Avatar of Brink_
  • Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
  • Posts: 196 (0.05 / day)
  • VMs: 0
  • Username history
    1. Brink_ 10 yrs ago

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Fel's eyes opened, quickly adjusting to the harsh white of the surrounding walls as it reflected the light of the fluorescent chandelier in the outside hallway whose dull yellow rays peered in through gaps of the nearby blinds. The room was just as he'd remembered, an unimaginative square shape with a bulky, glossy white dresser topped with a hologram projected situated in one corner and a feeble-looking desk, dented legs and all, standing opposite. The man's bed, for last night at least, took up much of the space's center, underneath a forbiddingly large display screen functioning as a window to the surrounding solar system, its sickly green sheets a welcome compliment to the rest of the hypochondriac's dream abode. He stretched, sending both of his feet from their curled-up positions out underneath the covers, exposing just what a giant of a man he was.

Standing at nearly six-and-a-half feet, he rarely found a bed suitable for his length, meaning he'd often ended up bending into an uncomfortable mass in the midst of midnight. This was no time, however, for such lengthy anatomical examinations; Roals was en route to the USS Orpheus, after all, and this was his day to pack up after nearly a week of lounging within Aurora as part of the Navy's latest attempts at assimilating its newest celestial acquisitions to life outside of the atmosphere they'd come to know and love.The heavy-set metallic door opened with a swoosh and closed behind him with a click as soon as he'd stepped out.

A force of cold air wilting down the corridor smacked into Roals as he'd began making his way towards the nearest lavatory, whose neon sign was obscured underneath the blinding light of the aforementioned fluorescent fixture above him. The metallic grates were cold to the touch of his soles, sending the multitude of hairs lining his legs to shoot straight up as goosebumps overcame his limbs. The government-issue sleepwear he'd been granted as part of the station's harboring of troops did little to protect against the chilling breath of the structure's fine blend of oxygen and hydrogen in attempts to stabilize the already poorly-insulated heating system, the thin cotton shawl and sweatpants haphazardly clinging to his clean-shaven abdomen.



Fel Roals

"If the leader is filled with high ambition and if he pursues his aims with audacity and strength of will, he will reach them in spite of all obstacles." - Clausewitz

AGE:
Early-forties.

GENDER:
Male

OCCUPATION:
Garrisoned lieutenant en route to orbiting celestial fortress.

PERSONALITY:
Roals is, by nature, a loner and an outcast, with a ruthless streak to him that makes him extremely dangerous when provoked. Despite this outwardly cold nature, however, his colleagues have noted that that behind his exterior lies a fiercely loyal friend, and a man of good humor and giver of sound advice. Records have shown that him to have many good friends throughout much of the world. He is also shown to be extremely adept at defusing difficult situations, and as a man who would much sooner have everyone return home than to draw his weapon. His experience within the navy makes him a world-weary man, often expressing disdain and veiled insults to those he considers cruel and foolish.

HISTORY:
Fel Roals appeared to be like any other captain within the United States Navy, piloting the destroyer USS Protector with a small fleet under his command, including the famed cruiser USS Independence. However, all was not as it seemed. By 2024, as war dawned, he had begun to use his rank to his advantage, selling military weapons and equipment to any groups willing to pay, as well as beginning to contemplate defecting to the growing Adware threat provided he could get a suitably high price for his services. However, a leak within his personal communications granted a fellow captain to learn of such a treacherous plane, as well as capable of presenting the evidence to boot. Roals was aware that, if news of his deceit and possible defection were to get out, the Alliance's retribution would be swift and deadly, so he moved quickly against the opposing captain and had him murdered. An investigation into the captain's death was launched, but the investigators were unable to identify the culprit, and the cause of the man's death was officially declared to be a result of natural causes.

Shortly after an intense confrontation with an Adware dreadnought, Roals had a secret rendezvous with leaders of the organization, and announced his intention to rebel, promising that his fleet would defect with him. However, the meeting turned out to be an ambush, which resulted in the capture of Roals and the destruction of his command. An Alliance squadron was quickly sent out to retake the imprisoned captain, and was, after numerous attempts, successful, returning him back to Washington in 2029. But, instead of receiving a commendation or whatever else he had expected, Roals was stripped of both his title and whatever fleet he was expecting, demoted to lieutenant, and assigned to serve on the USS Orpheus, a measly orbital structure of Mars in the midst of renovation.

AWAY-MISSION EQUIPMENT:
TK-91 Resistance Suit
Made of a rubber-like material, the TK-91 provides protection against a wide range of toxic substances. The design consists of water-repelling scales that allow the wearer to swim easily, and has pebbled texture much like that of a golf balls in order to reduce drag. Electrofiber technology provids the suit with a wide range of built-in sensors. Referred to as "Smart Skin" in military R&D, data regarding damage to different regions of the body, including blood loss, can be exchanged between the suit and the user's intravenous nanomachines to create a feedback system. While it isn't bullet-proof, it does provide some ballistic protection to the wearer's body. The suit can also apply varying pressure to major internal organs to maximize performance and safeguard their functions.

MSTR-B8
A compact, usually accurate, bull-pup style submachine gun popular with the military thanks to its relatively small size, which is just above that of a standard-issue pistol. Fires three-round bursts, and can be pulsed for a higher rate of fire at the expense of accuracy, making it an appropriate weapon for close-quarters combat. However, it is somewhat weak against armored opponents.

MONEY:
A meager monthly handful granted through military service.

OTHER:
-
Interested.
orugoru stabs protosh.
I just realized how poorly written my first IC post was so if you could just disregard the Henrūda bit that be great.
Orugoru

Some indefinable gloom had taken up to shroud everything, casting its shadow through the wide arc of the window behind the future king's seat, as though the treacherous snow-capped mountaintops that focused the light of the planet's distant sun into bright daylight within Illyuss had somehow been re-positioned, or smudged with the brown haze of smoke that shrouded much of the denser and more industrious portions of the mainland. The light of the brilliant chandeliers hanging overhead seemed brighter than usual, almost harsh, but somehow that only deepened the gloom.

Orugoru discovered now an odd, accidental echo of memory, a new harmonic resonance inside his head, when he looked at the curving view wall that threw into silhouette the sovereign's empty, single large chair. Orugoru had positioned himself within the doorway of the grandiose meeting chamber, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out upon the smoke-hazed morning. He'd turned and finally approached Prothos, the closest of gods to him, mirroring his stance. Gently, he laid a hand on the god's shoulder, and a hint of frown fleeted over his face at how frail seemed the little flesh and bone he had in comparison to the plump, brine-enriched mass beneath the tunic.

"Greetings, brother," Orugoru said slowly, his energy wrought from another sleepless night.

---

Henrūda

They had finally arrived in Ishikara: glittering, beautiful Ishikara, where neat buildings and grand estates reside in the shadow of the imperial palace, with its lime-tree avenues, its shimmering lakes and fountains, its exquisitely tended topiary. The road from Doitsu, a day's journey, was lit by overhanging oil lamps, for the poor in the capital use tallow candles, and the smoke from the tallow manufactures hangs over the city like a death shroud, dirtying the skin and choking the lungs. Dressed in rags, their backs hunched either with the weight of their physical burden or of mental sorrow, the poor people of Doitsu creep through streets that never seem to get light.

The streets stream with open sewers, where mud and human effluent flow freely, coating the legs of those who carry delegates' sedan chairs as they pass through, staring wide-eyed out the windows much like the aforementioned travelers. On the way they passed figures in the fields, shrouded in mist like ghosts. These barefooted peasants tended noble land and starved if the crop is bad, virtual slaves of the landowners.

It was of almost no surprise then that on a hillside overlooking a tiny village outside the imperial homestead, three land-workers wearing leather jerkins laughed and joked, and then, on the count of three, heaved a gallows onto a low wooden platform. One of the men placed a three-legged stool beneath the gallows, then bent to help his two companions as they went to work hammering in the struts that would keep the gallows in place, the rhythmic knock-knock carried on the wind where the travelers sat on their horses, beautiful and calm geldings.

At the bottom of the hill was a village. It was a tiny village, more like a cluster of disconsolate shacks and a tavern that had been scattered around along the perimeter of a brown and muddy square, but it was a village all the same. A freezing rain had eased to a steady and just-as-freezing drizzle and a fierce, bone-chilling wind uncommon in such southeasterly settlements. The villagers waiting in the square wrapped shawls tightly around themselves, clasping shirts at their necks as they awaited the day's entertainment - a hanging. What could be better? Nothing like a good hanging to raise the spirits when the frost had killed much of the previous year's crops and the local landowner was raising his rents and the emperor in Ishikara had new taxes he hoped to enforce.
Oh shiz. I totally didn't catch that. Thanks Rhy.

Looks like he has grenadiers I didn't see riflemen.

@Brink_ We've no gunpowder in this NRP if you could change that would be awesome.


Fixed it up.
@Durandal

You mention that half of your population resides within the 'forest cities', though such large settlements are supposedly home to nearly two-thirds of your population. Does this mean there are cities within the coastal plains, or am I reading too much into your application?

© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet