Bazmund

You are Cordially Invited...[Closed until zelta 02]

Sergeant Jackie Stacks was a man of simple pleasures, bright personality, and gargantuan proportions. He was always in a good mood and had installed himself as one of the best known members of the security task force aboard Mammoth 29 - despite the fact that he technically wasn’t on the staff. The local enforcers were primarily unmodified military personnel, and though they had initially been terrified of his incredible eagerness they had quickly learned to appreciate his abilities when someone turned out to have smuggled a gun on board. For most of the journey after that they had been recording unusually good crime and deviancy statistics on board - because an unofficially acting member of Authority Security was helping out off the books. But it was something to do, and Jackie knew he was probably the best person on board to protect the integrity of the righteous government, in the best interests of all the passengers and crew. It was in the security room he found himself when the word began circulating that the ship was close to docking, and his new work was about to begin.

Jackie grinned dumbly and bit into an apple as the two other true security officers started talking about the shit job they were gonna have corralling civvies off the ship and keeping the military police in line. Simon was just a bit shorter than Jackie was, and had a meaner face - but he was Security through and through; one time they’d gotten drunk together and Simon had spent the entire night giving long speeches about the Party, and how Order had prevailed in the face of anarchy back during the dark ages, and that we all owed our lives to the Inner Circle. The other guy was Tam, and he was a vicious bastard - he had a big old scar coming out of the left side of his mouth where some delinquent had gotten lucky and caught him with a heated blade, and various bits of him were marked with the bad looking purple scarring characteristic of regrown parts. Tam had briefly been captured by a pair of rogue Secs during a mismanaged military op, and they had really done a number on him - but he hadn’t broken under stress, he hadn’t begged. He was a sour man now, who took too much joy in the violence, but Jackie respected him.

“Well I can’t stand them. Disloyal complaining seditious little pricks.” Simon grumbled, pouring himself another cup of authority approved action stimulant - or A3.

“If they get vocal with you, just hit them. They’ll be fined a couple hundred thousand and never leave Mammoth.” Tam replies, not turning away from the TV.

“I know, it just pisses me off.”

There was a crunch as Jackie finished the apple.

“I’ll see ya later, fellas. I’m gonna head to the cafeteria and get another apple.” He chirped, jumping to his feet out of the leather sofa and headigfor the stairs down to the faux-olden diner. He took the steps five at a time and jumped the last ten. Once he was in the cafeteria, he went through the three step check any cop learns, and his eyes came to rest on a young woman with blonde hair looking at a man with a very stylish beard. A green apple was handed to him as he entered, the machines in the canteen picking up his order from his implanted chip - so he went straight over to the guy with the beard.

“Hey,” he began, biting into the apple, “you have a great beard. It’s really nice. Suits you a lot.” He finished, grinning broadly through a mouthful of apple.

You are Cordially Invited...[Closed until zelta 02]

Sweet. Just submitted the CS, making some minor edits to fix some fucked BBCode tags. What I usually do when a vital role isn't filled is I just NPC them without making a character sheet up - that way if they turn out to be on camera enough that they need one I can sorta make up key traits on the fly, and if they don't then they stay in the background where they belong relative to the PCs. Plus it saves the effort of thinking of everything in advance.

You are Cordially Invited...[Closed until zelta 02]

Sgt Jackie Stacks

Name: Jonathan 'Jackie' Stacks

Age: 124

Sex: Male

ID:

Appearance: Jackie Stacks is a man of nigh-titanic proportions, thanks mostly to the modifications he received in the line of duty to the party. He stands clear at 230cm of almost entirely muscle and intrinsic dermal shielding even outside of his SE suit, with an innocent looking face that doesn't seem to match the incredible cruelty of his design and purpose, and the kind of voice you hear from the designated cutie pie on party approved dramas. He's got a goofy smile, he moves quietly for his size, and tends to slouch. Without the party's improvements he would still be a big, strong, stacked man - but it's not too hard to imagine that without them he'd also not be nearly as threatening.

Recommendations Officers Personality Observations:

Cpt McMichael

Cpt. Michael Miller McMichael - 21st Stellar Security Division 'Steelskins',
On administrative leave,
Previously attached to 104th Extrasolar Naval Group

"Begin recording. Present is Captain McMichael of the 21st SSD, Special Agent Philadephia of the Inner Circle Intelligence Office, and myself, Administrator Cordelia Krakow. Please begin, Captain."

"Thank you, Administrator. Sergeant Stacks was an instrumental part of Operation Paper Love during our tour with the 104th Extrasolar. Intelligence officers having already been able to infiltrate the smuggling ring operating within the fleet, it fell to us to begin reinstating party rule and restoring ethical conduct among the admiralty therein - Sergeant Stacks was the first man through the door more than once, the last man out even more frequently, and absolutely invaluable throughout. He's a credit to the Skin as much as any individual can be, and I can personally attest to his unwavering professionalism and dedication to the Inner Circle, sir. As an addendum to my previous reports on the matter, I would like to make clear that while the Sergeant has previously been criticised for speaking softly on duty it is exactly this disarming behaviour that gave our division its excellent arrest record. I'm rueful to be losing him to Zelta, sir."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Captain, it will be noted in the report. Furthermore allow me to reassure you that Jonathan Stacks will have much opportunity for personal advancement within the party on his new assignment should he be chosen, and that this investigation is nothing but a reflection of the successes he has contributed to under your command."

"I understand, Agent Philadelphia. Do you have any further questions for me at this time?"

"Not at this time, no. Administrator, you may terminate the recording."

"Thank you, Agent. Recording terminated at-"

Janine Simmons

Miss Janine Simmons,
formerly Petty Officer aboard starship 'Lux', serial number 10-203-21-a, in 104th Extrasolar Naval Group,
Housed temporarily aboard starship designated 'Lux', serial number 10-203-21-a,
Awaitng Execution for offenses against authority integrity.

"Begin recording. Present is Janine Simmons, a convicted smuggler from the 21st SSD's 'Operation Paper Love', Special Agent Philadelphia of the Inner Circle Intelligence Office, and myself, Administrator Cordelia Krakow."

"I don't understand why you're bothering with the bureaucracy, least of all with me."

"Miss Simmons, it is the Authority's understanding that you had significant interaction with the Authority Security Officer, Sergeant Stacks. Is this correct?"

"The others are all dead already. I wasn't even in charge of the-"

"Please answer the question."

There's an exhausted, beaten sigh on the recording - and then a pause.

"Miss Simmons, I will remind you that this investigation is authorised-"

"- to use any means necessary to bring the case to completion. I know, I used to have your job, Agent Philadelphia. For the navy, at least. I also know that interrupting is at least technically punishable, but seeing as I'm going to be lynched at some point soon I fail to see how there's very much more you could threaten me with Mister Philadelphia. What incentive could you possibly have to offer me that might compel me to tell you anything at all?"

"A favour from authority. Enough to be spared death. Enough for the party to afford you a certain cordial invitation out of this mess, out of the navy entirely."

There is a sharp intake of breath.

"You mean-"

"I mean."

"Ok. Yes. Yes you're right, I had some interaction with Jonathan Stacks. It is my current understanding that as part of the joint venture between the Authority's intelligence office and the Security division, he was meant to pose as a corrupt security officer looking to purchase illicit consumables from the business I had... sadly found myself forced into." The wink was practically audible.

"Is it correct of us to assume that he was able to gain your trust?"

"Well... yes and no. He was friendly, he wasn't threatening or anything - he was cute, too. I was paranoid at the time, so he didn't exactly trust him to the fullest, but I did tell him things. That's... why I'm here now."

"Please describe his character for the record."

"Alright. Keep in mind I only saw him for about a month and a half. He immediately struck me as... well, charming is kind of too strong of a word. He's not charming, he kind of can't be - because that requires tact, which I think he lacks. It's more that he's got this kind of innocent thing going on, it's like he doesn't know he's hurting people, or doesn't care - but he's not cruel or anything, it's more that he doesn't consider what he's capable of as real harm. Other than that he's... kind, he's sweet, he's... I mean..."

"Has he ever been immature, childish, or irresponsible?"

"No. He's quite dutiful."

"Has he ever been scared, cowardly, or intimidated?"

"Not in the slightest. As you well know, our ring was far from the only subversive operation in the 104th Extrasolar, and at one point a pair of men from another... enterprise, broke into my quarters. I don't know what they were planning but it was nothing good. Jonathan was there at the time, and just... reacted. I remember they both unloaded on him with their sidearms - he wasn't wearing his suit at the time, so some of the rounds penetrated and caused injury - but it was like he didn't notice. His facial expression didn't even change, he just... took care of them. Then he made sure I was alright."

"Thank you. Has he ever been easy to anger, impulsive, or irrational?"

"Never."

"Has he ever expressed disloyalty to the party?"

"Hah. Yes. But only to insinuate himself to a position from which he could act to terminate our smuggling operations. I mean, their operations, which I was forced into."

"You really don't need to do that. Was the nature of your relationship with Sergeant Stacks sexual?"

There's a pause again.

"Yes."

"Do you believe, even now, that he is too 'nice' to make an effective security officer?"

"What kind of question is that? No, I think he's a good security officer, I think he'd do anything for the party."

"Were you aware that he kept a picture of you after your internment, and has been requesting visitation?"

A silence. This time, enduring.

"Thank you, Miss Simmons. That will be all. Administrator, you may terminate the interview."

"Thank you, Agent Philadelphia. Interview terminated at-"

Traits:

Innocent Dissonance - Though he firmly believes that the rule of the party is not only for the best, but objectively good, he remains quite naive of the more complicated aspects of Party rule on account of his childhood as the son of a middle-ranked member of the Inner Circle leading to a sheltered upbringing. Despite this, he is capable of incredible violence without hesitation when under orders or in the face of a threat to party hegemony.

Sweet, but dim - There's really no discussion to be had regarding his personality, he's just nice. He's pleasant and polite and generally content with his lot in life - whether or not you find that kind of thing attractive is another matter of course. There's also the issue that his logical faculties are... lacking. He can read just fine, he even enjoys reading - but thinking about the state of the ship at large, thinking about the state of the party at large, thinking too hard about numbers or science, or just trying to pull a pattern out of the noise of the world... it's a bit much for him.

Idiot's Intuition - In spite of his logical limitations he is unnervingly perceptive, and heavily reliant on his gut feeling - which itself is rarely wrong. He picks up well on social cues most of the time and while he lacks the tact to be actively charming he is certainly quite personable and usually knows how to at least not be annoying.

Your Agreed Contract:

In order for you to fulfil your responsibilities to the party within the depths of space you are hereby to receive a weekly supply of rations with a class of a C- anti-aging compound mixed within.

You will receive a class C (bare minimum) training for your intended role upon the ship.

You hereby acknowledge that refusing this contract will incur a fine of roughly 32 million liquid currency in accordance with the penalty of wasting party time. You also hereby that dying or failing to fulfil the duties given to you by the time your work contract ends will apply this fine to yourself, or if you die, to your next of kin.

Remember: Exceptional service may get you potential application as a party member!

Remember: Poor performance may be realized as improper commitment of applied duty and you will be billed for your lodgings, rations, equipment, medical services, air, gravity, power usage and human on human contact.

You [SGT. JACKIE JONATHAN STACKS] agree to the terms and conditions of this contract and will fufill as the ship's [SECURITY OFFICER] until your 100 years of commitment is complete.

Disclaimer: the authority has the right to decrease or increase the commitment years of this contract as they see fit.

[Personal Relationships]

List each player driven character here and your characters thoughts/ relationship with them. Update this as your relationships develops.

Package:

Muscular Exoskeleton Bonding - He calls his one 'Troy', and takes incredibly care to avoid breaking fragile items or personnel. He could never harm a productive member of the crew, after all!

Special Executions Suit - The namesake of his former unit, the Steelskins. He enjoys wearing it as much as possible.

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You are Cordially Invited...[Closed until zelta 02]

Y'ello folks. Are you still accepting? I've got an idea brewing for a security officer, if you are.

[Open Legend] Onto a Sea of Stars

I'm good for a marine campaign, sure. I'm considering bringing back my paranoid, twitchy, stimulant addicted explosives expert from a campaign I tried to get into recently that never took off.

[Open Legend] Onto a Sea of Stars

I'm certainly interested.

Stars Without Number: Aegean Verge

Isaac 'Sharp' Wilkinson

- - - - - Sparta - - - - -

Character Sheet:

Hider

Description:

Hider

Sharp wasn't always like this. He had joined the Spartan terrestrial defense forces younger than he should have, under pressure from his high school after conflict with local authority, but he hadn't always been like this. They'd originally thought it would straighten him out or something - and to be fair, it actually had - but he certainly, definitely, absolutely hadn't always been like this.

When he was growing up, Isaac Wilkinson had a bit of a thing for chaos, pyrotechnics, and disorder; this had made him the black sheep of his family, his class, and his generation, and after one especial debacle of a prank with some highly illegal fireworks had almost threatened the primary life support systems of his town's hab-dome on Sparta, the police had gotten involved. He went from being socially short sighted and erratic to being actively anti-authority overnight once he'd been processed, and was involved with law enforcement repeatedly from then until the end of his academic career. He was not by any means an unintelligent boy and had, until his last warning and first arrest, maintained enough good academic standing and reputation to have at least a shot with the planet's premier university - but a criminal record utterly disbars you from that. The judge had given him the choice of imprisonment and forced labour, or one last chance to prove himself with military service. Anarchist tendencies aside I did mention that Isaac wasn't a stupid boy, and forced labour didn't seem like his kind of thing.

The marines straightened him out. Like a piece of steel.

He spent eight years in the Spartan Orbital Marine corps, serving with the combat engineers and occasionally serving as an impromptu EOD Officer when the situation called for it - though that did not happen frequently. In these years he learnt to appreciate the direction that Man can take from authority, and eventually conceded that taking orders wasn't always such a bad thing; this improved his relationships with his comrades spectacularly and he quickly wound up being invited on squad nights out. He made friends that he had expected would be lifelong, saw some real action suppressing piracy in the region and so on, and generally grew as a person - including acquiring his first proper nickname, though he won't tell you how he got it.

He was 26, finally had a good family life when he was on leave, had earned the respect of his father, and was even dating. He'd matured.

He'd grown up, and he loved it.

But he still wasn't like... well, like this. The Sharp in the Marines was a clean shaven, reasonably weedy but still toned, moderately attractive young man with bright eyes and a fast, intuitive mind. He had been one of the coolest, levelest, sharpest heads in the regiment (once the training regimen had smoothed him out), and almost never panicked. He'd gotten a reputation for being deceptively calm when dealing with explosives on the back of this, to the point where he was one of the few demolitions operatives whom you couldn't rely on for the old adage 'don't ask demo-men why they're running, just follow them' because he basically never did. The Sharp you'd find now is a twitchy, mumbling, muttering wreck of a paranoiac who compulsive-obsessively wires his own quarters with antipersonnel mines and considers every living thing (and then some) to be a potential hostile.

The Tour Ball is a hell of an event. It's the end to the military social season in peacetime, and sees attendance from most or all of the army and navy officers in the system, drawing all to the glory of New Corinth for wining, dining, and dance as it marks the end of one group's end of duty. By this point a Corporal in the marines, Sharp was no exception; he and his squad attended, some with dates, and were given seats at their CO's table. They'd been to this event before - Sharp 4 times, in fact - but tonight would be different.

As usual, after six or so hours of moderate to heavy drinking, the evening began to blur. High society and the enlisted men sort of generally separated themselves to different sorts of entertainment and things continued in the same downwards but hilarious and usually wholesome alcohol-warmed spiral. Until somebody spiked the keg his squad was drinking from.

They'd heard the rumours of press-ganging PMCs predating on military social events, looking to snap up the marines who were on their way out of the forces, but since they didn't personally know anybody who'd gone missing yet they didn't put much stock in it - and certainly you'd have to be mad to try that at the Tour Ball. But his squad were, at least mostly, about to retire to civilian life, and somebody was indeed mad enough to try it at the Tour Ball.

The Londinium Free Companies were better known as the Bastards of Britannia, a brutally effective private military corporation known for copious human rights abuses, low standards for officership, and a willingness to engage in 'recruitment' outside of their legal zone of mandate. To their credit, the wages were fairly good since lots of troops didn't survive til pay day, and you did technically get to see the galaxy - but against their credit, they're a press ganging bunch of shits with a legal clause in the recruitment contract allowing for a 'suitable representative' to sign it in case of 'recruit incapacity', and a stunning lack of ethics even for a mercenary gang. Lots of idiots sign up willingly and go on to become the marginally better equipped 1st-15th Londinium Free Companies. Lots of poor sods are found blackout drunk or get drugged and spiked, and get signed up by the aforementioned suitable representatives instead, forming the 16th-30th Londinium Free Companies - who are mostly cannon fodder.

The morning after blacking out, Sharp woke up to a splitting headache, blood all over his face, and this poster.

Hider

He and his squad were on a starship in the middle of a drill, on their way to a training camp in a hot zone somewhere in the buffer territory between Knossos and the Caliphate, and they were not happy. It was explained to them reasonably quickly that under certain laws dictating behaviour aboard starships designated as fighting vessels, they were welcome to try and fight their predicament if they didn't mind being evicted via the airlock without vaccsuits the very moment their drill trip ended - or being las-shot to death trying. Their situation was not explicitly claimed to be legal, nor were their contracts explicitly said to be binding - but they also weren't said not to be, and in the face of the airlock-alternative they'd been presented, their NCO decided they were best served by shutting up, at least for now. They could register legal complaints and such when they were planetside, or, failing that, start up a plan to find another way out of the situation.

They didn't get that far.

Within a week of finishing the three day 'bootcamp' troopers with known past military experience were expected to complete, half the squad had been killed by technically-rogue caliphate radicals or by artillery fire therefrom, another quarter had been executed by PMC officers during the resulting escape attempt... and the final quarter had, in the absence of any other opportunity to get out of it presenting itself, decided to get on with the business of war, and plot revenge later.

Of these men, only Sharp survived. The rest were killed by ambush tactics during the subsequent pushes, wherein companies 16-30 were used to clear the path for the former, fresher, livelier companies 1-15. Sharp lived through it solely by the mercy of luck, copious combat stimulants and coffee, and an almost total absence of sleep. This paranoia, this anxiety, this sad state of living - it slowly seeped into him over the next year. It dripped through his heart and froze him, then it smashed through his soul and shattered the frozen form into pieces. More than once he woke up to find he had been saved from knife-wielding attackers during the night by shaped charges and claymore-pattern antipersonnel mines he had planted in his own tent. Time and time again he took life, time and time again he lost friends. Isaac Wilkinson was slowly stripped away until only Sharp remained. The squad itself was stripped away, member by member, until only Sharp remained.

The contracts they issue only last two years, but it was enough. When they offered him a repeat contract with double pay and a spot in the 4th Company instead, he denied politely - which is to say he screamed at them in a language he didn't actually know, tore up and ate the contract, and fled. He made his way home to Sparta, only to find that the man he had become didn't fit in any more. He couldn't sleep without knowing he had something bulletproof between him and the door, doubled by frag grenade based improvised proximity mines and motion sensors - which made seeing his girlfriend again utterly impossible, since she slept lightly and needed a solid 8 hours nightly.

After one final outburst in public he was told by the hab police that he wasn't welcome in his family home any more, and asked to find passage offworld or risk fines.

He couldn't afford the fines. Now he just wants to stay free, make some money, and keep flying.

Duke's Quest

@Void What can the mages tell of the woods?

The Great Utopia, Most Oppressive of Cities! A rebellion RP. Still open!

Felix's eyes narrowed slightly as he relinquished his grip on the gun. Usually he was discreet enough for his carry piece to go unnoticed - a necessity, firearms laws in Utopia being what they were. Either he was being unsubtle, or...

"Very perceptive." He nodded politely in Simon's direction. "I'm used to going unnoticed, even by the police. You've been doing this for a while, haven't you?"

Felix's eyes shifted to the others, reexamining them. He knew them both well enough now, and it dawned on him that what the third party was saying was true. Sandra, though not without issues, was oddly athletic, coordinated, and quick witted. Tavish was likeable and social - and capable of packing heat too; Felix had no illusions about the man's own illegal firearms ownership.

The only really unknown factor was their new contact.

"So what are you? Employer? Leader? How does all this work, and what do we get to know?"

Duke's Quest

Alfred cursed in Welsh, the thread of ice snaking up his spine quelled only by the heat of his anger at having been deceived so easily - the Annwn, magic, the paranormal, it was his domain, his area of expertise, it was what he did for crying out loud! But then here he was, one moment having been watching Ser Giles grow more frustrated by the second, the next contemplating the effect of emotion on the ebb and flow of mana, and then alone in the cold of the woods. He had known something was wrong, but somehow he'd not had the initiative to act upon that knowledge, nor had he seen more specifically the nature of the wrongness.

He drew his sword. Nothing that affects the perception of an entire party like this could possibly have anything good in mind, so it was best to be ready for it.

In the distance, he quite possibly heard shouting - from which direction was hard to tell, who, as well. It sounded like a man. Alfred may have heard his own name being called, it was hard to be sure - the forest was a woolen blanket over his senses. What wasn't so hard to hear, however, was the sounds the followed - the unmistakable roaring of trolls. Instantly, the thread of ice won the battle, and Alfred felt chills dominate his nerves as he reflexively reached into a pocket and brought out a pair of iron cubes - reagents, a temporary source of power and augmentative factor for certain spells. Finite in nature - at least when they were as processed as these were - and limited in their ability to truly help, but when you're dealing with trolls you need just about everything you can get.

The cold iron in one hand, the grip of his sword in the other, he scanned the woods around himself looking for threats, or friends, or figures, or anything else obvious.

And then he closed his eyes, and felt the embrace of the Annwn rise about himself - sight, but not as most know it. What would he see of the woods when looking like this?