deegee

Ghosts of Highlake

How goes character making?

@AwesomeZero5

90% done -- have a look at the character tab... my character is up (minus a bio... still not sure how much I want to post!

Ghosts of Highlake

Oh yes, all of those would be good possibilities. Or someone who simply falls into a minority group of some sort and has received a great deal of discrimination and hatred as a result. Like an Asian-American (who received terrible treatment in the West) and or a Black man making their way in the West...

Ghosts of Highlake

@deegee

I had an idea for a character, but I'm afraid it might be similar to the one you made. He would be a mercenary who was who would survive a lynching and would be after those who tried to kill him. Or my character could be a priest or preacher who is lynched by some racists and trying to stop a family from being killed. Surviving the lynching and getting revenge on the men who wanted to kill him.

@Eviledd1984

Hiya Eviledd1984! Ever seen Magnificent Seven? (Either the original or the remake?) or Silverado? Or Deadwood? All large ensemble pieces. No clear, central character. (Well, arguably. But I would say almost any of the characters are potentially central, main characters to the story.) There are so many permutations of the cowboy character, so many tropes to play on, so many real life hardships to draw on, there need be no real reason for that much overlap. Something unique would be just as fulfilling!

Seeking a Western

Character mostly up! (trying to decide just how much Bio I'll even give...)

Seeking a Western

Hi all -- many, many apologies. I "floated" a Star Wars RP (incidentally called 'floating') and it really took off. This one kind of took a back burner, but I have not forgotten the tumbleweeds, wide brims and the cotton-mouth after a swig of whiskey!

In fact, I might well put up a character sheet this afternoon over on the RP thread. (link a few posts up from here.)

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

There was little left to say (and Fel hated hearing his voice through Imperial vocoders... felt like the past catching up with him, and he didn't need the reminder) so he simply took a heading, sighted in his T-21 and digitally connected it to the helmet's tac readout, checked the area at the bottom of the ramp for any signs of movement or life, and went back to button up the ship. Jet looked like he had been poured into the uniform, it fit like a glove. Whether he'd ever admit it or not, his physique made being a Stormtrooper look good. And Aellyn? ...Fel stifled the urge to make a joke about needing to run the plastoid plating through the cleaners' a couple more times, gave the thumbs-up, and moved out.

There was an ever-present wind that sand blasted the armour with anything that Lotho could whip up. Fel kept them on their main heading, deviating only to avoid mounds of refuse that looked more like trouble than actual traversable geography. All things being equal, they made good time. More than once, either Fel or Jet spotted something that the UA could possibly use in the future (or six weeks ago...) but they did their level best to not look like kids in a candy-shop, instead marking locations with transponders for retrieval later, keeping on task. Still, it wasn't every day you were faced with a you-pull parts lot that covers a whole planet, and actually has parts for an 150+ year old vessel. Fel was occasionally lazy, often cash-strapped... but mostly, the main reason the UA was always in need of something was that the parts were hard to find, or that more efficient, newer components needed heavy modification (thank you, Jet.)

As they fell into routine (checking heat signatures, moving in formation, double-checking headings, checking the tight spots and possible threats...) Fel thought of the task at hand, Abelene and her people, the promise of credits filling their fuel tanks and bellies. It gave him focus, determination. Time counted on, and keeps countin'. They had covered better than four of the five kilometers in a little over an hour. The terrain was deceptively troublesome, and they were taking every precaution to not be seen, especially as they neared the settlement, and the greater concentration of Imps.

There was as many variations of Stormie helmet as there were hot meals in a month. Most looked indistinguishable from the outside, aside from the obvious snow trooper, and scout troopers, and the paint and unit insignia of individual squads, mostly added in the field. Luckily, most variants did not include a target reticule. (heh.) The helmets Fel had acquired were pretty stripped-down, no datapad uplinks, no vacuum capability... just the standard issue polarized lenses and toxin scrubbers. It wasn't unlike Fel's pilot's helmet. Images of Dantooine flashed through Fel's mind. The fire... always the fire...

Galdaart shook his head to clear the images, steadying his breathing. Calling a halt to the group, he took another bearing and called the others forward. "Settlement's just over that rise, I make it a little over 500 meters. ImpStar is on the far side of the settlement, drydocked in a valley to the East. Fastest route, and best chance of getting our hands on an Imp uniform is to move straight through town. Game faces, folks. Don't feel like you need to quote Imperial regs here... just act like you own the place." Fel checked the load in the T-21, its near-3" bore more than a little intimidating for anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end, and moved off toward Derrivan's Point.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel boiled under his collar for a good few seconds. It wasn't the usual run of things, when someone called him stupid directly to his face. But Jet -- ever the voice of reason, and a calm head when he was prone to losing his -- Jet didn't have much to say, but what he said, spoke volumes. Fel took a deep breath, and swallowed his pride. (That's what it was, wasn't it? There should be no place for pride on a ship such as this.) "I think we can get you a junior officer's uniform. There's a settlement nearby the drydock that has been seeing its fair share of Imperial activity since they touched down." He definitely picked up what Jet was putting down, and did his best to remain poker-faced about the cut. "Yeah, sixty percent. Got yourself a deal." He rubbed at the scruff that was quickly becoming a full-fledged beard. "Your call, but you might want to dress as a Stormie till we get to town... That way it's three troops together, rather than two troops and a local. That's sure to draw more attention." He shrugged. The call was Aellyn's. Though he would have preferred it, he wasn't going to die on that hill.

"Any questions?" He stood still for what felt like an eternity, but was more accurately about twenty seconds. He was ready to engage any questions, but had not-so-neatly sidestepped Aellyn's question about what was so fireblasted important to Abelene. Truth go on ahead and be told, Fel hadn't asked. He only knew where they'd be stashed, and that they would both fit into a cargo canister no bigger than a suitcase. "We touch down in five. No dustoff. No evac. The UA sits still while this is going down. See you planetside, folks."

He moved fluidly back into the flight deck, greeting Wrench with a swat and the whirr of a battery powered dremel he kept handy for just such occasions. Wrench immediately launched into a diatribe about how he was not in any way in need of cleaning, and that it was pleasing that the pilot would deign to show up for the, y'know, flying. He stated that based on the even split of duties aboard the UA, he should be captain, and Fel should be ballast. Galdaart roared at that, loving the good-natured banter they shared. "You're likely right, tin-can. Captain R2-P47 doesn't exactly roll off the tongue though, does it?" Wrench tooted that if only all hyperspace travel and communication were given over to droids, as it should be, that appearances wouldn't matter.

Fel overlaid the SD on his HUD display, and began the process of entering atmosphere. The old boat creaked and groaned, but flew straight and true. Two minutes. Fel banked sharply to drop below Imperial sensors, flying scant few feet off the deck. "You wouldn't do this though, would you Wrench?" The little droid replied with a slew of very unflattering comments, which even in Binary, sounded as bad as it really was. Fel smirked, but kept his eyes on the task at hand. Larger hunks of garbage created canyons, and mountains, and toxic rivers of sludge separated this man-made geography. Fel went down into one of the larger canyons, referring quickly to the terrain-mapping sensor suite. The canyon would lead them to within five klicks of their target. Close enough, without jumping up on the dorsal hull and waving his hands around.

"There. That's good." he mused to nobody in particular (though he got a questioning reply from Wrench.) The overhang was big enough, and the slag beneath it was nothing compared to the UA's landing gear. Fel pulled a full sweep of the immediate area. No heat traces of previous patrols. Wasting no further time, he brought the ship around and backed it underneath the junk overhang. It was a near-perfect fit. More junk for the junkyard. The UA fit like it had always been there. Fel performed the quick-quiet routine, killing all power except for emergency systems, and listened as the ship settled. "Keep your photoreceptor open, Buddy. If this goes sideways, It'll happen quickly."

Donning the old Stormie uniform, Fel gave Wrench a half-assed salute before exiting the flight deck, to which Wrench dressed him down for using improper Imperial Customs, and offered a handy spreadsheet should he feel the need to brush up. The door closed and Fel moved aft to the planetfall ramp...

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Dropping a message to say I'm very much interested in all of this, and plan on putting together a sheet. Please let me know if there's no longer enough room!

@Tlaloc

Let’s see a premise / idea for your character Tlaloc!

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

She was good at sending digs his way. He was equally good (thus far) at side-stepping them. Of course he hadn't told her anything about their job. Until she had settled on a 50% take a scant few minutes ago, she hadn't even wanted to be a part of it. "Look, you said you wanted in. This is in. You said so a half dozen heartbeats ago. So we're going over the plan. Now. Not like I had hours to brief you before we departed Coruscant." Wrench rolled into the cargo bay, informing anyone who cared that they were eight minutes from breaking Lotho atmo. No orbital defenses, no comm scans, no hails, nothing. As expected. Fel thanked the little astro droid, and then jokingly shoo'ed him away, in case he heard anything about the plan... information he could be tortured and melted down over. It was obviously a joke, but the little astromech scurried off to the bridge, chirping about the violent nature of humans.

He turned back to Aellyn and Jet, crossing his arms, as much against the cold of interstellar space as the figurative chill in the room. "After we lay it on the line, you want out, no hard feelings. You and Wrench can stay aboard the UA. You still want a piece of the action, ok." Fel walked over to the cargo container and picked up a Stormie helmet, turning it over in his hands. "Lotho is far enough off the beaten path that when the Empire has something they want to hide from public view, they often do it here, or on Ord Mantell. This time, the ImpStar 'Basilisk' sustained major internal damage due to Rebel sabateurs over Fondor five months ago. Heard about it? If you have, bravo. You're one of very few who have. No news on the HoloNet. Nothing in the headlines. The 'Basilisk' could have been taken to KDY shipyards, but that would make it awfully official. Here, they repair it real quiet-like." He tossed the helmet to Jet, picking up another. This one, with added HUD flip-down display denoting a scout trooper or sniper. This he likewise turned over in his hands.

"XO of the 'Basilisk' is a real sadistic bastard called Kara. Vinoor Kara. He was a Commodore when I knew him, but he's at least a fleet Admiral now. One of those real peacock Imperial officers who believes the more ribbons and medals, the better. Anyways. Kara has been lining his pockets for years stripping planets of their wealth, both monetary and cultural. Artworks, Sculptures, artifacts. Anything he can sell on the Black Market. We're here to take back a few items on behalf of a lady name of Abelene." He tossed the helmet to Aellyn, picking up the third for himself.

"Simple enough plan. Three Stormies of the one-oh-seventh enter. We got cards, ID's, papers. We're three out of two full detachments of the one-oh-seventh aboard the 'Basilisk.' We head straight for the port landing bay, zero in on these two small crates in the cargo stow, extract and leave. Anything aside from these two small crates we take is gravy. One hour, door to door." He pulled out a Stormtroop web belt, and attached the EC-17, priming the pistol. Inserting a power pack into the T21, he likewise primed the rifle, the whine of the energy converters and the static pulse adapters a familiar punctuation to any prep for a field mission. "Any questions?"

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel left Wrench soldering on the flight deck, and walked to his cabin. It was, as with most everything else aboard the UA - a mess. The desk was strewn with various half-finished projects, and the floor with clothing in various stages of 'good-enough-wear-it' to 'oh-hell-no.' Spares, cred-cards, papers, holo-discs, data pads, tools, parts off the UA that needed repair or replacement, Astromech bits... all shared space clustered close to or on the few table surfaces. About the only surface that was clean was the upper bunk, a bit of Galdaart's personal code of ethics. This berth wasn't 'his.' In his Imperial service, he shared a rack with two other pilots in rotation depending on their ship's flight schedule.

As messy as his area was, there was a rhyme and a reason for almost all of it. he could identify exactly what each and every project was, and could also explain (if anyone cared to know) why it wasn't yet done. What part he needed to find, or what had interrupted the project as more pressing than the last. Fel walked to the foot of the bed, and pressed a hidden, recessed plate in the durasteel wall panel, which glowed for a split second, before segmenting into four, which Fel rotated anti-clockwise. There was an audible 'click' and the panel released, revealing the hidden locker beyond. There were several weapons, ident-cards, and small piles of different local currencies. The pilot reached in and retrieved an Imperial EC-17 blaster, and two pieces (receiver and barrel assembly) of a T-21 light repeater. Fel sat at the desk and closed his eyes, assembling the long gun, recalling his academy days.

When he was finished, he grabbed a rag off the desk and wiped down the blasters. Grabbing two spare power packs for the T21 and his leather flight jacket, Fel stepped back out into the common space of the UA, tossing the jacket over his shoulders, he moved aft past the galley and the 'fresher, tapping on Aellyn's door as he moved toward the port cargo bay. "cargo bay -- let's go..."

The cargo bay was only a few more steps aft, and as he arrived, the lights flickered to life around him, casting a sickly yellow hue over the scattered cargo containers and crates. Only one crate had been onboarded at Coruscant, and Fel leaned the T21 against the large crate, pressing his thumb to the access control plate on the cargo canister, it hissed open to reveal four used but relatively clean, sets of Stormtrooper armour, in the markings of the one-oh-seventh.