BingTheWing said
Does Morse code radio exist here? Or, if Samuel Morse never existed, what would we call the dot things?
If it hasn't been written it hasn't been established. Use your best judgment.
Cam
Member
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 178 (0.05 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Cam 10 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
If it hasn't been written it hasn't been established. Use your best judgment.
drallinix said
I like the warrant officer plus if our unit is running 3+ mechs we need an engineer my guy is a genius, but he can only repair so much.
I noticed the need for a support role myself, which is why I thought it would be a good direction to take. Plus, add in a little black ops history for a bit of flare.
I imagined that he might have been on loan to Polish forces before the Russians re-absorbed the eastern bloc and there may have been some un-reported fighting going on before the regional governments finally capitulated to the Ruskies.
Name: Jackson P. DuBois
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Background: Jack is a career military man who has known nothing else since his eighteenth birthday. He has served faithfully in the US Army’s corps of engineers a welder for twenty years now. Officially. While an expert at his trade, Jack has been working with a NATO covert operations group in the eastern bloc for the better part of a decade gathering intel in regions like Poland and Bulgaria. The exact nature of the task groups work has been repressed by political interests and lots of black ink, but suffice to say that his skill set includes far more than repairing damaged front-line mechs in the field.
Rank: Warrant Officer
Unit: Unnasigned
Role: Chief Maintenance Officer, Tactical Advisor
Gear: .44 magnum revolver, M-14
Mech: N/A
Age: 38
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Background: Jack is a career military man who has known nothing else since his eighteenth birthday. He has served faithfully in the US Army’s corps of engineers a welder for twenty years now. Officially. While an expert at his trade, Jack has been working with a NATO covert operations group in the eastern bloc for the better part of a decade gathering intel in regions like Poland and Bulgaria. The exact nature of the task groups work has been repressed by political interests and lots of black ink, but suffice to say that his skill set includes far more than repairing damaged front-line mechs in the field.
Rank: Warrant Officer
Unit: Unnasigned
Role: Chief Maintenance Officer, Tactical Advisor
Gear: .44 magnum revolver, M-14
Mech: N/A
Still recruiting?
Fortunately, I had my next post pre-written, and have responded in a timely manner.
Your post was fine. The only discrepancy was your mention of Racksdin. It is one of Undea's three continents, the only other one that we've named so far is Lithisagna. You referred to it as a city.
That's fine though. Here in the great state of 'Murica, I think the flub gives an interesting insight into who Hurtz is as a person. It is a minor mistake that can be worked with.
J.T. Crawford is my character, though. Edited into the OP here.
Your post was fine. The only discrepancy was your mention of Racksdin. It is one of Undea's three continents, the only other one that we've named so far is Lithisagna. You referred to it as a city.
That's fine though. Here in the great state of 'Murica, I think the flub gives an interesting insight into who Hurtz is as a person. It is a minor mistake that can be worked with.
J.T. Crawford is my character, though. Edited into the OP here.
My name is Jackson T. Crawford, and ever since I was a child; hell, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a soldier.
My father was a soldier. His father was a soldier. It was in our blood. My brother, Warren, enlisted the day he turned eighteen. Our mother was so proud.
But I always knew it was a dream I couldn’t achieve: a life that I could never have. I was diagnosed with asthma when I was three years old.
It was heartbreaking, always knowing exactly what I wanted to do and knowing, no matter how badly I wanted it, I never could. I felt cheated. Denied of my blood right. But everything changed when I was nineteen years old.
Everything changed when the war started.
No one cared anymore. It didn’t matter if you were an asthmatic. It didn’t matter if you had a flat foot. It probably didn’t matter even if you were missing a thumb. It seemed like they drafted everyone. So long as you could walk and carry a rifle, they were more than happy to take you in.
On the first day of fall my nineteenth year, 258 young men from my home town left for a small camp in the mountains a few mile south. I was overwhelmed with joy to be among them.
Despite the broader draft criteria, training was as hard as dad made it sound in his stories. They wanted us to succeed though, too much hung in the balance. I was only one of 46 asthmatics in the unit and every one of us was required to carry a rescue inhaler at all times. Yes, it was hard. But it was to help us. They needed us. We were valuable.
PT was exhausting, but the classroom was where all the tension truly was. The war was still young, only in its first weeks, but there was already a lot of controversy surrounding the issue. Part of our training was mental conditioning to fight the enemy, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to convince me to fight. I was simply happy to have the opportunity to serve.
For six long weeks we trained. We ran. We climbed. We crawled. Through the rain and mud and snow of the mountain air we prepared for struggle below. I had never felt so alive.
For six weeks.
My first day in the field I shot thirty six people.
It was kind of funny how after six weeks we called it the field. Only a little more than a month ago, we called the smoke and broken glass in the streets home. Home was far away now, separated from us by the flames and an eternity. No, this place wasn’t home. The town, however, was the same.
I shot thirty six people that first day. Of those thirty six, I knew four by name. Of those thirty six, only sixteen were armed.
It was liberating.
I never questioned anything they asked me to do. I trusted my commanders and they needed men like me. The rules were simple, and it didn’t take much to stay alive. Don’t help the enemy. That was it. That was all you had to do to survive.
On that first day, I stopped thirty six people from helping the enemy.
Not everyone thought the same way I did though, and for a while it caused some problems. In my unit’s first three weeks of active duty, we had suffered zero casualties but only 58 of us remained.
Deserters. Two hundred deserters and traitors. For a while, I was disgusted to be associated with them. It didn’t matter though. Before long, we were absorbed into the larger 12th Infantry Regiment. Those who had left were rebels, and they deserved the charges of treason they got, as well as everything that went with it.
By this point I had already been promoted to sergeant. Sure, it was only a field promotion, but it wouldn’t be long before it was on the books. I had proven myself. I was loyal. I could get the job done. People respected me and answered to me. It was a great feeling for a kid only nineteen years old. After a month of fighting, they had given me my first medal. A Commendation of Honor and Loyalty they called it. It wouldn’t be my last.
Loyalty. It was the only thing that meant anything. Sure, the politics might have been shaky, but out there in the field you knew who had your back. The rules were simple. All you had to do was follow them.
No one batted an eye when the capital fell. The war had been fought for six months when news reached our outpost. The following day, all of the politicians had been flown in. There were parades in the streets, although that was mostly just to keep the civilians in check. There were speeches and rallies, but it wasn’t like any of it mattered. It’s not like anything of value had been lost. It was a little know fact, but It was a fact none the less. The government’s real power was with the military. The rebels never understood that. That’s why they could never win. They relied on people to carry the weight of the nation, and it just simply couldn’t be done. It took generals to lead. It took soldiers. People just got in the way.
So they had the capital. So what? What was it really worth? Over population? Disease? Let them have it, I thought. We had the oil fields. We had the farms. We had the rubber and metal working factories. We had it all. We held our positions and we held them well. There wasn’t anything to worry about.
That was the day they made me a Captain. 20 years old now, and I was a captain. The world was ours and we knew it. We lived like kings, and why not? Who could tell us not to? Sure, we heard the things they called us; the things they said behind our backs. But it didn’t matter. They never saw that.
It didn’t matter what they called you. It mattered what you answered to.
I didn’t have to answer to anything but, “Yes, sir/no, sir.”
It was perfect.
We were soldiers.
-Captain J.T. Crawford
My father was a soldier. His father was a soldier. It was in our blood. My brother, Warren, enlisted the day he turned eighteen. Our mother was so proud.
But I always knew it was a dream I couldn’t achieve: a life that I could never have. I was diagnosed with asthma when I was three years old.
It was heartbreaking, always knowing exactly what I wanted to do and knowing, no matter how badly I wanted it, I never could. I felt cheated. Denied of my blood right. But everything changed when I was nineteen years old.
Everything changed when the war started.
No one cared anymore. It didn’t matter if you were an asthmatic. It didn’t matter if you had a flat foot. It probably didn’t matter even if you were missing a thumb. It seemed like they drafted everyone. So long as you could walk and carry a rifle, they were more than happy to take you in.
On the first day of fall my nineteenth year, 258 young men from my home town left for a small camp in the mountains a few mile south. I was overwhelmed with joy to be among them.
Despite the broader draft criteria, training was as hard as dad made it sound in his stories. They wanted us to succeed though, too much hung in the balance. I was only one of 46 asthmatics in the unit and every one of us was required to carry a rescue inhaler at all times. Yes, it was hard. But it was to help us. They needed us. We were valuable.
PT was exhausting, but the classroom was where all the tension truly was. The war was still young, only in its first weeks, but there was already a lot of controversy surrounding the issue. Part of our training was mental conditioning to fight the enemy, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to convince me to fight. I was simply happy to have the opportunity to serve.
For six long weeks we trained. We ran. We climbed. We crawled. Through the rain and mud and snow of the mountain air we prepared for struggle below. I had never felt so alive.
For six weeks.
My first day in the field I shot thirty six people.
It was kind of funny how after six weeks we called it the field. Only a little more than a month ago, we called the smoke and broken glass in the streets home. Home was far away now, separated from us by the flames and an eternity. No, this place wasn’t home. The town, however, was the same.
I shot thirty six people that first day. Of those thirty six, I knew four by name. Of those thirty six, only sixteen were armed.
It was liberating.
I never questioned anything they asked me to do. I trusted my commanders and they needed men like me. The rules were simple, and it didn’t take much to stay alive. Don’t help the enemy. That was it. That was all you had to do to survive.
On that first day, I stopped thirty six people from helping the enemy.
Not everyone thought the same way I did though, and for a while it caused some problems. In my unit’s first three weeks of active duty, we had suffered zero casualties but only 58 of us remained.
Deserters. Two hundred deserters and traitors. For a while, I was disgusted to be associated with them. It didn’t matter though. Before long, we were absorbed into the larger 12th Infantry Regiment. Those who had left were rebels, and they deserved the charges of treason they got, as well as everything that went with it.
By this point I had already been promoted to sergeant. Sure, it was only a field promotion, but it wouldn’t be long before it was on the books. I had proven myself. I was loyal. I could get the job done. People respected me and answered to me. It was a great feeling for a kid only nineteen years old. After a month of fighting, they had given me my first medal. A Commendation of Honor and Loyalty they called it. It wouldn’t be my last.
Loyalty. It was the only thing that meant anything. Sure, the politics might have been shaky, but out there in the field you knew who had your back. The rules were simple. All you had to do was follow them.
No one batted an eye when the capital fell. The war had been fought for six months when news reached our outpost. The following day, all of the politicians had been flown in. There were parades in the streets, although that was mostly just to keep the civilians in check. There were speeches and rallies, but it wasn’t like any of it mattered. It’s not like anything of value had been lost. It was a little know fact, but It was a fact none the less. The government’s real power was with the military. The rebels never understood that. That’s why they could never win. They relied on people to carry the weight of the nation, and it just simply couldn’t be done. It took generals to lead. It took soldiers. People just got in the way.
So they had the capital. So what? What was it really worth? Over population? Disease? Let them have it, I thought. We had the oil fields. We had the farms. We had the rubber and metal working factories. We had it all. We held our positions and we held them well. There wasn’t anything to worry about.
That was the day they made me a Captain. 20 years old now, and I was a captain. The world was ours and we knew it. We lived like kings, and why not? Who could tell us not to? Sure, we heard the things they called us; the things they said behind our backs. But it didn’t matter. They never saw that.
It didn’t matter what they called you. It mattered what you answered to.
I didn’t have to answer to anything but, “Yes, sir/no, sir.”
It was perfect.
We were soldiers.
-Captain J.T. Crawford
There is no application. Just write your heart out, brother.
http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/67193/posts/ic?page=1#post-2086003
Game is up. Direct further discussion to the OOC
Game is up. Direct further discussion to the OOC
EXTRA EXTRA! WAR ON THE HOMEFRONT?
“Times have been tough in the world, but conflict in the province of Hannsdover certainly takes the cake.” {sic} Sebastian Wiatt.
It has been reported that the industrious nation that gave us the first air-plane fifty years ago has finally met a social and political tipping point. The Province of Hannsdover has seen the first shots fired of what is expected to be a long and gruesome civil war.
“The government can’t keep pushing people around,” one man explained. “Eventually, something has to give.”
But what has led to this bloody chain of events? Only months ago, Governer Leon Hurtz was estimated to have a policy approval rating of about 65%. What has changed?
First, these numbers have appeared to have been a complete forgery. A Continental Investigation Team sent from Lithisagna Grove has unearthed shocking evidence of voter intimidation and unlawful use of military force in civilian centers. Just how long has this civil war been brewing?
“People have been whispering for a long time.” ex-Colonial Pete Jasper told Lithisagna News Network yesterday. “No one had been brave enough to cry out, though. Now, though, the Handover Federalist Party has everyone looking at them for an explanation. The the Continental Congress convicts them of these charges, no nation on Lithisagna soil will support them. The tyranny is going to end.”
The Democratic Congress of Lithisagna has strict international laws supporting human rights, and the revolutionary forces in Hannsdover are sure to receive prompt support from their neighbors. However, some believe that this may have far-reaching consequences for the future.
“The federalists are backed by powers in Racksdin. So long as the trade of metals from Hannsdover still reach the shores of nations like Faren and Gatspin, the war on the coast is going to be long, and extremely bloody.” - Jasper.
Will this civil war in Hannsdover bring further fighting in mainland Lithisagna? How long can the Federalist Party hold out with their support from the Racksdin dictatorships? Only time will tell.
That’s all on the issue for now. Thank you for reading Lithisagna News Network.
Shelly Peters, Executive Editor.
“Times have been tough in the world, but conflict in the province of Hannsdover certainly takes the cake.” {sic} Sebastian Wiatt.
It has been reported that the industrious nation that gave us the first air-plane fifty years ago has finally met a social and political tipping point. The Province of Hannsdover has seen the first shots fired of what is expected to be a long and gruesome civil war.
“The government can’t keep pushing people around,” one man explained. “Eventually, something has to give.”
But what has led to this bloody chain of events? Only months ago, Governer Leon Hurtz was estimated to have a policy approval rating of about 65%. What has changed?
First, these numbers have appeared to have been a complete forgery. A Continental Investigation Team sent from Lithisagna Grove has unearthed shocking evidence of voter intimidation and unlawful use of military force in civilian centers. Just how long has this civil war been brewing?
“People have been whispering for a long time.” ex-Colonial Pete Jasper told Lithisagna News Network yesterday. “No one had been brave enough to cry out, though. Now, though, the Handover Federalist Party has everyone looking at them for an explanation. The the Continental Congress convicts them of these charges, no nation on Lithisagna soil will support them. The tyranny is going to end.”
The Democratic Congress of Lithisagna has strict international laws supporting human rights, and the revolutionary forces in Hannsdover are sure to receive prompt support from their neighbors. However, some believe that this may have far-reaching consequences for the future.
“The federalists are backed by powers in Racksdin. So long as the trade of metals from Hannsdover still reach the shores of nations like Faren and Gatspin, the war on the coast is going to be long, and extremely bloody.” - Jasper.
Will this civil war in Hannsdover bring further fighting in mainland Lithisagna? How long can the Federalist Party hold out with their support from the Racksdin dictatorships? Only time will tell.
That’s all on the issue for now. Thank you for reading Lithisagna News Network.
Shelly Peters, Executive Editor.
Welcome, one, welcome all to the Letters From Home RP.
My name is Cameron, your friendly neighborhood GM.
Letters From Home is a unique role-playing experience in that all of the roles being played must be expressed indirectly through “hand-written” letter, journals, newspaper editorials, and even official documents.
As a player in LFH, your goal is to investigate and uncover the mysteries of our in-game world by writing these documents. Through collaboration and creative writing, we will shape entire histories and cultures for the peoples of our world.
First, the basics:
As a player, you have an unlimited number of characters at your disposal to tell a story. Other players may take up the pen for characters you create, given your permission. Although, You are only allowed up to three characters that you may write for exclusively. Anything else may be considered public domain.
The OOC is kind of a game in and of itself. I would like the players to consider themselves kind of archeologist, putting together and unearthing new information about a forgotten world. As far as the game’s cannon is concerned, there must be a degree of teamwork and cooperation for it to exist. I expect there to be disputes. That is the nature of the game I wish to create. People remember things differently, they lie, and sometimes are just down-right wrong. Together, the players must determine what is fact and what is fiction.
That pretty much sums it up. I am giving you, the player, a lot of liberty in this game. All I ask in return is good writing.
Next, a few things about the world:
We are investigating the fictional world of Undea. The world is geographically and evolutionary similar to Earth, but culturally and historically it is up to the players to decide. Suffice to say that we are in a quasi-modern setting (there are no space travel or alien life present).
There are three continents on Undea, each containing a number of nations and inhospitable regions. Two of the planets three continents have been named so far. Lithisagna and Racksdin. The nations in Lithuanian answer to a governing body called the Democratic Continental Congress which promotes human rights and indivigual freedom. Little has yet been learned about the other two land masses.
The approximate population of the world is about 3 billion, unevenly distributed between the continents.
Major nations are both seafaring and airborne. Their militaries are strong and may use conventional weapons and tactics.
Undea is reaching a time of crisis. Resources are scarce in many places and world war is on the horizon. Players may choose to follow this chain of events, although in the game, there is room for almost any story to be told.
And I think that’s all I’m going to tell you. The rest is up for you to decide.
Reserved Characters:
JT Crawford - played by Cam
My name is Cameron, your friendly neighborhood GM.
Letters From Home is a unique role-playing experience in that all of the roles being played must be expressed indirectly through “hand-written” letter, journals, newspaper editorials, and even official documents.
As a player in LFH, your goal is to investigate and uncover the mysteries of our in-game world by writing these documents. Through collaboration and creative writing, we will shape entire histories and cultures for the peoples of our world.
First, the basics:
As a player, you have an unlimited number of characters at your disposal to tell a story. Other players may take up the pen for characters you create, given your permission. Although, You are only allowed up to three characters that you may write for exclusively. Anything else may be considered public domain.
The OOC is kind of a game in and of itself. I would like the players to consider themselves kind of archeologist, putting together and unearthing new information about a forgotten world. As far as the game’s cannon is concerned, there must be a degree of teamwork and cooperation for it to exist. I expect there to be disputes. That is the nature of the game I wish to create. People remember things differently, they lie, and sometimes are just down-right wrong. Together, the players must determine what is fact and what is fiction.
That pretty much sums it up. I am giving you, the player, a lot of liberty in this game. All I ask in return is good writing.
Next, a few things about the world:
We are investigating the fictional world of Undea. The world is geographically and evolutionary similar to Earth, but culturally and historically it is up to the players to decide. Suffice to say that we are in a quasi-modern setting (there are no space travel or alien life present).
There are three continents on Undea, each containing a number of nations and inhospitable regions. Two of the planets three continents have been named so far. Lithisagna and Racksdin. The nations in Lithuanian answer to a governing body called the Democratic Continental Congress which promotes human rights and indivigual freedom. Little has yet been learned about the other two land masses.
The approximate population of the world is about 3 billion, unevenly distributed between the continents.
Major nations are both seafaring and airborne. Their militaries are strong and may use conventional weapons and tactics.
Undea is reaching a time of crisis. Resources are scarce in many places and world war is on the horizon. Players may choose to follow this chain of events, although in the game, there is room for almost any story to be told.
And I think that’s all I’m going to tell you. The rest is up for you to decide.
Reserved Characters:
JT Crawford - played by Cam
© 2007-2024