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6 yrs ago
Current "Out of every hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are targets, nine are the real fighters, for they make the battle. But one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." -Heraclitus
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"I have resolved never to start an unjust war, but never to end a legitimate one except by defeating my enemies." -King Charles XII 'Carolus Rex' of Sweden, 1700
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7 yrs ago
“Civilians are like beans; you buy 'em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy. But you can't buy fighting spirit.” -Robert A. Heinlein
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8 yrs ago
"The soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country” -General George S. Patton Jr.
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8 yrs ago
"Wine has drowned more than the sea." -Roman proverb
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In Dead 7 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Dead 7 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

A collab between @Letter Bee and @CaptainBritton

Ques, the Deal Site (23.311° N, 57.437° E)
1000 hours, 16:6, 4 ABY



“Elias Folen, Viper Security Solutions. Unidentified broadcaster, identify yourself.” The terse voice buzzed over the commlink.

The reply was: “It’s me, Ken Neumann; the kid. I just wanted to thank you again for, well, being kind to me. Not all mercs are like that and I should know; Hutt Space is a hard place. And, well...” a pause as if the person behind the transmission was trying to figure out what to say.

“Well, I wanted to say good luck on your deal, okay? That and to be careful; people are out there to take advantage of any kindness. I also...umm...I also want to say that you’re the first person who has been this good to me without attaching conditions and stuff for a year now! So, thank you for that, I guess; my parents are on another planet, safe but not allowed to talk with me much.”

“Honest contractors are a dying breed.” Elias’s voice softened, the terse tone gone. “I’m well aware of the dangers of Hutt Space. Ain’t my first rodeo, and all that.” He paused, thinking. “It’s easy to be kind, and it’s easier to make friends rather than enemies. I’ve never killed someone that did no wrong to me, and I’ve never regretted any of the kills I’ve made, never will. Truthfully, a day doesn’t go by without a prayer that everyone on both sides makes it home.”

A few moments of silence, before a lighthearted laugh can be heard. “As for me, I was born hating. Hating slavers, hating overseers, hating the Empire and Rebels and Hutts and everyone except my fellow slaves and ex-slaves. I kept everyone around me at arm's’ length because I’m afraid they’d stab me in the back or weigh me down.” An audible sigh. “Then I realized I was alone except for those who depend on me to pick them up when they fall. I’m tired of that; I’m lonely. I’m just a kid and I’ve seen so much and killed more than a few people to get my freedom then it turns out that I can only stay free if I keep on fighting.”

There was a deep weariness to Ken’s voice. “But you, you come here and have me under your power and just let me go and be so kind and good and honorable...that broke me. You actually care when no one else would, and we just met. And now I am breaking and taking risks and confessing everything to a stranger all because I cannot hold it in anymore.”

Elias thought, the receiver still held to his face. “Kid, I think I can help. Hm.” He paused. “Come by the Rigger after the deal is over and we’ll talk, right?”

Was that a sob of joy? Whatever the case, the next words were: “Thanks! Thank you! Thank you very much!”
Interested.
Count me in.
Consider me interested.
Hot. The burning heat of the underbelly, this Black Ship, it choked him, yet all the same, caressed him with its warmth. He laid upon the bunk, eyes wide, the idle settling of the grated floor and the dull hum of the dim red lighting serenading him, casting shadows on the wall which danced as the lighting pulsed. The bunks, stretched endlessly in each direction, housed stormtroopers, all nearly identical, heads shaved to the scalp in buzzcuts, their dull red jumpsuits hugging their bodies as they all lay the same fashion, rigid even in sleep.

But Nathanael could not sleep. It was near, the time to depart upon him. It was only a matter of minutes until the crackle of the intercom would call him to board the shuttle to Arden VII. He'd not heard of it, the barren grey rock, which he told was his new post, to report to one Interrogator Elek. He had not questioned it, following to the letter his route of transport, some sort of robotic impulse to drive him forward. And on the journey, it had been again the mundane routine of each other post. He had awakened, eaten, reported to his superiors, and undertaken constant physical upkeep and attending to roles of patrolling from one hall to the next, a constant circle of meaningless duties.

It mulled in his brain, but he had known why, for it always lingered that he had some higher purpose, some service to the Emperor, and so it pushed him, as it always had, from the very day he came to the Schola Progenium. The dull crackle broke his thoughts, and the hoarse voice roared, the intercom screaming some unintelligible chatter, but he knew the content without hearing, and in a robotic movement, had kicked his legs to one side, and struck the floor, trekking along the grated path between the rows of bunks still holding his comrades. The lift at the end of the corridor elevated him another deck, where his own gear had been waiting, the armory and upper barracks. His stop by the canteen found his appetite not particularly present, however he took that which was known as 'marching food', two flavorless slabs of hardtack compressing an over-seasoned tough cut of some synthetic meat, packed with calories.

He found his way to the armory, and distributed his service number, his gear being dispersed through the chute, courtesy of the quartermaster. Deliberate, quick movements in a habit of swiftness, and his carapace armor now hugged his figure, his hellgun at the right shoulder arms, habitual, and the rest of his armaments secured tightly to his person. With the closing of his rucksack, he started to the lift again, and was brought to the hangar, where the shuttle awaited, swarming with deck crew. He clambered aboard, stowing his hellgun into the aboard racks, his rucksack into his seat's storage compartment, and was buckled. He stared forward as the shuttle rocked, completing its long taxi across the flight deck before the roar of the engines now replaced all noise, the rattle of the shuttle deck muffling any chatter within the cabin, and the shuttle now set off with a shock of g-force before it exited into the free darkness of space, banking to Arden VII.




He had not moved beyond the slightest twitch since he had been seated, and as the shuttle now descended, only then did he stir, now retrieving his rucksack and hellgun, the latter of which he returned to the right shoulder arms. The cabin of the shuttle rocked violently as the gear touched the landing pad, the ramp slamming into the metallic floor and allowing Nathanael and a slew of miscellaneous personnel passage. However, where the other personnel dispersed to their posts, Nathanael had his orders, and banked to the lift. He greeted the attendant with a remark of the rank, before heading unto the lift, which started downwards.

And after a journey downwards, the cage stopped with a cacophony of clanging. Nathanael headed out, his robotic marching motions taking him through whatever corridors might meet him until he met the gaze of Elek and the Captain, and now marched out for review, to report to post, he halted two metres before them, and snapped to a port arms, and then a left order arms, stock of the hellgun now level with his foot, stretching the length of his left leg. His right hand snapped to a crisp salute, and he recited, "Tempestor Corporal Nathanael Cotant, service number 451093, reporting to post, my Lord."
A collab between @Letter Bee and @CaptainBritton

Ques, the Deal Site (23.311° N, 57.437° E)
0940 hours, 16:6, 4 ABY


And as Ken and his followers were guided to the Ark, they were met with the man himself. Elias stood rigid, A280 hooked across his chest, off to the right of a manned E-Web. The Sergeant and Corporal which escorted Ken and company now dispersed, spread out with weapons at the low ready, leaving the prisoners before Elias, who removed his helmet and withdrew his cowl, the rain now soaking into his hair.

If there were chairs, Ken and his team would be sitting on them, before the former would say: “You are the commanding officer of this outfit, right? If so, what do you want to know? Note that if you want information that compromises the freedom of slaves, I will try to kill you and you’ll be forced to kill me.”

Elias had guided them in, indeed, and a table was set, a slab of metal surrounded by folding chairs. However, only Ken was seated, the others allowed only to seat elsewhere, amongst the folding chairs farther from the discussion. Elias, seated opposite of Ken, now drew a cigarra from his breast pocket, biting off the end and lighting it, slipping it between his lips. “Cut him free.” He ordered sternly, and such was, the Sergeant stepped forward to briefly ensure there were no available weaponry on Ken’s person, before drawing his combat knife and slicing away the zipties. “I am. Elias Folen, commander of this private contractor outfit. Am I correct in assuming you’re the commanding individual of your band of, ‘runaways’, did you put it?”

A nod as Ken felt himself more at ease. “Yes, me and my friend Puevi back at base. We’re freed slaves seeking a refuge.” A pause. “You might be wondering why we selected a spot easily reachable by starships; that’s because we’re not without...friends. A smuggler or two that gives us food in exchange for rare herbs and some local fauna. Either way, we don’t mean to cause trouble.” Well, not exactly true.

“We’re only here on a contract. We’ve no interest in turning anyone in. There’ll be quite a bit of activity here in the coming hours, and we’ll be guarding it. My only request is that you depart from this clearing until that activity ceases. We mean you no harm, but if you try anything, my troops won’t be as empathetic as I am.” Elias puffed on the cigarra. “Rest assured, you’ll be allowed to return here by nightfall. Now, you mentioned something about contacting your comrades? I will allow such a thing, so long as you relay my request and comply. Is this a deal?”

Ken offered his right hand to shake. “It’s a deal. Surprising that a merc would be so reasonable. Anyway, I know you heard my name on the comms, but let me introduce myself properly; my name is Ken Neumann.” A thought. “Also, if you need extra manpower for one day - not for this job, but in the future - we might be available. Again, if it doesn’t compromise freedom of slaves.”

He then smiled. “Friends? Well, sort of?”

Elias reciprocated the handshake, replying. “Honest contractors are a dying breed indeed.” Elias paused. “It is enjoyable to meet you. We will keep the offer for manpower in mind. And indeed, if not friends, acquaintances. Now, how about that commlink call?” Elias beckoned the young Corporal with the back-mounted long-range commlink, unhooking the receiver and offering it to Ken. The receiver itself had a piece to listen through, one to speak through, and many dials to specify frequencies. In tandem, Ken’s comrades were cut free from their zipties.

Ken called Puevi through the base’s local frequency; it had only basic encryption and authentication. He would then say: “Puevi, it’s Ken! I and the trio are all right! Anyway, I made a deal with the mercs; they’re letting us go and we get the clearing after nightfall.” Some chatter. “What’s that?! Ah, okay, you got it. Well, we’ll be returning back shortly - prepare dinner!”

He then looked back at Elias. “Thanks again, Mr. Folen! We’ll be escorted out, we’re sure?”

Elias nodded. “No problem. Please, do call me Elias. Indeed, the two who brought you in here are prepared to escort you to the perimeter. Your weaponry will be returned upon arrival there, and you’ll be free to leave.” And the Sergeant and Corporal again were prepared to walk alongside Ken and his comrades.

And with that, Ken and the trio of kids behind him would walk out, actually happy...
I am indeed interested. Despite the absence of the understanding of gunpowder, would the presence of fireworks be possible? Perhaps utilizing roman candles as some sort of crude bombard or cannon, and perhaps pike and shot formations using wadding-firing firecrackers?
Ques, Camp Valor (23.241° N, 58.566° E)
0725 hours, 16:6, 4 ABY


"Lash those crates!" Elias roared above the din, the wind blowing the rains sideways. He made a knifehand motion, and his men seemed to understand, ratchet-strapping the supply that they were to take with them, and continuing to ferry in fuel and supplies. Elias tried to light another cigarra as he shielded himself with his cowl, helmet and shemagh partially assisting, but the end would not catch, and he stowed it, frustrated.

"Get that E-Web mounted on this ramp! I want the T-21s closest to the door for firepower amplification, and I want them first off when we touch down! Get me my team leaders!" And as he yelled, the two corporals and his second, the Sergeant, were before him, and he reiterated the plan before bound up the ramp onto the Ark. And the troops piled in, formed in the rows of fold-out jump seats in between the folded cots which had been their home on their journey to Ques. Elias took a seat close to the door, sat beside a significantly younger Private wielding a T-21. And so parts of the skeleton crew from Company D piled aboard as well, a pilot, a co-pilot, and a weapons operator/crew chief. As the ramp raised and the upper door section lowered, the deck rattled as the G9 Rigger took to the skies, the lower wing unfurling before the speed ebbed and built.


Ques, Above the Deal Site (23.311° N, 57.437° E)
0800 hours, 16:6, 4 ABY


The ramp slowly lowered and the E-Web operator poked the weapon's barrel out, scanning the ground as they moved towards the deal site. Elias, sat onto the ramp along with both T-21 operators and the assistant E-Web operator, observed the ground and rose promptly, crouching and then staggering to the cockpit along the rattling floor. "Circle around! I need a good look at the area before we set down!" The pilot acknowledged, and began to bank left.

Elias stumbled back to the ramp and produced his binoculars once more, scanning the ground and standing by to direct the E-Web's fire. And yet, he saw nothing, the rain, though considerably lighter than earlier, still blanketing everything with a grey shroud. Elias, reluctant, stated under his breath, "I have a bad feeling about this.." before keying his commlink. "Set us down!" And so the vessel began to angle downwards, and the wing folded as they edged towards the ground, and Elias, over the thumping of his heart, heard the gear lower and prepare to touch down.


Ques, the Deal Site (23.311° N, 57.437° E)
0820 hours, 16:6, 4 ABY


And no sooner had those metal legs touched the ground than the T-21s were out, followed by the streaming ranks of the teams, the command team following Elias, including the E-Web, now dismantled with the operator carrying the weapon itself and the assistant carrying the tripod and ammunition battery, searching for an opportune area to set up. "All teams, proceed with initial phase. I want my team to hang back, sans the E-Web!" Elias barked into his commlink, throwing knifehand left and right. And the troops dispersed, fanning out into the respectable clearing among the towering trees.
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