barkmeat2 Member
The Bearded Dankier Hobbit
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
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- barkmeat2 10 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
@TheWildHost
Go duck urself Host, yah nerfherder
Go duck urself Host, yah nerfherder
@RoflsMazoy
I hoped to mention your character in my recent post, hopefully you are still interested in this quest. If not i'll just write it off as something else in a future post.
I hoped to mention your character in my recent post, hopefully you are still interested in this quest. If not i'll just write it off as something else in a future post.
Craig... Craig just looked into the eyes of death and survived the accusatory implement that would have tore a hole in his chest. Craig has stared down a microreactor mid meltdown, ripped apart the circuitry of a rampant auto-barber but never in his years had he felt such mortal fear.
The suited man quickly left him to himself in the streets, the adrenaline rush that made him deaf to the world was starting to dissipate making him notice that his original track had disappeared into the ship. Out of his daze he decided he might as well board the ship. He presented his pass to the nearby attendant and was instructed make his way to the engineering and cargo bay to help with pre-flight preparations.
While disappointed he wouldn't get the opportunity to trail his target any further he shambled towards the lower decks. The engineers seemed to have their own quarters in the lower bays but had to head up to the mess hall for their meals.
In time he was tasked with inspecting the cargo, making sure it was tied down and stored properly, and most importantly to make sure the bay doors were operating correctly.
The room was quite dark and musty, the few streaks of light coming from scarce windows and cracks in the walls. Craig made his rounds checking the locking mechanisms in the hoists and the gears of the bay doors. It was generally tedious and meticulous work, but Craig was content.
That is... until he heard a horrifying sound. A grotesque sound that echoed throughout the room: mew.
Craig's eyes went wide, It was soft, barely louder than the distant bustle of the ship but years in the Forge had trained him remain alert for any out of place mechanically. Yet, he had no former knowledge of ships creating this sound, had the hydraulics jammed? Had a circuit board smoldered? Had a steam-pipe leaked?
Craig visibly exhaled, for the sake of his new home he had to find the problem and fix it.
The sound seemed near, if it weren't for his meticulous, nay, obsessive inspection, it would never had been noticed. He turned the corner where he expected to find the fault, but what he saw was to be expected: piles and piles of crates and cargo. Loose bolts of canvas for the inner lining of the ship's envelope swayed a bit as the vessel rocked gently in the breeze. Craig chalked it up to his nerves and was prepared to leave, when he heard a distinct but recognized sound, a soft purr.
Of course, a small opening in the floor boards allowed air in, billowing the canvas bolts. Simple enough to fix, some quick drying tar, a chemical found in any self-respecting ship engineer's kit, will seal it back up.
Craig moved to uncover the bolts, but something else caught his attention...
The suited man quickly left him to himself in the streets, the adrenaline rush that made him deaf to the world was starting to dissipate making him notice that his original track had disappeared into the ship. Out of his daze he decided he might as well board the ship. He presented his pass to the nearby attendant and was instructed make his way to the engineering and cargo bay to help with pre-flight preparations.
While disappointed he wouldn't get the opportunity to trail his target any further he shambled towards the lower decks. The engineers seemed to have their own quarters in the lower bays but had to head up to the mess hall for their meals.
In time he was tasked with inspecting the cargo, making sure it was tied down and stored properly, and most importantly to make sure the bay doors were operating correctly.
The room was quite dark and musty, the few streaks of light coming from scarce windows and cracks in the walls. Craig made his rounds checking the locking mechanisms in the hoists and the gears of the bay doors. It was generally tedious and meticulous work, but Craig was content.
That is... until he heard a horrifying sound. A grotesque sound that echoed throughout the room: mew.
Craig's eyes went wide, It was soft, barely louder than the distant bustle of the ship but years in the Forge had trained him remain alert for any out of place mechanically. Yet, he had no former knowledge of ships creating this sound, had the hydraulics jammed? Had a circuit board smoldered? Had a steam-pipe leaked?
Craig visibly exhaled, for the sake of his new home he had to find the problem and fix it.
The sound seemed near, if it weren't for his meticulous, nay, obsessive inspection, it would never had been noticed. He turned the corner where he expected to find the fault, but what he saw was to be expected: piles and piles of crates and cargo. Loose bolts of canvas for the inner lining of the ship's envelope swayed a bit as the vessel rocked gently in the breeze. Craig chalked it up to his nerves and was prepared to leave, when he heard a distinct but recognized sound, a soft purr.
Of course, a small opening in the floor boards allowed air in, billowing the canvas bolts. Simple enough to fix, some quick drying tar, a chemical found in any self-respecting ship engineer's kit, will seal it back up.
Craig moved to uncover the bolts, but something else caught his attention...
Fine, you?
Character sheet
Screen Name: (Your screen name on this website)
Character Name: M-0018 "Emolate"
Race: Human
Class: Imperial Medic
Pic:
Physical Description: Like his many other brethren. He is one of many, indistinguishable. Hardly ever removes armor.
Personality: Jaded, uncaring, cold, methodical. The "perfect" soldier, follows orders to a point, highly disciplined, would rather die than break standing orders or positions. Mechanical and decisive, will do job only to a point that doesn't impede operation. Will not waste valuable medicine on an otherwise dead soldier, nor will he go beyond what is necessary to fix a man.
Equipment:
Background history: He was a tube soldier. He was given a choice of a normal civilian life, of which he quickly denied. He was assigned as a medic during [a recent war] after barely passing psychoanalysis tests. His medical knowledge was surprisingly applicable in the new era, taking only supplementary lessons to catch him up on recent methods and discoveries. On the field his squad mates found him cold and unfeeling, executing his orders to the letter, finding his quirks unapproachable he was mostly avoided, a fact that M-0018 had no strong emotions either way.It came to a boiling point when he would give field executions to mortally wounded troops, and was accosted and reprimanded for it. Of this he was confused, those men were of no use to the company, burdens even, that a quick and merciful execution and prompt field strip was what was best for the company. He was then transferred to his current outpost.
Screen Name: (Your screen name on this website)
Character Name: M-0018 "Emolate"
Race: Human
Class: Imperial Medic
Pic:
Physical Description: Like his many other brethren. He is one of many, indistinguishable. Hardly ever removes armor.
Personality: Jaded, uncaring, cold, methodical. The "perfect" soldier, follows orders to a point, highly disciplined, would rather die than break standing orders or positions. Mechanical and decisive, will do job only to a point that doesn't impede operation. Will not waste valuable medicine on an otherwise dead soldier, nor will he go beyond what is necessary to fix a man.
Equipment:
- E-11 Blaster(Or equivalent)
- Standard Imperial Armor
- Medical Kit
- Bonesaw
- Wrappings
- Anti-septic
- Painkillers
- Scissors/Scalpel
- Etc.
- Hazardous Environment Respirator
- Old Empire Field Manual
- Rations
- Floodlights
Background history: He was a tube soldier. He was given a choice of a normal civilian life, of which he quickly denied. He was assigned as a medic during [a recent war] after barely passing psychoanalysis tests. His medical knowledge was surprisingly applicable in the new era, taking only supplementary lessons to catch him up on recent methods and discoveries. On the field his squad mates found him cold and unfeeling, executing his orders to the letter, finding his quirks unapproachable he was mostly avoided, a fact that M-0018 had no strong emotions either way.It came to a boiling point when he would give field executions to mortally wounded troops, and was accosted and reprimanded for it. Of this he was confused, those men were of no use to the company, burdens even, that a quick and merciful execution and prompt field strip was what was best for the company. He was then transferred to his current outpost.
Character sheet
Screen Name: (Your screen name on this website)
Character Name: M-0018 "Emolate"
Race: Human
Class: Imperial Medic
Pic:
Physical Description: Like his many other brethren. He is one of many, indistinguishable. Hardly ever removes armor.
Personality: Jaded, uncaring, cold, methodical. The "perfect" soldier, follows orders to a point, highly disciplined, would rather die than break standing orders or positions. Mechanical and decisive, will do job only to a point that doesn't impede operation. Will not waste valuable medicine on an otherwise dead soldier, nor will he go beyond what is necessary to fix a man.
Equipment:
Background history: He was a tube soldier. He was given a choice of a normal civilian life, of which he quickly denied. He was assigned as a medic during [a recent war] after barely passing psychoanalysis tests. His medical knowledge was surprisingly applicable in the new era, taking only supplementary lessons to catch him up on recent methods and discoveries. On the field his squad mates found him cold and unfeeling, executing his orders to the letter, finding his quirks unapproachable he was mostly avoided, a fact that M-0018 had no strong emotions either way.It came to a boiling point when he would give field executions to mortally wounded troops, and was accosted and reprimanded for it. Of this he was confused, those men were of no use to the company, burdens even, that a quick and merciful execution and prompt field strip was what was best for the company. He was then transferred to his current outpost.
On the real though you should probably post this as an actual RP thread soon, people tend to flock to that faster.
Screen Name: (Your screen name on this website)
Character Name: M-0018 "Emolate"
Race: Human
Class: Imperial Medic
Pic:
Physical Description: Like his many other brethren. He is one of many, indistinguishable. Hardly ever removes armor.
Personality: Jaded, uncaring, cold, methodical. The "perfect" soldier, follows orders to a point, highly disciplined, would rather die than break standing orders or positions. Mechanical and decisive, will do job only to a point that doesn't impede operation. Will not waste valuable medicine on an otherwise dead soldier, nor will he go beyond what is necessary to fix a man.
Equipment:
- E-11 Blaster(Or equivalent)
- Standard Imperial Armor
- Medical Kit
- Bonesaw
- Wrappings
- Anti-septic
- Painkillers
- Scissors/Scalpel
- Etc.
- Hazardous Environment Respirator
- Old Empire Field Manual
- Rations
- Floodlights
Background history: He was a tube soldier. He was given a choice of a normal civilian life, of which he quickly denied. He was assigned as a medic during [a recent war] after barely passing psychoanalysis tests. His medical knowledge was surprisingly applicable in the new era, taking only supplementary lessons to catch him up on recent methods and discoveries. On the field his squad mates found him cold and unfeeling, executing his orders to the letter, finding his quirks unapproachable he was mostly avoided, a fact that M-0018 had no strong emotions either way.It came to a boiling point when he would give field executions to mortally wounded troops, and was accosted and reprimanded for it. Of this he was confused, those men were of no use to the company, burdens even, that a quick and merciful execution and prompt field strip was what was best for the company. He was then transferred to his current outpost.
On the real though you should probably post this as an actual RP thread soon, people tend to flock to that faster.
Hear me out:
Okay I'm the medic- no guys really listen- I'm the medic that is a clone from- guys stop, listen- a derelict Old Empire cruiser. It was an attempt to recreate the Kiminoan clone project minus the tedious out of tube training. Basically these clones where hypno-trained and pre-built template that can be sent into battle out of the tube.
Yada, yada, Fel Empire discovers old space hulk, finds the clones in cryostasis on emergency power; they mass-purge the tubes, only one or a few remain alive.
The troops have the capabilities of standard imperial storm troopers, however their lack of actual interaction has made them little more than jaded automatons with very little emotions. As a medic my character views life as it were machines; to be repaired if able or left to decay if beyond help impartially and without remorse. His methods would be systematic and uncaring: Soldiers are generic, capable of being replaced, including himself. I can save them to fight another day, if they die they are merely equipment to be returned to the quartermaster.
Okay I'm the medic- no guys really listen- I'm the medic that is a clone from- guys stop, listen- a derelict Old Empire cruiser. It was an attempt to recreate the Kiminoan clone project minus the tedious out of tube training. Basically these clones where hypno-trained and pre-built template that can be sent into battle out of the tube.
Yada, yada, Fel Empire discovers old space hulk, finds the clones in cryostasis on emergency power; they mass-purge the tubes, only one or a few remain alive.
The troops have the capabilities of standard imperial storm troopers, however their lack of actual interaction has made them little more than jaded automatons with very little emotions. As a medic my character views life as it were machines; to be repaired if able or left to decay if beyond help impartially and without remorse. His methods would be systematic and uncaring: Soldiers are generic, capable of being replaced, including himself. I can save them to fight another day, if they die they are merely equipment to be returned to the quartermaster.
Craig was still busying himself upon the boilers of the red vessel, oil and welding burns marring his new robes. His hair at this point was a greased and matted mess, his face moist and oil-stained as he abandoned his Tech-mask long ago in the sweltering atmosphere. The boiler was far from fixed, sections still bisected by inhumanly large slabs of bone-like projectiles, this surprise project was unlikely to be finished before he was listed as absent and left behind. Craig was afraid. Craig was very much afraid.
Afraid of his failure. Afraid he'd come back a day after leaving with nothing. Afraid he'd be stuck doing such menial tasks without a story of his own. And most importantly afraid of the large foreman, screaming at younger engineers.
He rose to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow, turning his head back at the blue vessel expecting it to already be gone. He saw the more of the crew board of which very few stood out. A young man was amusingly seen dodging the crowd and quietly board the ship. Another man was witnessed to plow through a crowd of people, heavy cargo attended by porters closely following behind him; an event probably standard in the busy port city so he thought nothing of it. An older gentleman chatting it up with passing crew, likely a veteran of the ship. A halfling flitting across the sky, landing precariously yet gracefully near the gangplank, nothing out of the ordina-
Craig blinked twice, not quite sure he was seeing correctly, the fumes of the skydock, surely messing with him.
Then it hit him, a halfling was flying! Not by way of the new fangled magics, but some sort of cybernetic implants. Behind the young female was a beautiful mechanical contraption- nay - miracle of engineering. The metal seemed alive, warm and alive, reacting to the stiff cool breeze as natural appendage would. Craig was awestruck, in the Forges the older adepts' extra mechanical arms were feats of their own capable of performing simple tasks and bearing heavy loads, but this... this was whole new level. This device seemed to be capable of advance aeronautical maneuvers judging by the stunt this woman just pulled.
Knowing the Order's firm grip on technological advances the woman surely had a handler, but hadn't of anything such as this. Craig had to know what exactly this was, and Order heads clearly won't tell him anything, his only choice was to investigate directly.
Gathering his luggage left in a near by corner, and ignoring the protests of the foreman behind him as he jaunted towards the blue vessel. However, his journey was impeded, he lost sight of his target over a mass of what seemed to be laboratory equipment. He tried squeezing by, but ran into a man donning a sterile white business suit, with a matching surgical mask and hat. Craig was about to voice his apologies, when he saw that the man was visibly angry and insulted at his transgression.
"Uhh... sorry"
Afraid of his failure. Afraid he'd come back a day after leaving with nothing. Afraid he'd be stuck doing such menial tasks without a story of his own. And most importantly afraid of the large foreman, screaming at younger engineers.
He rose to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow, turning his head back at the blue vessel expecting it to already be gone. He saw the more of the crew board of which very few stood out. A young man was amusingly seen dodging the crowd and quietly board the ship. Another man was witnessed to plow through a crowd of people, heavy cargo attended by porters closely following behind him; an event probably standard in the busy port city so he thought nothing of it. An older gentleman chatting it up with passing crew, likely a veteran of the ship. A halfling flitting across the sky, landing precariously yet gracefully near the gangplank, nothing out of the ordina-
Craig blinked twice, not quite sure he was seeing correctly, the fumes of the skydock, surely messing with him.
Then it hit him, a halfling was flying! Not by way of the new fangled magics, but some sort of cybernetic implants. Behind the young female was a beautiful mechanical contraption- nay - miracle of engineering. The metal seemed alive, warm and alive, reacting to the stiff cool breeze as natural appendage would. Craig was awestruck, in the Forges the older adepts' extra mechanical arms were feats of their own capable of performing simple tasks and bearing heavy loads, but this... this was whole new level. This device seemed to be capable of advance aeronautical maneuvers judging by the stunt this woman just pulled.
Knowing the Order's firm grip on technological advances the woman surely had a handler, but hadn't of anything such as this. Craig had to know what exactly this was, and Order heads clearly won't tell him anything, his only choice was to investigate directly.
Gathering his luggage left in a near by corner, and ignoring the protests of the foreman behind him as he jaunted towards the blue vessel. However, his journey was impeded, he lost sight of his target over a mass of what seemed to be laboratory equipment. He tried squeezing by, but ran into a man donning a sterile white business suit, with a matching surgical mask and hat. Craig was about to voice his apologies, when he saw that the man was visibly angry and insulted at his transgression.
"Uhh... sorry"
No one else is posting, so can we start the new rotation?
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