Brocktree

...

To be fair that thread wouldn't have been the most active- it was more coincidental considering beforebthe last 3 ic posts 11 irl days had past.

Regardless, this is a needed thread.

*The Space-Bar ~ A Virtual Tavern ~ Always Open*

Oh yeah, its happening.

The Parallel Campaign - An Expansive Spacefaring RPG

"Hrrgh... Six!"

It was his first time on solomon since passing through here as a formality during his initial induction as a sentinel. He was not particularly fond of the planet- it was crawling with xenos. He missed the rolling hills and valleys of appalachia, and more than that he missed when everyone had two arms and two legs. It was also incredibly annoying that the vast majority of workout equipment in the sentinel gym was designed for some really funky physiology.

"Hrrrgh... Se-ven!"

That's not to say it was all bad. The other sentinels, for the most part, had a similar outlook among all species it seemed. This meant that the xenos he specifically worked with weren't that bad. And some of the other human members of the vanguard stationed in the complex were able to point him to areas that were frequented mostly by humans. But still, he always eventually got tired of the urban local he was stationed in. He could only take so much polite tolerance before desiring to go somewhere where he could speak freely.

"Huh-grrrrrrr..... EIGHT!"

With a sigh, his shaking arms slowly set the weight back on its stand, and he sat up. For three months the sentinels had had him off the active APRCOM roster; supposedly it was against regulations to keep putting an operator on ops back to back. He hated regulations, and was tired of pumping iron in this fucking gym. And he could only read so many medical journals on kyremian chemical complications before he wanted to throw the tablet against the wall.

He slowly made his way into the sentinel's shared lounge- empty at the time being. He hadn't even bothered to towel off, he merely sat his sweaty ass down and tried to contemplate what to do with the OTHER 22 hours in the day.

*The Space-Bar ~ A Virtual Tavern ~ Always Open*

@bespeckledceph Fuck yeah my man.

*The Space-Bar ~ A Virtual Tavern ~ Always Open*

@Drakey

Main Floor

Demetree stood up from his third jack and coke. He had been hanging around the place the last couple of days; his attempts at job hunting had been miserable, to say the least. With his money tight, drinking in this VR was the only thing he could really afford. As he had sat there nursing his drink and giving a stink eye to anyone that looked at him (though he was too drunk to remember that behind his shaded glasses it just kinda looked creepy) he could not have helped but overhear the weird woman's declaration.

The air hung with a pregnant pause as everyone nearby was stunned. The two she was addressing certainly had no words for her. So Demetree, armed with good timing, and the courage found at the bottom of a bottle, boldly strode up next to her. He moved his glasses up onto his forehead and with a broad smile said "Well, miss scary dragon lady. If you're looking for a gunner, you'll be pleased to know that im a rather decent shot myself- and looking for work." The liquor lent him the confidence he needed to try and oversell himself a bit.

*The Space-Bar ~ A Virtual Tavern ~ Always Open*

A Young Man Looking for Danger

Bastion: The Last Tank Crew

Hey, here is my reserve character for yall.

Gerhardt Koenigsbauer

Name: Gerhardt Koenigsbauer

Age: 38

Height: 5' 7"

Weight: 134 lbs

Nationality: German

Tank Role: Mechanic

Infantry Role: Mortarman

Personality: Gerhardt has been an avid learner since he was a small child, constantly getting in trouble scouring ruins for books and anything not annihilated in the wars. He loves taking things apart and putting them back together, and has done so his whole life. He has always been optimistic and a dreamer, spending most of his youth with his head in the clouds and nurturing the small animals that survived the decades of war. It is only in the later years of his life that he has start to come to terms with killing, but more than anything he desires to discover and build. He is naturally a bit eccentric and his passive tendencies put him at odds with most people more firmly rooted in the cruel reality of this life.

Bio: Gerhardt was born an only child, or at least, he knew he had no siblings growing up. He, his father Richard and Mother Catherine all lived in a fortified town east of the ruins of Nuremberg along the Danube. One of the last remaining settlements in germany, it was rather large considering it was built with hiding from the AI in mind.

From the age of three and onward his parents, both of whom were well educated, began to teach him to read. He took to it voraciously, and started reading anything and everything he could get his hands on. As soon as he finished every book in his house, he started scouring the town- any neighbor, any official place or unofficial library, none was safe from his quest for knowledge. He wound up worrying his parents sick and frankly it is a miracle nothing bad ever happened to him.

Because of all this reading, however, he made no friends. He began to pick up a reputation as a weirdo and a recluse. On the few occasions he attempted to socialize or make friends, he was driven away mercilessly. And so, he retreated further onto his books. Even when he started attending school, he was very careful to avoid the other children, and they returned the favor.

Not to say he had no human contact, however- his mother and father spent most of their time not working (his father designed new expansions to the town, and his mother was a lab director charged with researching the effects of the mutations on the human psyche and physiology) nurturing and teaching their son. His mother was especially dear to him, and she taught him all the wonder and beauty and hope that still existed in this god forsaken world. His father taught him strength and virtue, and encouraged his adventurous side and his thirst for knowledge despite the anxiety it gave his mother.

For his tenth birthday they gave the Gerhardt his very own tool set, and immediately set to work taking apart anything in the house he could touch, under his fathers careful supervision. (The only thing they wound up not being able to put back together was an old clock, which chagrined his father as it hadn't been cheap.) To avoid the dismantlement of his home, from then on Richard allowed Gerhardt to come to his work after school. There, instead of sitting up in the office with his father designing things on paper, he spent his afternoons on the line with the men who made it happen.

He would've spent the rest of his life like that, doing nothing but reading and building and making; but reality stepped in at last. At age 16 he was conscripted, like all children his age, into the landwehr. For a year of his life, he was taught to follow orders and the only thing he took apart was his rifle to clean it. He was taught of all the enemies that faced them and was encouraged to be brave. But the sound of gunfire scared him and the thought of death was something that to him had only ever existed in a book. He was a sorry excuse for a soldier and when all was said and done, they put him in supply. He did not volunteer for full time service- merely fulfilling his duties in the landwehr.

But this didn't last very long. Not six months had he been removed from his initial training did one day a large force of the AI's drone and tanks show up on their doorstep. His mother and father, being valuable citizens, were sent to shelter- but he, having not even completed his education yet, was sent to the walls. He barely had time to grab his toolbag before being hurried along to the fighting.

It was hell. Explosions, screaming, the buzzing of drones and the chatter of machine gun fire. He cowered behind his parapet, occasionally sticking his gun over it and shooting blindly, flinching back as fire inevitably came back his way. Suddenly, the wall next to him crumbled to peices, and through it rolled a tank; he acknowledged it with hopeless doom.

But thankfully his comrades had that traditional german warrior spirit. With incredible timing, two young men charged beneath the tank's turret depression. The first struck the armor with lance that had a copper EFP (explosively formed projectile) that cut through it like butter, destroying the farraday cage protecting the circuitry inside. The second one tossed a high radio frenquency emitter inside, frying the circuitry. The two young men shouted their jubilation on the kill, and moved on.

Gerhardt sat there, dumbfounded, staring at the hole in the now immobile tank. He looked inside and saw that instead of some murderous device, it was a machine like any other. And before he realized he was doing it, he leapt through the hole and did what he did best- figuring out what made this machine tick.

After a couple misfires, he managed to determine how to rotate the turret, initiate the reload mechanism, and fire the gun. He timidly stuck his head outside the tank, and was greeted by a terrifying sight- a massive machine was laying waste to the town, flames spitting from two appendages and a massive cannon opening up with reckless abandon. Realizing the town had expended all its heavy ordinance that if he didn't do anything, that machine would kill his parents. He did his best to line up a shot, and squeezing his eyes shut, he fired.

Through a miracle, the shell penetrated and ignited one of the fuel canisters for its massive flamethrowers. In seconds the monstrous machine was up in flames. He smiled to himself, thinking he would be a hero. Suddenly, one of the full time soldiers came up to him as he stuck his head out of the tank. He told gerhardt to make for the river, and to help the civilians evacuate. Remembering he was in a war zone, he scrambled out of the tank and ran. Behind him, the brave sons of germany fought to their last breath on the crumbling walls, singing of valhalla.

By happenstance, he and his father boarded the same ship on the danube. His mother, his father said, had been separated from him, but he assured him they would search for her among the other refugee ships along the danube. Gerhardt never saw her again.

For five years, father and son wandered with the other refugees from place to place, attempting to find a place to build a new life. On several occasions, they fought back to back, his father's cool headedness keeping his less stalwart son safe. Eventually, after much searching, they came to japan- sick and malnourished. They came into the town of Izayoi, and in exchange for items Gerhardt had made out of salvaged drones, they received food and treatment. But his father was old and his body worn down by the journey. His body gave out there in that little village, and Gerhardt buried him alongside the local's countless dead.

Two weeks after arriving, the village elder came to him with one of his devices in hand; he told gerhardt they had use for an enterprising young man like him. Gerhardt, in nearly broken japanese, said he would do anything.

And that is how he came to help build the bastion.

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Typing on phone

Demetree Kolek

Demetree Kolek

Name: Demetree Kolek

Height: 5'10"
Weight: 200 lbs
Age: 22
Race/Species: Human

Tier/Influence: 1 (mundane); able-bodied and with basic martial competence.

Group(s): N/A

Appearance: Average height, but very broad and muscular. His chest is large but not quite barrel shaped, yet his back is extremely large and powerful, suggesting he is built like a contemporary wrestler. Has strawberry blonde hair and beady blue eyes, and on any given day he has enough facial hair to look like he is toying with the concept of a beard. He head and jaw are very square, with a very pronounced and also square chin. Usually wears some combination of loose fitting khaki style pants with some sort of button down over his undershirt. Only consistantly wears a set of shaded shooting glasses that are prescription and ballistics rated, with a nominal HUD integrated. His eyes almost always sparkle with a friendly joviality or a pissed off aura.

Personality: Outgoing, gregarious, confident and competent. A very outspoken and straightforward man, he always says what is on his mind, unless he would be obviously fucking himself by doing so. The friends he keeps tend to be abrasive, so when someone shows him kindness or concern he is usually genuinely gracious and surprised. He does his best to take care of those worse off or weaker than him. Has a temper like an angry bull when worked up.

Abilities, Talents, Traits, Powers:

• ^{( 1 )} Combat Aid -- Understands that bleeding is bad for your health. Could competently apply a tourniquet in a stressful situation, and knows not to put it around the neck.
• ^{( 1 )} Marksmanship -- Can proficiently use most basic firearms with little notice- could guestimate the operation of anything more advanced within a half hour. Could be relied on to hit the broad side of something.
• ^{( 1 )} Survival -- Understands old fashion analog techniques for land navigation. Is smart enough to kill and overcook most things that run around. Remembers red and yellow is a deadly fellow.

Items:

• ^{( 1 )} Hunting Rifle -- A civilian available hunting rifle meant for medium sized game.
• ^{( 1 )} Bowie Knife -- A knife with a 12 inch blade for men with an unreasonable infatuation with knives.
• ^{( 1 )} Home Made Body Armor -- Bought a cheap surplus plate carrier and found some rather heavy steel plates. He shot his gun with it a couple times and it seemed to work. Entered it for a darwin award.

History: Demetree had joined his planet's military as soon as he was old enough to, hoping to do three things: see the stars, bang hot women, and live a life of danger. After four years of mostly bitch work occasionally interspersed by somewhat useful training, Demetree did not bother to re-enlist, citing his reason for retirement as: "if i spend another moment in this god forsaken shit hell of a unit, im either going to kill myself, or half of all you." Needless to say he was out soon after that. Once a couple months had passed an epiphany came to him; try again, but as a civilian. Gathering up the supplies he imagined he would need, he flew off to Vasishka to start his new life as a gun for hire.

The Parallel Campaign - An Expansive Spacefaring RPG

@perpenheimer are you saying he should make her age that high because thats the last time the collective was in conflict?

Edit: as a follow up, does that mean i am correct in assuming that hailing from an exile world makes opportunity for veterancy that much higher due to their naturally independent and fractious states?