OokawaBUMPERINO!
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STATUS: Gamestonk 4 yrs ago
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Gamestonk
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4 yrs ago
I’m not an early bird or a night owl, I’m some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon
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@Garth An old fashion knight must have a liking for winged hussars. :333
If it forms a mental hazard then amendmends can be made :D
It’s me again, trying another off the wall but not completely unthinkable scenario in which we can shoot eachother. Maybe it’ll work this time. It's in Europe, it's Pucker Factor 11, read it.
Woohoo, another attempt at a military RP. In this, we’ll take characters serving in any of the armed groups fighting. Notes before OOC:
-This is nothing political.
-There is a character-driven element in the development of wars
-The exact location and start depends on where people want their characters to serve in. (US[Probably Marines], Britain, France[FFL], Poland, Ukraine or Ukrainian volunteers[Think Azov], and the Russian Armed Forces and the United Armed Forces of Novorossiya [Donetsk and Luhansk] on the other hand.
-I’m open to any questions about characters, named, equipment, objectives, and anything else.
-Mention what you’d like to play. Not just your favourite, but anything you would join in with.
-I’m open to suggestions!
-The objective of this is to have fun, not to create a super realistic army simulator and get in fights about which way the fight would move. Don’t stop thinking, but be chill.
Bump
Bump
Bump
It’s me again, trying another off the wall but not completely unthinkable scenario in which we can shoot eachother. Maybe it’ll work this time. It's in Europe, it's Pucker Factor 11, read it.
Woohoo, another attempt at a military RP. In this, we’ll take characters serving in any of the armed groups fighting. Notes before OOC:
-This is nothing political.
-There is a character-driven element in the development of wars
-The exact location and start depends on where people want their characters to serve in. (US[Probably Marines], Britain, France[FFL], Poland, Ukraine or Ukrainian volunteers[Think Azov], and the Russian Armed Forces and the United Armed Forces of Novorossiya [Donetsk and Luhansk] on the other hand.
-I’m open to any questions about characters, named, equipment, objectives, and anything else.
-Mention what you’d like to play. Not just your favourite, but anything you would join in with.
-I’m open to suggestions!
-The objective of this is to have fun, not to create a super realistic army simulator and get in fights about which way the fight would move. Don’t stop thinking, but be chill.
23rd of March 2018, 11PM
Durrat al-Bahrain
Kingdom of Bahrain.
The job wasn’t bad at all. It got George a nice stipend slushed through banks in his home country, Lebanon, a nice villa at the north end of the Southern bend of Atoll 3 in Durrat al-Bahrain with a big boat, girls, booze, and not a care in the world. Well, at least until his paymasters required him. But until then, George’s villa was the scene of a pretty solid party. The music stopped for a moment, upon which everyone present was herded unto the enviable yacht parked in the dock.
Dude, a fucking boat. Who wouldn’t want to get on that? Everyone there sure did but only around thirty ‘VIPs’ were allowed. They went on and the boat then went off into the Gulf. They cleared the shallow waters, saw the lights of Manamah, and reached open waters. The music was blasting, but none of those present were busy partying. The guys and girls who were VIPs were in fact from the Saraya al-Mukhtar. ‘The Islamic Resistance in Bahrain’, as their tagline goes, means ‘The Partisans of Mukhtar’ in Arabic. The name referred to Mukhtar al-Thaqafi who sought to avenge Imam Hussein and rose against his killers. And now that Iran didn’t have to bend over backwards to give the Islamic State, Jabhat al-Nusra, or any other Syrian rebel groups a kicking there was nothing that gave the rulers of the country the shits as quickly and effectively as General Soleimani’s crew.
Spotting no military-looking vessels around, the audio on the boat started playing ‘Sun is Shining’, all the while nothing appeared. The end of the song was the sign for three unlit speedboats to come out of the dark and to the back of the boat. George walked over and together with a few others and unloaded crates onto the Yacht. “Straight from Iraq”, one of the smugglers said. “Mainly Yugoslav shit. Got some North Korean things there too. And in general some old stuff like FALs, but our friends in Erbil gave us a few new things. German-made, so you know its good.” The gun merchant then showed that one of the boxes contained G36s and a large amount of ammunition. The first boat emptied, the second one was unloaded. “Look at this”, the smuggler said as he showed an MG53, the Yugoslav variant of the MG42. “Got you two of theses. The rest is all ammunition.” Smaller boxes were now unloaded. “These are tandem charges. If the BDF roll out an M60 or the Saudis pull an Abrams out, this’ll get them good. The rest is all random ammo, marked and well. There’s some plastique and old mortar rounds for IEDs.” The third boat was being unloaded, full of small arms ammunition and explosives as the smuggler said. “They’re yours now, man. Take good care of them.” He walked off into the third boat, which headed back north. The yacht was sitting on an impressive amount of hardware, something that had to be brought back as soon as possible. The boat went back, moored at the villa and the party continued – the boat strictly off limits.
2:30 AM
Sa’ad awoke and quickly slapped something to eat together, dressed, and got out of the door and to his car. It was a white four-door Ford F150, a picture of King Hamad behind the windshield and some construction materials in the back to hide the freight. From his place in the town of Sitra he drove down to the Durrat al Bahrain, to where the goods were imported. Driving somewhat recklessly, he finally arrived at the location of the party that had died down. The last guests had just left, and Sa’ad waited outside, signing with a flashlight before someone opened the gate and told him to get in. He opened the back door and removed the few construction materials from the back before a bunch of people turned up with crates of hardware, throwing it in the back and on the back seats. George briefed Sa’ad on what each box held. “That’s a bunch of ammo, 7.62. AKMs and whatnot. Here, old Yugoslav AKs.”
Sa’ad interrupted. “M70s?”
“Yes, exactly. There’s a few M76s too. And an old Yugo-made Buzzsaw. M53.”
“Good,” Sa’ad replied “but do you have something for me?”
“Oh yes. Look at this.”, George said before showing him a few cases of plastic explosives. “Here. Go get’em.” He said before throwing a box of 82mm mortar shells at him. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Hayhat minna zilla”, Sa’ad muttered before covering the boxes with tarp and locking them with bags of cement. A bunch of cinder block and two-by-fours were also thrown in the caged back. If the cops turned up he’d just be driving some leftover construction materials. But they never turned up before, so why would they now?
They never did. By dodging a demonstration or two Sa’ad made it to the shoe repair shop of Old Man Ali. He got out and knocked on the warehouse door, where the old shoemaker opened. “Hurry up,” he said, “They could be back any second.” Two other guys helped Sa’ad unload everything, stack it, and put it behind the wall of shoes and other junk. The explosives and related junk, however, Sa’ad put in his backpack and drove to his home. He had toys to play with, and the Nawasib would know.
Durrat al-Bahrain
Kingdom of Bahrain.
The job wasn’t bad at all. It got George a nice stipend slushed through banks in his home country, Lebanon, a nice villa at the north end of the Southern bend of Atoll 3 in Durrat al-Bahrain with a big boat, girls, booze, and not a care in the world. Well, at least until his paymasters required him. But until then, George’s villa was the scene of a pretty solid party. The music stopped for a moment, upon which everyone present was herded unto the enviable yacht parked in the dock.
Dude, a fucking boat. Who wouldn’t want to get on that? Everyone there sure did but only around thirty ‘VIPs’ were allowed. They went on and the boat then went off into the Gulf. They cleared the shallow waters, saw the lights of Manamah, and reached open waters. The music was blasting, but none of those present were busy partying. The guys and girls who were VIPs were in fact from the Saraya al-Mukhtar. ‘The Islamic Resistance in Bahrain’, as their tagline goes, means ‘The Partisans of Mukhtar’ in Arabic. The name referred to Mukhtar al-Thaqafi who sought to avenge Imam Hussein and rose against his killers. And now that Iran didn’t have to bend over backwards to give the Islamic State, Jabhat al-Nusra, or any other Syrian rebel groups a kicking there was nothing that gave the rulers of the country the shits as quickly and effectively as General Soleimani’s crew.
Spotting no military-looking vessels around, the audio on the boat started playing ‘Sun is Shining’, all the while nothing appeared. The end of the song was the sign for three unlit speedboats to come out of the dark and to the back of the boat. George walked over and together with a few others and unloaded crates onto the Yacht. “Straight from Iraq”, one of the smugglers said. “Mainly Yugoslav shit. Got some North Korean things there too. And in general some old stuff like FALs, but our friends in Erbil gave us a few new things. German-made, so you know its good.” The gun merchant then showed that one of the boxes contained G36s and a large amount of ammunition. The first boat emptied, the second one was unloaded. “Look at this”, the smuggler said as he showed an MG53, the Yugoslav variant of the MG42. “Got you two of theses. The rest is all ammunition.” Smaller boxes were now unloaded. “These are tandem charges. If the BDF roll out an M60 or the Saudis pull an Abrams out, this’ll get them good. The rest is all random ammo, marked and well. There’s some plastique and old mortar rounds for IEDs.” The third boat was being unloaded, full of small arms ammunition and explosives as the smuggler said. “They’re yours now, man. Take good care of them.” He walked off into the third boat, which headed back north. The yacht was sitting on an impressive amount of hardware, something that had to be brought back as soon as possible. The boat went back, moored at the villa and the party continued – the boat strictly off limits.
2:30 AM
Sa’ad awoke and quickly slapped something to eat together, dressed, and got out of the door and to his car. It was a white four-door Ford F150, a picture of King Hamad behind the windshield and some construction materials in the back to hide the freight. From his place in the town of Sitra he drove down to the Durrat al Bahrain, to where the goods were imported. Driving somewhat recklessly, he finally arrived at the location of the party that had died down. The last guests had just left, and Sa’ad waited outside, signing with a flashlight before someone opened the gate and told him to get in. He opened the back door and removed the few construction materials from the back before a bunch of people turned up with crates of hardware, throwing it in the back and on the back seats. George briefed Sa’ad on what each box held. “That’s a bunch of ammo, 7.62. AKMs and whatnot. Here, old Yugoslav AKs.”
Sa’ad interrupted. “M70s?”
“Yes, exactly. There’s a few M76s too. And an old Yugo-made Buzzsaw. M53.”
“Good,” Sa’ad replied “but do you have something for me?”
“Oh yes. Look at this.”, George said before showing him a few cases of plastic explosives. “Here. Go get’em.” He said before throwing a box of 82mm mortar shells at him. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Hayhat minna zilla”, Sa’ad muttered before covering the boxes with tarp and locking them with bags of cement. A bunch of cinder block and two-by-fours were also thrown in the caged back. If the cops turned up he’d just be driving some leftover construction materials. But they never turned up before, so why would they now?
They never did. By dodging a demonstration or two Sa’ad made it to the shoe repair shop of Old Man Ali. He got out and knocked on the warehouse door, where the old shoemaker opened. “Hurry up,” he said, “They could be back any second.” Two other guys helped Sa’ad unload everything, stack it, and put it behind the wall of shoes and other junk. The explosives and related junk, however, Sa’ad put in his backpack and drove to his home. He had toys to play with, and the Nawasib would know.
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