles too and joined him.

Behind the opening doors laid a long and winding valley covered in lychen and snow, with small glacial flow running up it's length like a river. Either sides the slops of the valley ran at a steep angle upwards until they quite suddenly disappeared into the plains behind at an altitude of 200 feet. It was certainly much more jarring than the orbital pictures made it out to be, but not as bad as Ulrik had feared. Over the slopes that laid in the valley's bends, they could just make out in the distance the blinking lights of the compound they were supposed to storm: a leisurely stroll in a light mech on a good day, but a potential marathon if they ran into stiff resistance.

"No hails from the garrison: treat all contacts as hostile." The ramp had just finished lowering and he got his Centurion to start jogging down the ramp when Ulrik spotted a tiny flash in the distance, from atop one of the ridgelines surrounding the valley. Moments later a thunderous crash could be heard as a supersonic shell crashed into his cockpit, leaving a spiderweb of cracks on the armored glass as it hit it's mark but failed to penetrate. Instinctively raising one of his hands to cover his face, his Centurion did the same, and after a heartbeat of hesitation he let loose a shot from his Large Laser towards the ridgeline, missing the top by a few feet as the bright laser shot off towards space. "Motherf-..." It was startling to receive a blow like this so soon after landing, but he wasn't surprised: he and his infantry platoon had used the same strategy countless of times before.

"Infantry contact on the ridgeline, 1 o'clock! Everyone spread out and keep your eyes peeled! Karel, take the right flank and gives the welcome party a roast! Zhora, take the left, check to see if we have more friends waiting for us. Fuka, you're up front!" He barked orders as yet another shell zipped past, just narrowly missing his cockpit this time and shooting off on a ballistic trajectory as it ricoched off his mech's shoulderplate. Such anti-mech infantry rifles were only useful in numbers, but a direct hit on the fragile cockpit was still a viable tactic. As the rest of the lance began to unload, several more shots rang out, and shooters on both sides began firing in an attempt to score some critical hits. Shrugging off a few more shots as the Dragon began to take the brunt of the rifle fire, Ulrik let loose a few bursts of his Medium Lasers at the ridgelines to keep the infantry pinned as he checked his sensors. "Two lances of vehicles coming just around the bend: they seem like J. Edgars and... Goblins? That can't be right, they still make those?" Ulrik didn't have time to ponder whether or not his sensors were lying to him or not, as the very real beams of the Large Laser from the first Goblin taking the corner managed to hit Fuka's Dragon directly in the Right Torso, sending sparks and molten metal flying in all directions. "We've got mech signatures closing in fast, we need to deal with these tanks before they get here!"

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@Letter Bee@Psyker Landshark@Forsythe@AndyC@Smike@Abstract Proxy@QJT@Starlance

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

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~Cae Mayl~

Ever since they have left the accursed fort behind, Amy felt as if a thick veil had been lifted off of her mind. She could think and see clearly, in ways that were previously impossible during their stay in that gravesite of a fortress, when the fog of anxiety and fear swamped her thoughts. Not that this was all good though: she realized she had done very little to actually help the knights in their mission during their stay. She just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to find the shard with the knight captain, but other than that she felt woefully inadequate as a knight. The thought did push her to prove herself though: should the boars try something once they arrived at the location of the meeting, she'd be read for them. During the trip she was preparing herself mentally and physically, brandishing her flute like the other knights would their sword, and whispering quiet prayers for protection to Mayon.

Still, Amy wondered: with the uneasy alliance between them and the mercenaries, was she really the only one who didn't trust them at all? I sounded too convenient and too hard to believe that they would be there JUST as they arrived too. Surely they had been tipped off well before the knights were about the location of the shard: and if they weren't, it meant someone close to the Iron Roses was the one who contracted them. Maybe... maybe she was overthinking things. Usually her senses didn't lie, but this time she wasn't sure if her own paranoia about meeting these unknown mercenaries on her first mission out wasn't clouding her judgement. Still, just to be safe she spent a good part of the ride towards Cae Mayl sizing them up and thinking of ways to deal with them each should the need arise. Of particular interest was their mage: it seemed like they were the only two magic users in the larger group, and Amy was afraid her less than lethal spells would have a hard time keeping her at bay.

By the time they arrived at the shrine Amy felt quite exhausted. Riding for such a long time wasn't something she was used to, and she was eager to finally get off her horse once they stopped. Managing not to fall off the saddle as she dismounted this time, she stuck close to Fanilly just as she was instructed by her fellow knights. Clutching her flute close to her chest, she was on the lookout for any hostile intentions she might pick up on her senses, but she didn't feel anything for the time being. She paid little attention to the actual dialogue between the knight captain and Veilena Cazt: despite not sensing any immediate danger, she was expecting trouble to arrive at any moment.

Arrive, trouble did.

Amy was on the lookout for the mercenaries in their retinue and not any Golden Boars that could be laying in wait, but when the curse hounds emerged from the foliage surrounding Cae Mayl she was ready for them. Already twitchy from taking her job of staying by Fanilly's side a little too seriously, she'd swing around on her heels and scooted closer to Sergio and Fanilly as she counted the number of golden boars and hounds in her head. "Captain, Sergio, please stay close! I'll use my magic on the enemy soldiers, you focus on keeping the hounds at bay!" She exclaimed, and watched as the boars quickly approached, their charge halted momentarily as captain Tyaethe threw herself into combat and already cut one of them down before the fight had even begun.

This was her opening.

This was her chance to show the knights she wasn't just some hapless half-demon that they would have to babysit.

Amy closed her eyes and raised her flute to her lips, her mind becoming silent in the moment as she ignored all the noises from the outside and focused on her magic. Slowly, graciously, it reached out into the void around her, tendrils that wrapped around the beings around her that she could sense. All that hostility, all that confidence she felt from the Golden Boars, they made easy targets for her to focus on as the tendrils finally constricted around the attackers.

The flute began to sing it's enchanting lullaby, a somber song that filled all those who heard it with a deep melancholy. Slowly the song picked up in volume and intensity and Amy opened her eyes, her sights set on the Golden Boar that had previously shouted orders. One by one, the affected boars in the front rows of the charge began to slow down and doze off, hitting the ground as they fell asleep from the spell's effect. Their charge had been halted once more, but as the sweet lullaby of Amy's flute crept into the ears of the fallen Boar's comrades, the quickly realized what was going on. She simply didn't have the magic to put all of them to sleep at once: the ones further back quickly caught on, and she could feel the connection to them break. Once they figured out her trick, that was all she could do to such a large crowd. At least she'd keep the ones already asleep in a deep slumber, in a fake coma that would be hard to wake up from. As long as she could keep playing, they'd have that much less to worry about.

---

Musik

The serious




And the not-so-serious

Rise of Rasalhague

Chapter 1:
Aboard the Ankhanne

Ulrik stood at the end of the long hallway with Elena, watching with a small smirk on his face as all the new pilots chose a mech and got themselves acquainted with their new rides inside the rusty hangar. At the same time, the chief technician seemed to be in a mad dash beside him, jotting down notes and rearranging the time allotments for repairs, prioritizing the issues that concerned the ‘Mechs the mercenaries chose. Even though they had only been on this ship for a few hours, it seemed like they had been doing this their entire life, and the sight sight gave him a rush of nostalgia.

He imagined in front of himself the long barrack buildings, the bays replaced with bunk beds as the room was filled with the hustle and bustle of DCMS infantry from various worlds either trying to rest, or busy making sure nobody could get shut-eye. Back when he was still just a lowly foot soldier, a cog in a much larger machine, the bottom of the battlefield food chain. Still, he missed those days of having nothing to do but still trying to keep busy in front of the boss whilst stationed on the border regions, and he wondered if he’ll ever feel the same sort of belonging as he did back then. Then he remembered his days serving in a ‘Mech lance, but the memories of the 4th Succession Wars quickly snapped him out of his melancholy.

The smirk disappeared from his face and as he looked to his side, he only saw the little spots of machine oil where Elen used to stand, the woman now busy instructing the technicians on the installation of the Firestarter’s cooling system. They still had half a day, but he was already feeling anxious. He didn’t know what to expect, nor from his team, nor from their enemy. And he couldn’t shake this bad gut feeling whenever he thought about “unmarked mechs and vehicles” raiding nearby systems. The last time his unit leader told him that there would be unmarked hostiles in the area, he had to hide for almost a week before friendly forces finally liberated the area and rescued him. If these unmarked forces turn out to be a clandestine operation from one of the great houses, he was more than willing to commandeer the Ankhanne and leave this part of the Inner Sphere behind.

Still, he had pressing matters to attend to. Looking down at the tablet once more to check the time, Ulrik slowly peered back at the mechbay before putting two of his fingers into his mouth and letting out an ear-shattering whistle, muted to an extent by the cacophony of the mech bay but still loud enough to turn a few heads. He hoped it was mostly his pilot’s heads, as his eyesight isn't what it used to be and past the third row he couldn’t make out any of the faces, just blobs and blurs of people going about their business. He took a deep breath and cupped his hands as he brought them to his face, tablet still in hand, and shouted into the bay. “Alright pilots, I’ll see you at 01700 in the mess hall! That’s about 15 minutes, don’t be late!” With that, he waited a few seconds to see if anyone listened, and then decided to send them all a message on their tablets for good measure. Then he waltzed out of the bay, deciding that he’d take his meager lunch and a mug of coffee before the rest of the pilots got to the mess hall.

---

~Ankhanne, Mess Hall~

He had just about finished his coffee when the first of the pilots began to trickle in. Some arrived early, some a little late, but once they were all sitting down and enjoying a delicious offering of lunch leftovers, Ulrik stood up and cleared his throat to get their attention, then motioned with his palms towards the floor for everyone to stay seated. “I hate the rush as much as everyone else, but I need to get orientation finished and some food pumped into everyone before duty takes me to the bridge for the rest of this trip. The time is…” He held a finger up and quickly glanced at his tablet before continuing. “1708 right now, and we’ll be breaking orbit around 1230 ship time tomorrow. We’ll be doing a mid-course flip around 0200 ship time, so don’t eat anything before that if you don’t handle zero-g well. Now, I want everyone to get a good sleep in before the mission if you can: I know tinkering with the mech can be exhilarating, but I’d prefer everyone is awake and ready to engage the moment we make planetfall. The enemy might be waiting for us, so we won’t have time to brew a pot and wake up.”

With that he lifted a leg over the simple plasteel bench and took a few steps away from the tables, folding his arms as he ended up leaning against the simple counter in front of the kitchen. “I’m going to try and press our Republic contacts for more info before the drop, and in the meantime I’ve uploaded everything about the mission and the Ankhane to your tablets. I’ll assume everyone is familiar with the Union-class Dropships, and in that regard I have some good and bad news. Good news is that we’re almost a 1000 tons heavier, minus the rust eating away at this old derelict, so I think you guys will be pleasantly surprised to find that you’ll only need to share a room with one other person: you’ll have to box out who sleeps on the top bunk.” Opening up a schematic on his tablet, he held it up for the crew to see, though everyone could access it anytime on their own if they wanted, so it was more for the show than anything else. “We’re two floors above the ‘Bay, this floor is what the crew have told me they affectionately call the “The Mess”. If you go head right here-” He pointed at the door on the far end of the room. “Then you’ll get to the sick bay, crew lounge and/or bar, and I am happy to say, the simulators. Only two pods, but maybe we can squeeze in some more if this mission goes well. Dr Rachel will give you a tetanus shot if anyone stubs their toe on one of the rusty panels in the ship, otherwise I’m sure you’ll get acquainted with her after the battle. If you head the other way, you’ll find the personal quarters of every officer on the ship, and also the quartermaster’s office. I suggest you go say to Daisuke if you have the time: if you need anything, and I do mean ANYTHING, on the ship for yourself or your quarters, he’ll be the one to ask. He’s also the one who’ll be making sure you guys don’t make a mess, so I suggest being on his good side unless you want to say goodbye to the luxuries of alcohol and clean sheets for your bunk. What else…”

Ulrik looked over the pilots for a second before he stared up at the ceiling above and at the flickering neon lights. “Up a floor is the bridge, the captain’s quarters, and as you know the orientation room. I’m informed that they have gutted one of the truly ancient server rooms that the ship apparently “didn’t need”, so it now serves as the ship’s bar, where I’ve heard our dear Elena makes amazing cocktails, but I wouldn’t expect her to be there anytime soon. And finally, a floor below is the crew deck: that’s all the bunks and cleaning cabinets you’ll need for a lifetime. Daisuke assigned all of you rooms so that all the pilots sleep together and not with the other parts of the crew, but if you want to bunk with a technician, I’m sure we can get that sorted out. Not much else on that floor: a small common area and some storages from what I’ve seen. The rest of the ship is just the engines and storage, so I think that covers orientation.” By the end of his sentence Ulrik had to let out a small sigh. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken this much, but captain Konrad insisted that he told wherever everything was on the ship to his pilots, since the rest of the crew was busy patching up leaks and switching fuses to put the ship into a flyable condition even as they were in transit. The last thing they wanted was for the Ankhanne to be stranded on a moon with a barely breathable atmosphere and enough radiation to kill off anything more complex than moss, lichen and a few plants that adapted to the conditions. Scratching his stubble as he looked over the tablet one last time, Ulrik hung the device onto his belt and gave a nod to the pilots in the mess hall before he pushed himself away from the countertop. “Message me if you need me, or you’ll find my quarters at the end of the hall here. Make yourselves at home, and welcome to the Ankhanne. I want to see everyone in the orientation room tomorrow at 1200 to go over the plan once more before we suit up. Everything else you need to know is on your tablets. That’ll be all.” With one last lingering look over the otherwise empty mess hall, Ulrik pushed himself away from the countertop and raised his ups in a small wave towards the pilots as he disappeared behind one of the doors in the hallway. He was heading up to the bridge to talk with the captain and make reports for his Republic contacts, and he hoped that the new Mechwarriors could occupy themselves for long enough for him to finish his work, get a smidge of sleep, and refine their battle plans before landing. There were a lot of things he still needed to do in the little time they had, but at least they weren’t being shot at, which was a definite improvement over his time spent in the army.

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@Letter Bee@Psyker Landshark@Forsythe@AndyC@Smike@Abstract Proxy@QJT@Starlance

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

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~Fort Daelantine, Barracks~

Perhaps she had spoken too soon, or too late. It was the awkward silence which she broke with her own fighting words, induced by a volatile reaction to Tyathe's words, but she couldn't help herself. Amy was used to being shunned and she didn't mind making jokes that ended up with people looking at her weird, but this wasn't either of those. The glances from her teammates hurt her soul, but now that she was fueled up and honestly still a little angry, she wouldn't let them get to her head.

She knew she did and said the right thing, even if the others didn't agree. Once the mercenaries turn on them if they find a shard, or the knights jump at the opportunity to seize it, they will rue the day they didn't plead like her. They needn't become friends with the mercenaries, but it stung that the two groups still held a distance from each other that could always turn into a nasty case of getting stabbed in the back. And Amy liked her back stab-less.

She'd ignore Renar's words for the most part, staring back at the knight with an angry glance and a sizable pout as she waited for her teammate to turn around and leave her. She certainly didn't appreciate it, but she also had a hunch Renar was the type of person that was, well... blunt, to put it simply. Fuming in silence for a few more seconds, an idea came to her, and she grinned at the mischievous (and honestly childish) plan before using a bit of her magic to enact it. In the blink of an eye, she'd let her illusion magic loose to create on the rude knight's cape an inscription that spelled out "DUNCE" in large, colorful letters made of differently sized strings. Nodding to herself on a job well done, she'd let the childish illusion linger as she followed Steffen into the barracks.

Despite having the piece of cloth to grab the shard if they found it, she mostly used it to cover her nose from the smell of blood inside the building. She wasn't feeling too ill anymore, but she still hated the sight, and Amy ended up following closely behind the ingvarr knight. Every time Steffen was finished examining a body, she'd place her hand on their forehead as she ushered a silent prayer for their souls to Mayon. She was the only real cleric in the group that seemed to care about such things, and even though it was a tedious process she'd make sure to repeat it for everyone they found inside. At least these bodies were in better shape than the ones left outside, and she wondered if he was just being weak again, not starting with the gruesome ones outside.

THUD

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a body hitting the floor, and she felt a jolt in her body as she quickly turned towards the source of the sound ready to face danger. She'd only find Steffen, but the body that he had just dropped on the floor had a different feel to it than the rest. Listening to the knight's request she'd finish up the prayer that had been interrupted before making her way over to the corpse.

A quick examination of the tattoos and a silent prayer later Amy would turn to Fanilly, beckoning to the knight captain to come join her as she hunched over the body. "Can you come help me with this captain? I'm sure it will go faster together, who knows what kind of sewn-in pockets they might have for hiding contraband. Plus... I'm not very good at checking the dead."

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@Conscripts@Psyker Landshark@VitaVitaAR

Rise of Rasalhague

Chapter 1:
Aboard the Ankhanne

Ulrik knew the moment he signed up for the position that there would be some things he'd have to get used to. He spent the better half of his life in the military, ingraining the wisdom and behavior of soldiers into his mind. He woke up 5 minutes before the clock every morning and habitually folded his sheets and tied his shoelaces. He brushed his teeth on the toilet and finished breakfast in minutes, like it was expected from all the recruited militia that he used to serve with in the infantry. Even as conditions got better during his years as a MechWarrior, he could never shake off the habits that the drill sergeants and officers so meticulously instilled in them over the years.

Being a mercenary was new to him, and so was the lax rules and schedules that this lifestyle afforded to them. By no means did he mean to be a nuisance for the crew, but old habits die hard, and some were immortalized in his brain already. Still, it came as a pleasant surprise to hear all the questions that he was asked by his new crew, the fears of having to wait in silence quickly dashed away by a barrage of questions. Some, he knew the answers to, whilst for some he was in the ark just like his new pilots.

As the klaxons blared for the second and third time during the questions, he habitually grabbed onto the edge of the desk with one hand and looked down at the timer on the tablet he was holding in his other. Then, just like clockwork, the klaxons blared one more time, and the still unfamiliar voice of the ship’s captain began to speak. “Attention all crew, this is your 10 second warning. Sit down or grab something, we’re going into FTL in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Jump.”

For a moment the buzzing of the oxygen recyclers came to a halt, and the words of the captain hung in the air like a silent whisper. It was the longest second in the history of seconds, stretched into an eternity as fingertips buzzed with the excited atoms as the K-F field contorted space and time around the ship. For the next 12 seconds the ship’s rattling stopped as it was suspended in a slushy of agitated medium that kept them safe from the horrors of a drive failure, and by the time everyone got used to the feeling of mild nausea and deep-seated joint ache that came with the jump, the ship already finished it’s interstellar transit, and reality came crashing down on them like a wave.

All the buzzing and rattling of the ship came back and Ulrik took a deep breath as he afforded to himself a small smile. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. The perks of visiting a neighboring system.” With that he picked up the tablet once more and used it to quickly start displaying a few new images on the screen behind himself. He didn’t have much more to show, but his pilots were smart, and he could afford to let them fill in the blanks. “Honestly, all great questions, and I can even answer some of them. Let’s start with transit time: the Ankhanne can theoretically do a 3G burn, but in it’s current state we’re glad we can manage a comfortable 1G of acceleration. Now that the jump is over, we’re looking at a 16 hour journey to Lamar IV. Should be enough time for everyone to get familiarized with your mechs, do a few runs in the sims and get some shut-eye before we make our landfall. We'll have plenty of time on the way back as well; the next JumpShip arrives in 5 days to pick us up.”

He would turn around and focus on the display for a moment as he brought forward one of the images about the AO. “Nuclear war leaves nasty wounds, but it’s the visitors from the asteroid belt that pose the most danger to the moon.” He zoomed out a little on the image, revealing the earlier picture to be on the edge of a massive crater that seemed to cover a good bit of the planet’s visible surface. “Even though we caused nuclear winter, this crater is what did Lamar in, a few million years ago, stripping it of most atmosphere. Suffice to say, nuking didn’t help, but now it’s also extremely cold. As for the exact details…” He looked up for a moment, his eyes jumping between Katrina and Hamazasp, as if trying to recall their exact questions. "The atmospheric pressure is about 0.4 terran standard; not good, not bad. The heatsinks won’t be happy, but it should help somewhat that the average surface temperature is a balmy -13 C°. I wouldn’t worry too much about overheating, but make sure to double check your cockpit seals before leaving the mechbay. We’ll be landing on the eastern rim of the crater, so expect relatively featureless, steep terrain: we’ll have to contend with snow and ice as we traverse the landscape.”

“As for the Opfor..” After a few taps, he brought up a blurry, heavily zoomed in image from the recon drone that showed what appeared to be several hundred lights in a tight cluster on the surface near the peak of the crater’s rim, and a few concrete buildings that proved quite a challenge to distinguish from the terrain. “That’s the best I can do. We can expect much of the facility to be underground, but what else they might have we just can’t know for sure. If they are pirates, the contract didn’t specify any bounty per head we bring in, so I reckon we’ll do the best we can whilst minimizing our exposure to enemy fire. If they surrender, great, we’ll take their supplies and leave them for the next JumpShip. If they bring out some dusty RetroTech Mechs from the First Succession War, we were acting in self-defense. Rules of Engagement are as simple as that: I don’t want to see anyone holding back on the trigger and getting shot because of their consciousness. Just be mindful: if you can take a target safely, do it, otherwise we’re happy taking the Republic’s payment with or without having to fire a single shot. But I wouldn’t bet on that, Pirates have a habit of not surrendering.” He fell silent afterwards, watching the faces of his pilots react. He cared little for pirates, but deep down he wasn’t so sure that the mission would go as simple as shooting at pirates in a simulator.

Finally he turned his attention towards Remy, Zohra and Jaromir, letting out a small hum as he scrolled through his tablet, eventually putting it down. “Our intel is spotty at best, so the plan is to be read as soon as we hit the ground to leave the DropShip, we’ve got some Large Lasers to keep us covered, but we need to make a bridgehead as quick as we can. Once we get preliminary topographic scans from orbit we’ll come up with a more detailed plan. As for a contingency, let’s hope we don’t get to that. There’s little terrain to hide behind, so if someone starts to pepper us with LRMs, we’ll have to take them out as quickly as we can. And if we land and we pick up assault mechs on the sensors, we’re heading straight back towards the jump point.” Ulrik let the crew examine the display and the data he sent to all their datapads for a little while longer before he turned off the screen and clapped his hands. “Alright, I think it’s about time I answered the last question I know you all have: what we have available. I can tell you we don’t have any air support, but I managed to strike a deal that keeps us away from Scorpions. It’s a… questionable selection, but I have faith in your abilities to make it work.” With that he beckoned for the pilots to follow him, and he waited for everyone to get out of their seats before he turned the lights off in the briefing room and led them down the decrepit hallways of the ship to the Mech Bay.

Ankhanne, Mech Bay

“And I’m telling you, that Firestarter won’t go anywhere until you’ve made sure there's no more leakages in the cooling system! I don't care if you need to take the whole thing apart, make sure it works like new, or you can be the one to give it a test ride!” The deep, commanding voice of Chief Mech Technician Elena reverberated through the halls even before they turned into the large mech bay. The expansive room was filled with activity as everyone made their way onto the ‘shop floor: flickering lights from arc welders painted the dull room into a vibrant shade of blue for moments at a time, and the sound of drills and mechanical saws filled the air with a constant hum and buzz. The cranes and walkways were just as ancient as the rest of the ship, and standards have come a long way since the Black Eagle was first produced: the bays were of a rickety design and one could only wonder what parts of the electrical or hydraulic system had failed over the years. Standing in the middle of it all was Chief MechTech Elena, a woman just as large as the burden of maintaining the collection of museum pieces that dotted the bays on either side. She was well-built and carried a few extra pounds on herself, but more so than anything she towered over the rest of the technicians by at least a foot. At least 7 feet tall, as soon as she spotted the pilots she hurried over to them with an angry expression on his face. “Commander, I’m glad you’re here! These technicians that the Republic lent us are so… incompetent! We will need more time to get all the ‘Mechs pathed up and ready for combat, more time than we have.” Her voice carried a heavy slavic accent, and it was full of concern. As she looked over the crew she made the impression of someone who doubted whether or not the pilots would survive their first deployment, regardless of their skills. “These mechs are ancient… Did you know the 2 Mongooses served in the First Succession Wars? And whatever dump they managed to get our Javelin out of, I’m sure I could build a better mech with the parts at hand…” She let out a frustrated groan, ready to begin her next rant, but Ulrik gave her a look that quickly made her pipe down and accept that there was nothing to be achieved by complaining.

Indeed, she wasn’t wrong: all the mechs seemed like they’ve seen better days. Armor plates were still missing from almost all of them and getting bolted on them even as they spoke, actuators getting replaced in arms and legs and the guts of the Firestarter were still down on the shop floor as what appeared like an army of MechTechs worked on the various internal components. The paint of them was a mishmash of Lyran and Draconis camo patterns from the past several hundred years, but a few of them had completely unique paint schemes that seemed to make no sense: like the aftermath of pirate salvage. And who knows, maybe they were. The stark exceptions to this rule were the Centurion standing at the far left corner of the bay, and the freshly painted Raven and Locust. These two light mechs carried the light blue and red color schemes of the Free Rasalhague Republic, painted with various runic patterns from the ancient days of Terra’s nordic cultures. Easy on the eyes and hiding formidable mechs on their own, they represented a woefully small (both physically and percentage wise) part of the selection available to them.

“Here they are, in all their glory, the best mechs the Republic could spare for us. I’d say we got a bargain, the DCMS even threw in an old Dragon they weren’t using anymore.” Ulrik explained, trying his best to make a joke as he began to walk down the aisle in the middle, passing by groups of technicians as they worked on the mechs. “I’ve read all your bios, and I have a rough idea what mechs you are all familiar with, however, I saw it prudent to let you decide amongst yourselves who gets what. We’re a group now, almost a family, so it’s best that I don’t step on your toes.” He stopped in his steps, like someone who had forgotten something, and then he turned towards Karissa with a softened expression on his face. “Right, almost forgot that you knew your way around these mechs as well. I’ll let you run free with the other techs if you’re inclined to get your hands greasy: if you can get the cooling system of the Firestarter working before we make landfall, I won’t check if you folded your sheets. For a week.” Ulrik let out a small laugh, finding his own dad joke quite funny before she shook his head. “I’m kidding, I’m too old to check each of your bunks every morning. But I’ll drink to that once we get back from the mission.”

He then turned to the rest of the crew and gave them a small nod as he beckoned around at the mechs with his hands. “Now, everyone, pick your rides. The Centurion is my personal souvenir from House Kurita, but everything else is yours. Ask Elena if you have any technical questions, otherwise the MechTechs should be able to help set you up with your mechs.”

---

@Letter Bee@Psyker Landshark@Forsythe@AndyC@Smike@Abstract Proxy@QJT@Starlance

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

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~Fort Daelantine~

There was a brief moment during which it seemed the atmosphere in the fort had finally shifted to a more positive and cordial one. It was but a fleeting moment, the eye of the storm before a whirlwind of ill-intent and anger began to once more permeate the group of Knights. Amy was standing just slightly behind Fanilly, doing as Serenity suggested as remaining by the captain's side in case her magic could help protect the girl. Despite their physical proximity, it was hard to feel like she was in a situation she could control: the reactions of everyone to the information provided by the mercenary group's leader made them anxious at best, and furious at worst. On the other hand, Amy didn't even know what they were talking about: she had a vague idea of a notorious mercenary gang, but she didn't have any strong emotions regarding them or what they did.

Of course, if they were truly responsible for this massacre, then that would soon be replaced a deep, simmering hatred for the group that would plant the seeds of resentment in even the most innocently minded.

Despite all of this, Amy was still an island of ambivalence in a sea of strong emotions. At least she was happy that the mercenaries she was, and still is, worried about agreed to search together. It would put her mind at ease, as all their members gave off the vibes of people that she didn't want to have to fight: an observation she didn't need her powers to make. She was hardly a fighter and opposed violence, so she hated the idea of having to get tangled up in a fight where she was so exposed. For now at least, it seemed like she could just focus on supporting her allies, especially as the ambivalence of the knights shifted from the group ahead of them towards the Golden Boars.

And that all lasted about a minute before Tyaethe explained the origins and powers of the item they were searching for, and... that she wouldn't let the mercenaries take it away. The knot in her stomach immediately tightened and Amy let out a frustrated grunt as she shook her head. "Of course..." She was annoyed. Annoyed at herself and her naivety and the situation that was slowly unfolding. There was no clear allegiance, not between the groups, and not amongst their members. Between familiarity and hostility, she could barely make sense of the situation anymore and it was starting to really nag her. It was a mix of the nauseous feeling from the massacre, the anxiety of thinking about a possible fight and last but not least the self-loathing of not contributing anything that made her more annoyed than anything. Her fingers slowly curled into a fist, and she felt the fire burn in her chest as she took a deep breath without even realizing it.

"How about we just all focus on finding this... shard, and not touching it??" Amy cried out as she took half a step forward, her frustrated voice cracking towards the end of the sentence.

She didn't mean to, her body acted without thinking. But she meant it too, her frustration finally bubbling to the surface after standing around for minutes now in an awkward face-off. Her normally pale face was flushed red, and she turned to face Tyaethe for a moment before turning back towards Alette.

"I know everyone here is ready to spill blood, but look around us! Look at the bodies!" Amy motioned with her hands around the inside of the fort at all the dead bodies and pools of bloody mud. She had worked herself up, the threat of violence finally giving her the confidence to speak up. This might've been her first mission, but she felt like she had a duty to do her best to keep people safe, even if she might get scolded later for speaking out of line. "For all the emnity the name Golden Boars carries around, everyone sure is ready to repeat the massacre... at this rate we won't need any magical artifact to turn us against each other! Mayon graces us with her light, let's not commit to bloodshed under it..." With a pouty face she held her gaze on Alette for a few more seconds before her confidence began to run dry. Like a balloon deflating at a rapid rate, she'd shirk from sight to behind Fanilly, already starting to regret her outburst. "S-sorry captain..." She whispered quietly, clutching her flute to her chest once more. She just hoped she didn't do any more damage with her emotional flare-up.

Rise of Rasalhague

Chapter 1:
Aboard the Ankhanne

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3034 June 28
New Skandia Geostationary Orbit
Black Eagle-class DropShip "Ankhanne"

"God, I can't believe that they didn't have a single Union class to spare..." Ulrik ushered under his breath with a disappointed look whilst making his way to the briefing room, as he passed by what must've been the dozenth exposed circuit in the hallways, the panels that once covered up the guts of the ship long since worn away or lost. The ones still in place weren't exactly in great condition either: rust had started to eat away at much of the ship's internal structures and almost no visible floor or wall surface was without a nasty scratch, bend or bulge. There was a constant buzzing sound in the air that Ulrik couldn't figure out the source of, though he was told by Chief Engineer Brynjar that it was due to the fans inside the life support system trying their best to keep up with the demand. He was told the ship had been sitting in "storage" on Vipaava, apparently damaged during the DCMS's conquest of the planet nearly 600 years ago, and repurposed into a stationary outpost and mech repair station. During those centuries that ship was inhabited more or less during the whole duration up until the end of the Third Succession War, when the DCMS finally abandoned the ship. That said, Ulrik couldn't tell which had done more damage to the ship: the garrison of Draconis troops living in it and wearing out the ship, trying to patch it up with a dwindling (or non-existent) supply of spare parts, or the decade it spent UNinhabited and left out in the wilderness. Whatever the answer was, it resulted in this FrankenShip of replacement parts and technologies that spanned nearly the entirety of human spacefaring history since the end of the Age of War. If Ulrik had any other options, he'd probably donate the ship to a museum, or make one out of it, but since this ride would have to be their home for the foreseeable future, he figured as long as they didn't leak air it was good enough for him.

Brynjar ensured him that the sorry state of affairs is due to their early departure: the to-do list for the engineers and MechTechs on the ship was long, and still had some core systems on it, but everything crucial had been fixed before they left atmosphere. He hoped that they would have time before the next assignment to fix up the ship and give it a proper cleaning: until then, this would have to do.

However, despite all her shortcomings, the Ankhanne held a few pleasant surprises for him: unlike the awfully cramped interiors of the Unions, the interior spaces here actually allowed two people to pass by each other in a corridor without having to either bump shoulders or shimmy along either wall. And it also had a conveniently large room that could be used for briefing more than half a dozen people at a time; this was the exact room that he finally stopped in front of, looking down at his tablet one more time before he finally entered.

With a quiet hiss the door slid open, and the new MechWarriors were greeted by the sight of their new commander's purposeful stride into the room, until he eventually stopped in front of a painfully dim screen on the wall and looked around the room with a stern gaze. Seated in what must've been the cheapest foldable plasteel chairs that the Republic could find were the ten new recruits, all having arrived on a Leopard not half an hour ago. Ulrik allowed himself one more quick look at all of their faces to memorize them for later, before he finally broke the silence that now stretched several long seconds.

"Let me be frank, I've always hated introductions, so let's keep the formalities brief. I'm Ulrik Mäkinen, and I'll be your new commanding officer for the foreseeable future. You may address me as "Sir" or "Commander", but I don't want to hear anyone addressing me by anything else until we've had a couple of beers together." His gruff voice echoed in the room as he stopped for a moment, letting the short pause give some more weight to his words before he sat down on the edge of the only table in the room, bringing his tablet up for a moment as she scrolled through some data about the crew. "I know most of you've been to boot camp, and some of you have even fought in real battles-" Ulrik made sure to put weight on the word "real", his eyes resting on Remy and Jaromir for a second as he made some mental notes before continuing. "-but this mercenary business will come as news to a bunch of you, so let me give you a quick explanation as to how this is going to go. The contacts in the Republic that set us up with this amazing ship will expect us to take care of some issues for them which they either deem too dangerous or too illegal for their regular forces. I know how that sounds; it's like being in the army, with all the restrictions and none of the benefits, but believe me, you'll be thankful you're not surrounded by a bunch of bright-eyed rookies that the Republic freshly recruited and who haven't tasted combat yet. Either way, we'll be working and living together as one unit from now on, so I expect everyone to play nice with each other. As long as we do our jobs, in a few years everyone will get a paycheck fat enough that you can grow old on some resort world near Terra if you want."

Setting the tablet down he crossed his arms, he'd examine each member in the room a bit more purposefully this time, trying to familiarize himself a bit more with how they each reacted to the meeting. Then, he let out a small sigh and rubbed his eyes for a moment before finally getting back up and walking around the table. Ulrik had a few more things to say, but after some deliberation he figured it was best he got to briefing the crew. He never was any good at pep talks, no need to make this more awkward than it was. "Alright, I think that's enough with the pleasantries. We're sailing out earlier than expected, so we'll have to do proper introductions later. I know it's not ideal to start our time together as a unit in a hurry, but my contacts in the Republic didn't take "no" for an answer on this one, so think of it as the price for getting started. If nobody has any objections, I'll get the mission briefing started so we can get done with this as quickly as possible."

The commander turned around and after tapping on the screen of his tablet a few times, the screen behind him buzzed and slightly increased in brightness before it began to display the image of small moon with a thin atmosphere orbiting a brightly colored gas giant. As he did so, the floor beneath them shook, and the unmistakable rattle of a ship docking filled the air around them. "Those were the docking clamps that of our JumpShip. We're joining up with a supply fleet headed back to Rasalhague, and they agreed to drop us off near Lamar. I know most of you aren't familiar with the system, and that's for a good reason." He took a step back to give the pilots a clear look at the screen before he pointed at the small moon. "This here is Lamar IV-B, the biggest moon of the gas giant Lamar IV. It was once inhabited, and had a Lyran presence for a few hundred years before it met the fate of many worlds during the First Succession War, and a nuclear strike rendered it uninhabitable. Ever since then it has been largely abandoned, but recently reports of unmarked vessels raiding nearby systems for supplies has surfaced, and the Republic intelligence office marked this planet as the likely base of operations of whatever group is behind said raids. Pirates, more than likely, but it does sound like the kind of mission after which we go "there wasn't supposed to be much resistance", so we can all enjoy a mess of a first mission together."

Tapping the tablet one more time, the screen switched display, and began to display topographic information of the planet, with a large red circle near the edge of one of the craters that littered the surface. "Ever since the nuclear strike, the atmosphere has been reduced to a level where rogue elements of the gas giant's asteroid belt keep peppering the surface. The highest form of native life is some lychen that managed to adapt, but expect to fight in hostile conditions. We have limited intel on the exact strength and number of enemy forces, but we do know that this highlighted area is most likely the location of the hostile base. Recon drone reported seeing a few shuttles entering atmosphere, but interference from the gas giant made it impossible to pinpoint where they landed. So, we'll have to improvise once we arrive." A few more taps, and the image of the moon faded away before being replaced by a few blurry images of vehicles and 'mechs that bore nothing but a reddish-white camoflague all over their chassis. "And these are our mystery forces. As you can tell, we're expecting light resistance: mostly APCs and IFVs, but we've spotted the same lance of Locusts and Cicadas twice now. Hopefully that's all they have, and we might be able to scare them out of Republic space without having to fire a single shot. I wouldn't count on it though: if they have the hardware to raid nearby systems, they could have heavier vehicles in storage. Let's hope it's nothing more than a band of pirates that got their hands on a K-F engine from some derelict JumpShip."

Ulrik was waiting for his pilots to memorize the info that he had given them, when the silence of the room was briefly interrupted by the loud blaring of klaxons. It only lasted a few seconds before subsiding, and he would shake his head as he looked down at his datapad to send the relevant information to the personal devices of each pilot. Then he placed the device down on the table and looked up at his pilots with the slightest hint of a smile. "That's our 5 minute warning for the jump, so let's wrap this up quickly. It sounds like whoever these people are, the Republic wants us to get rid of them ASAP, otherwise we'd have for a proper briefing. If anyone has any questions regarding the assignment, now's the time to ask them. Everything else can wait until after you've gotten yourself familiar with your new 'Mechs." With that he finally relaxed the muscles in his body that he didn't even know were tense during this quick briefing, and he waited on the input of his crew.

@Letter Bee@Psyker Landshark@Forsythe@AndyC@Smike@Abstract Proxy@QJT@Starlance

Rise of Rasalhague

@BigPapaBelial Looks pretty good!

If I'm being honest, it's a bit hard to read at timeswith how short your sentences are, but the character itself looks alright. A... bit edgy, especially with the whole Yakuza + Ronin angle, that last part I'd reckon since we ARE fighting the Ronin more or less, otherwise he seems fine. I'll send you a link to the Discord and you can come chat with us, see if you have any questions :)

Just a heads up, we're really stretching our capacity here, as much as I love having many players. We'll be accepting applications for the next few days, but then I might put the RP on "Full", since we are getting into a dangerous loop of having to catch up newcomers haha

Rise of Rasalhague

Prelude:
Skandian Dawn

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A lone MechWarrior sits atop a lonely hill overlooking the Spaceport of Olaus, empty fields of sparse grass and rocks covering the area outside the city as far as they eyes can see. A venerable 'mech stands by his side, casting an ever shrinking shadow across the hillsides of Skandia II. From the surface, Skandia's sun appears like a small yellow, not much smaller than the star that once nourished and gave life to humans on Terra, but it's light is much more faint, and the dawns on Skandia 2 cast a low orange hue over the planet for hours before the dim light finally illuminates the surface's day side. Today is the pilot's last day for the foreseeable future when he can see the dawn in it's full glory, so he takes in the sight as the distant rumble of a dropship's engines from the starport finally reaches him. The stars of the city in the distance glimmer like little fires, dimming out as the time passes and the sun's light overpowers them.

By the time the street lights are turned off, he's already in his mech, a battle-scarred Centurion, travelling at a jogging pace towards the starport. He is in no hurry, as the new recruits are still just arriving and getting vetted by Mimir for any warning signs, before being taken to the recruitment office. Still, having spent the past few months on Skandia, he's never seen this many Leoapards land and take off from the starport in a single day, not to mention in just one morning. And that's without even taking into consideration the several spherical shapes that tower in the far corner of the port: the larger dropships that have been gathering the forces of the newly formed republic, Union classes that have probably served several different nations states over their long history. Using the zoom in his cockpit to observe these steel giants from far away, he can see that the paint is still new and drying on most, the insignia of the Rasalhague Republic smeared in places. Others still bear the Draconis Combine's insignias, forces from the neighbouring state assisting in the Ronin War and helping the Republic get on it's feet.

By the time he passes through the large gates and trods past the Dragon standing guard at the gate with an entourage of support infantry, the first of the Unions have launched. Staring the massive ship rise into the air with a plume of smoke that lasts for several minutes after the ship's become nothing more than the shining light of it's lifting engines in the distance, he throttles down the Centurion to let a massive cargo vehicle pass in front, carrying several mechs on it's back that are covered by several layers of tarp to hide their types. His mech is tall and easily towers over the cargo vehicle, but the mechs it carries dwarf even his own 'mech: someone is going to be on the receiving end of a Lance of Assault Mechs. All across the starport, similar activity takes place as the hustling and bustling of a normal military base and a starport gets combined into a cacaphonic melody of alerts blaring from loudspeakers, the engines of vehicles, mechs and AeroSpace fighters whooshing overhead merging into one concert of military organization. The colors are a blur: everything is tinted a deep brownish orange from the rising sun, but the fresh coats of blue and white of Rasalhague are mixed with the dulled out reds of the Draconis Combine. There's even a few blinding whites, ComStar operatives who are overseeing the delicate operations patented technology. It brings back memories of old times, times of war when the hustle and bustle meant that the enemy was already dropping lances right on top of their heads, or they were about to do the same to their enemies.

At least the klaxons aren't blaring this time.

He makes slow progress through the starport, giving way to the many cargo trucks loaded with palettes of ammunition for SRMs and LRMs, crates filled with spare parts and several more convoys of mechs covered by tarp. A few lances of Light and medium Mechs pass him by during the short trip; he's never seen so many Locusts and Wasps before with a fresh coat of paint. A lance of Dragons also waddles past his mech on the way towards the Draconis marked Union. By the time he reaches the end of the runways, the amount of different types of mechs and camos he's seen are probably contending for a top spot over his long career. He even saw several mechs with insignias he only abrely recognized: mercs, fueling up and making final preparations before joining the war party. But there's a good reason for all these mechs and armanents being loaded up and taking off: the Republic and the Dominion are going to war, this time together.

Old warriors of the combine who refused to leave Rasalhague space have taken up arms and are trying to smother the newborn nation before it has a chance to mature and become a great power of the Inner Sphere. These so called "Ronins" have made a serious ruckus on Orestes. For the past month forces have been assembling on Skandia, and they are finally heading out to kick these rebellious elements off of the planet and free the Republic of these warriors who don't realize that Fourth Succession War is over. Of course, such assaults are happening all across the republic, but Skandia is the only planet assembling two forces at once, one of which is going to have a piece of it commanded by him.

The air outside the mech is cold, and it stings his skin after leaving the warm cockpit. There are several barracks lined up on the far end of the runways, along with administration buildings. One of the leopards taxis up besides him into one of the parking spots besides the large complex, workers signalling with batons to the pilot, just like they used to back in the golden days of aviation. When so many planes and drophips are landing and taxiing, nobody is willing to take the risk that a software malfunction can cause an accident worth millions, if not billions of C-Bills. As the rear lamp lowers, several lines of of men and women begin to unload, most of them wearing a variation of Draconis or Lyran military fatigues, but he recognises some Davion uniforms as well as a few that he doesn't know the origins of. "At least no Capellans this time..."

The line of cadets carrying rucksacks disappears into one of the barracks, and are replaced with a crowd of technicians and starport pilots who begin to take out the seats and cargo from the back of the Leopard, whilst a different group is already loading up a lance of Panthers and Javelin's into the recently freed mechbays. Not a minute wasted today, it seems. He takes out a cigarette and lights it, his hand finally free of the shakyness he's experienced this whole morning as he enjoys the sweet embrace of Nicotine. He briefly wonders if the addiction will kill him before one of the new recruits will, but by the time he finishes his mind is already on other things. The Leopard has been loaded too, and with nothing else to watch for amusement, he snuffs out the cigarette butt against the concrete paving and walks inside the barracks.

The new recruits are all here for the same job: mercs, hired to serve the Republic, units that are meant to be low-cost solutions to the military's many growing pains. Especially now, whilst the Ronins are running around and causing havoc, the KungsArmé doesn't have the capacity to be everywhere at once, and raising all the regiments that they'd need would bankrupt the Republic before it could celebrate it's first anniversary of freedom in centuries. Men and women from all across the Inner Sphere have made their way to Skandia to answer the call to arms: a chance at a new life in a new nation, the perfect chance for those looking for an adventure or a fresh beginning away from all the powers they are already familiar with. Of course, only some of them will be chosen; even fewer of those will be serving directly under him. Giving the mechwarriors lining the corridors and clutching their rucksacks one more look, he heads upstairs to the offices where he has papers of his own to fill out before this new life can begin.

A few hours of unpleasant medical exams, signings and briefings later, he is outside once more. The orange hue of the early morning has disappeared, but the bustle of the starport has barely died down. Some of the dropships have left, and most of the larger elements have already left planetside, but the real logistic nightmare of the support companies has only just started. Thankfully, his own ship had been fueled and resupplied days prior: he received a mission closeby that would test his new MechWarriors before the rest of the KungsArmé's recruits had a chance to pull the trigger on their newly painted mechs in the fight against any Ronin forces. Probably for the better: he didnt give much of a chance to his, or anyone else's recruits if they had to fight the veteran warriors who refused to leave Republic Space. No, he was going the opposite way from Orestes, and dealing with a matter significantly less important, but no less dangerous. He was resupplied so early so that their low priority objectives wouldn't interfere on this cruicial day with the larger force's objectives. It all made sense, but at the end of the day he was just happy he didn't have to wait for someone in this chaos to come fuel him up.

Taking the opportunity of another Leopard pulling up close to the barracks, he climbed back inside his Centurion and after a brief exchange with the pilot, and reminiscing with them about some nostalgic memories when it turned out they were also from New Oslo, he managed to hitch a ride in the back of the shuttle. It wasn't long before they were already taking off with a fresh load of supplies and towards the armada in orbit. From the feed of exterior cameras he could see the myriad black dots that were all DropShips loaded with mechs and regular forces, as well as undoubtedly a few WarShips that would ensure the assault didn't meet a gruesome end. One of those black dots would soon become his home, and the home of his new company. He hadn't decided on a name yet, and he had until the end of the day to tell Republic officials, so he figured he's wait on that a little more.

No doubt in a few hours of time the lucky few who get assigned to him will be taking the same ride as him, looking at the same sky and wondering which ship will be theirs. When they'll arrive, he'll have the time to figure out the little details like a name and a title for this new operation, but for now he wanted to take stock of what they were given as well as get a look over his new DropShip.

Suffice to say, reality was not what he expected. Union classes are notorious for bad crew accommodations, and he was ready to see a cramped corridor when he entered, but instead he was met with a different sight: the rusted and patched hull of a truly ancient Black Eagle looked back at him as his shuttle approached, a vessel that had not been produced since before even the Star League came into existence; a design from a time when the Terran Hegemony waged endless war with the other powers of the Inner Sphere. How one of these ancient beasts survived and got into the hands of the Republic were questions he didn't even dare to ask: some of the Union classes he served upon were centuries old as well, but this was something else. If they had been given this, it must've meant that even the most common Dropships were in too high of a demand to give away. He could only imagine what his fellow commanders of unofficial Republic merc companies received as a vessel. Then again, he couldn't complain; it was better than receiving a Leopard and then being sent off to war. Still, he knew that he'd have plenty to do before he'd have his first briefing with his new pilots in a few hours. He just hoped the mechs the Republic gave them were of a never vintage that the ship: if he was given a lance of Mackies, he promised himself that he'd throw himself out the first airlock. If he could find one by himself on such an unfamiliar ship. Sighing softly, he turned away from the screens and began to prepare himself for transfer to his new vessel, and began punching in the new authentication codes into his aged Centurion's command console. "Ulrik... what did you get yourself into this time. I though this was the sort of thing that made you quite the military for good..." The reflection in the console's back screen didn't answer, and after waiting for a few seconds for an answer that wouldn't come, he'd replace it with a view of diagnostics. It was time to get ready for a new life of war.

Rise of Rasalhague - A "mostly" canon BattleTech mercenary roleplay for mech enjoyers

@ForsytheHeya, sorry for the late reply :)

Sure, we can arrange something like that! I'll send you a DM with the link to our Discord, we can talk over some of the possibilities for characters like that :)