"One Two Three. LIFT!" cried Richardson. Loading his girl up with the last trunk. he was looking eye to eye with Private Dawson, his new gunner. Dawson wasn't new to Richardson, no. They had served in the trenches. He was the support element that often pushed forwards and took most of the damage, but due to heavy damage, his rig was knocked out. Due to this, he was reassigned to a new rig. All well, their loss his gain. Richardson jumped up and grabbed Dawson's hand and was pulled up into the belly of the beast. He quickly swung himself into his drivers seat and checks his window. Giving the cool metal on the gears a soft stroke as if to calm the machine down. He started the engine up with a roar spinning on the chair "Dawson! I think she needs some more Coal!" Dawson sighed, he grabbed the shovel and started loading chunks into the Kiln "You know, this peice of shit needs far too much coal to run at factory level, just trade her in" Richardson chuckled "She wouldnt like that, I have had her since she first rolled off the line" Dawson rolled his eyes and shut the kiln "She isn't safe". "War isn't safe, she is lucky" he replied banging on the side with a CLONK "You'll see a friend, she will see us through. Just you watch" as he pushed the controls forwards, coming towards the Landing zone.
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If you are curious, this "Hat" is technically called a Cap, Vehicle Crewman or CVC. It is common to hear a tanker or Mech Inf soldier call it, his CVC. Just if you were curious. :)
Thanks man, I wrote the whole thing when I was tired and didn't really take the time to think about names
Name
Charles Richardson
Gender
Male
Age
28
Birthplace by Nationality
Gersa Coalition - Hollai - Chorlton (Small Industrial Town)
Rank
Lance Corporal
Role
Armoured Crew
Equipment
Model 100 "Reissend"
Dark green, steel, Tankers Helmet with his serial number stencilled on
Brown Aviator Goggles
Brown Coal Mask (Gas Mask)
Two Spare Filters for the Gas Mask
Entrenching Tool
2x Three-Quarters Quats Canteen
Black Leather Steel Caped boots, scuffed and Worn.
Leather Bound Chainlink Glove
Dark Grey Overcoat, Silver and Tin Buttons going down the front.
Leather Satchel with some tools to fix minor problems, it also holds the Following:
- Two Pairs of Brown Socks
- Three Pairs of Pants
- His Identification
- Pair of Spectacles
- Some assorted foot Stuff
- 60 Rounds for his Revolver
He also has his grey Tankers Trousers that match his Overcoat, of which has on it:
- A Lance Corporal Epaulet on his right Shoulder
- 29th Veterans Badge on his right Collor
- 67th Trooper Badge on his Left Collor
Appearance
A decent 6'3. He is thin and hollowed cheeks. He wears his black Armoured Infantry coat and Gas Mask when he is stoking the engines. He has buttons of tin down his jacket along with two pouches, one for ammo, the other for repair supplies. In terms of him without his Mask on, he looks like so:
with the normal armoured infantry Hat: 
Personality
Richardson is a strange sort of man. A different type of crazy. He does have a soul and he isn't heartless, but he was a soldier before the war even kicked off. When it started he saw some shit, some things that made him question his life and his morals. In civilian life, he was an upbeat, cheery chap. With a love of machines and a connection to his girl Drudgery. He is VERY superstitious about battles, he believes that everything is luck and chance. That if he can get lucky, just once he can see the war until the end. he is brutal in war, he will fight till he can no longer stand and will fight when he is on the ground, he knows the war, he doesn't need to be told his duty. he has seen combat, the tough, brutal mess of the front lines, the dug in deep men and later women, fighting for their lives.
History
Richardson was born unto a Mundae family. His family was a group of hard working civilians at the weapons factory. His mother worked the assembly line, putting bullets together and checking over the shells. His father worked in the control centre and ran the machines. And his brother, well, he worked on the Armoured Vehicles. They were not the large vehicles that were seen on propaganda posters or paraded around, he worked on the Perseus' that came through and occasionally the Krumpnicks when they were needed. As a child, working in the motors and gears of the factory, Charles was fascinated by them. How they worked and how they operated. He had a happy life in his early years, fixing the blockages and cleaning gears when they got stuck. As he grew into a teen, he outgrew the narrow work spaces of the machines and moved onto the factory floor.
His new job in the factory was to oversee the guns loaded onto the vehicles. For this job, he had a ball. he would often sit in the Commander's seat and play around, radioing into the other children on the rigs. This did serve a purpose, however, as he soon learnt how to best use each radio and what radiofrequency worked best for what rigs and radios. As the years went by he kept at work at the factory. Grinding on, until he was put into a job making his own Rig at the age of 21. As soon as the parts came in, he was at home. As the parts for his Perseus, he built it up from the ground, from the legs to the chassis. He had the guns swung in and fitted and had a specially tuned radio inserted that would display a clearer, crisper sound. During the weapons test, he was put in charge of driving the rig, as he powered up the motor. He could feel the kick, the life in each leg. The pulse of the engine under his hand, he felt like the rig was speaking to him as if it had chosen him. He knew he didn't want to leave her, didn't want to leave her to some soldiers who wouldn't treat her right. She handled like a dream came to life and had her own personality. It was at that moment, in the pale green light. he decided he didn't ever want to leave her. Didn't ever want to see her go, like a Boy Bonds with a Dog, Richardson bonded with his Perseus.
Richardson, finding his new lot in life. Enlisted in the Army under the Armoured Division. He was lumped in with the 67th where he ran patrols along the border and trained on the guns. He was, luckily, assigned to his Perseus that he called Drudgery. Down to the fact that it was a slow, drudging machine and in many instances just threw rounds. When they went through training, he would work the guns. Hitting many of the targets, he would get used to the gun. Be that the anti-tank shell or the Machine gun. He wanted action, but at the time, there wasn't anyone to fight aside from the occasion ruffians holding up coaches. It wasn't a fun time in those years on the leadup to the war that he didn't know would happen. But he was happy, he was with his Old Girl and it felt like home. Of course, he got lots of stick for his connection to the piece of metal, but he was happy that he said something he could trust in.
Then it happened. The first patrol of the new month. The vehicle was trudging through a forest. Past a mountain cave that was a favourite hiding spot for border guards to sneak off and have a cigarette or smoke. The explosions dropped. The sound was deafening as it rumbled down the cave, the rig was put quickly into the drive as they hurtled out the cave looking up, streaks of tracers of bombs covered the sky. Black flat disks wich make loud buzzing noises filled the skies and dropped their fiery payload. Dropped it all around, along with the border. In the towns and provinces, even down the ravines. It was pandemonium among the border ranks and stationed troops, what were they to do? They were being attacked by weapons they didn't know about and were unable to defend against them, they were not equipped to handle such machines. So as the machines buzzed overhead, the men that were supposed to defend from ANY invaders sat and watch, unable to intervene and stop the butchery.
After the smoke had cleared and the attack was finished, the war was declared. As one of the few surviving rigs left near the border, he was sent to the front. Sent ahead to assist the 29th Infantry Brigade as a support platform. They had dug in hard into a meadow just a few miles over the border and they needed assistance. They were being attacked daily and the mortar support was firing too close or ontop of them. Richardsons Drudgery was sent into assist, as where the rig went. Richardson followed, locked in the mud and the rain, dug in so deep behind the tranch they built. He provided fire support and knocked out enemy armour and infantry when the time arrived. He set there, firing a gun at enemies that were neverending and undying. He sat there in his girl, watching men dying at the hands of faceless wonders, people who he never met but seemed almost godlike in skill. As the battles raged, soon he was just sitting in a crater, in front of lines of trenches devoid of life, trenches that stretched beyond the eyes range and that were within spitting distance of the hostiles. Yet, throughout all of this, the rig was never knocked out. It sat there, dirty, burnt and scarred. But alive and working.
When the 65th Spearhead Divison was made he volunteered his rig. He volunteered himself to the plan, the transfer. He knew he was unlikely to make it out alive. But he doubted his own death, he had his girl, she wouldn't let anything happen to him, no. She was the guardian angel. And he was gonna be A-Okay.
(I am sorry if by his volunteering breaks the plan. But I wrote the bio non-stop. And I do like the story. It's not the best. But it works)
Family
Thomas Richardson - Older Brother - Alive - Serving in the 21st Engineering Corp. Still on the production line of the Rigs
John Richardson - Father - MIA - Went Missing in the Bombings
Jayne Richardson - Mother - KIA - Died in Bombings
Rita Richardson - Grandmother - Alive - Living at the care home.
Theme Song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emaTh9QnZwE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbw1pGUhG7Q
Charles Richardson
Gender
Male
Age
28
Birthplace by Nationality
Gersa Coalition - Hollai - Chorlton (Small Industrial Town)
Rank
Lance Corporal
Role
Armoured Crew
Equipment
Model 100 "Reissend"
Dark green, steel, Tankers Helmet with his serial number stencilled on
Brown Aviator Goggles
Brown Coal Mask (Gas Mask)
Two Spare Filters for the Gas Mask
Entrenching Tool
2x Three-Quarters Quats Canteen
Black Leather Steel Caped boots, scuffed and Worn.
Leather Bound Chainlink Glove
Dark Grey Overcoat, Silver and Tin Buttons going down the front.
Leather Satchel with some tools to fix minor problems, it also holds the Following:
- Two Pairs of Brown Socks
- Three Pairs of Pants
- His Identification
- Pair of Spectacles
- Some assorted foot Stuff
- 60 Rounds for his Revolver
He also has his grey Tankers Trousers that match his Overcoat, of which has on it:
- A Lance Corporal Epaulet on his right Shoulder
- 29th Veterans Badge on his right Collor
- 67th Trooper Badge on his Left Collor
Appearance
A decent 6'3. He is thin and hollowed cheeks. He wears his black Armoured Infantry coat and Gas Mask when he is stoking the engines. He has buttons of tin down his jacket along with two pouches, one for ammo, the other for repair supplies. In terms of him without his Mask on, he looks like so:
Personality
Richardson is a strange sort of man. A different type of crazy. He does have a soul and he isn't heartless, but he was a soldier before the war even kicked off. When it started he saw some shit, some things that made him question his life and his morals. In civilian life, he was an upbeat, cheery chap. With a love of machines and a connection to his girl Drudgery. He is VERY superstitious about battles, he believes that everything is luck and chance. That if he can get lucky, just once he can see the war until the end. he is brutal in war, he will fight till he can no longer stand and will fight when he is on the ground, he knows the war, he doesn't need to be told his duty. he has seen combat, the tough, brutal mess of the front lines, the dug in deep men and later women, fighting for their lives.
History
Richardson was born unto a Mundae family. His family was a group of hard working civilians at the weapons factory. His mother worked the assembly line, putting bullets together and checking over the shells. His father worked in the control centre and ran the machines. And his brother, well, he worked on the Armoured Vehicles. They were not the large vehicles that were seen on propaganda posters or paraded around, he worked on the Perseus' that came through and occasionally the Krumpnicks when they were needed. As a child, working in the motors and gears of the factory, Charles was fascinated by them. How they worked and how they operated. He had a happy life in his early years, fixing the blockages and cleaning gears when they got stuck. As he grew into a teen, he outgrew the narrow work spaces of the machines and moved onto the factory floor.
His new job in the factory was to oversee the guns loaded onto the vehicles. For this job, he had a ball. he would often sit in the Commander's seat and play around, radioing into the other children on the rigs. This did serve a purpose, however, as he soon learnt how to best use each radio and what radiofrequency worked best for what rigs and radios. As the years went by he kept at work at the factory. Grinding on, until he was put into a job making his own Rig at the age of 21. As soon as the parts came in, he was at home. As the parts for his Perseus, he built it up from the ground, from the legs to the chassis. He had the guns swung in and fitted and had a specially tuned radio inserted that would display a clearer, crisper sound. During the weapons test, he was put in charge of driving the rig, as he powered up the motor. He could feel the kick, the life in each leg. The pulse of the engine under his hand, he felt like the rig was speaking to him as if it had chosen him. He knew he didn't want to leave her, didn't want to leave her to some soldiers who wouldn't treat her right. She handled like a dream came to life and had her own personality. It was at that moment, in the pale green light. he decided he didn't ever want to leave her. Didn't ever want to see her go, like a Boy Bonds with a Dog, Richardson bonded with his Perseus.
Richardson, finding his new lot in life. Enlisted in the Army under the Armoured Division. He was lumped in with the 67th where he ran patrols along the border and trained on the guns. He was, luckily, assigned to his Perseus that he called Drudgery. Down to the fact that it was a slow, drudging machine and in many instances just threw rounds. When they went through training, he would work the guns. Hitting many of the targets, he would get used to the gun. Be that the anti-tank shell or the Machine gun. He wanted action, but at the time, there wasn't anyone to fight aside from the occasion ruffians holding up coaches. It wasn't a fun time in those years on the leadup to the war that he didn't know would happen. But he was happy, he was with his Old Girl and it felt like home. Of course, he got lots of stick for his connection to the piece of metal, but he was happy that he said something he could trust in.
Then it happened. The first patrol of the new month. The vehicle was trudging through a forest. Past a mountain cave that was a favourite hiding spot for border guards to sneak off and have a cigarette or smoke. The explosions dropped. The sound was deafening as it rumbled down the cave, the rig was put quickly into the drive as they hurtled out the cave looking up, streaks of tracers of bombs covered the sky. Black flat disks wich make loud buzzing noises filled the skies and dropped their fiery payload. Dropped it all around, along with the border. In the towns and provinces, even down the ravines. It was pandemonium among the border ranks and stationed troops, what were they to do? They were being attacked by weapons they didn't know about and were unable to defend against them, they were not equipped to handle such machines. So as the machines buzzed overhead, the men that were supposed to defend from ANY invaders sat and watch, unable to intervene and stop the butchery.
After the smoke had cleared and the attack was finished, the war was declared. As one of the few surviving rigs left near the border, he was sent to the front. Sent ahead to assist the 29th Infantry Brigade as a support platform. They had dug in hard into a meadow just a few miles over the border and they needed assistance. They were being attacked daily and the mortar support was firing too close or ontop of them. Richardsons Drudgery was sent into assist, as where the rig went. Richardson followed, locked in the mud and the rain, dug in so deep behind the tranch they built. He provided fire support and knocked out enemy armour and infantry when the time arrived. He set there, firing a gun at enemies that were neverending and undying. He sat there in his girl, watching men dying at the hands of faceless wonders, people who he never met but seemed almost godlike in skill. As the battles raged, soon he was just sitting in a crater, in front of lines of trenches devoid of life, trenches that stretched beyond the eyes range and that were within spitting distance of the hostiles. Yet, throughout all of this, the rig was never knocked out. It sat there, dirty, burnt and scarred. But alive and working.
When the 65th Spearhead Divison was made he volunteered his rig. He volunteered himself to the plan, the transfer. He knew he was unlikely to make it out alive. But he doubted his own death, he had his girl, she wouldn't let anything happen to him, no. She was the guardian angel. And he was gonna be A-Okay.
(I am sorry if by his volunteering breaks the plan. But I wrote the bio non-stop. And I do like the story. It's not the best. But it works)
Family
Thomas Richardson - Older Brother - Alive - Serving in the 21st Engineering Corp. Still on the production line of the Rigs
John Richardson - Father - MIA - Went Missing in the Bombings
Jayne Richardson - Mother - KIA - Died in Bombings
Rita Richardson - Grandmother - Alive - Living at the care home.
Theme Song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emaTh9QnZwE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbw1pGUhG7Q
@UserLooks good! Technically he'd already be in the 65th Spearhead Division, so he'd already be assigned to this team. Those who commanded Walkers were forced to join the division, meaning he'd most likely be with Sergeant Svaska on his landing craft, whilst Corporal Niscravich would be leading the Infantry to their rendezvous point on the beach-head. Don't worry, the beach is already secure, so our characters will have time to develop before their first assault.
That's fine, is it accepted?
@LetMeDoStuff I do believe I am done. Tell me if you want anything changed?
Name
Charles Richardson
Gender
Male
Age
28
Birthplace by Nationality
Gersa Coalition - Hollai - Chorlton (Small Industrial Town)
Rank
Lance Corporal
Role
Armoured Crew
Equipment
Model 100 "Reissend"
Dark green, steel, Tankers Helmet with his serial number stencilled on
Brown Aviator Goggles
Brown Coal Mask (Gas Mask)
Two Spare Filters for the Gas Mask
Entrenching Tool
2x Three-Quarters Quats Canteen
Black Leather Steel Caped boots, scuffed and Worn.
Leather Bound Chainlink Glove
Dark Grey Overcoat, Silver and Tin Buttons going down the front.
Leather Satchel with some tools to fix minor problems, it also holds the Following:
- Two Pairs of Brown Socks
- Three Pairs of Pants
- His Identification
- Pair of Spectacles
- Some assorted foot Stuff
- 60 Rounds for his Revolver
He also has his grey Tankers Trousers that match his Overcoat, of which has on it:
- A Lance Corporal Epaulet on his right Shoulder
- 29th Veterans Badge on his right Collor
- 67th Trooper Badge on his Left Collor
Appearance
A decent 6'3. He is thin and hollowed cheeks. He wears his black Armoured Infantry coat and Gas Mask when he is stoking the engines. He has buttons of tin down his jacket along with two pouches, one for ammo, the other for repair supplies. In terms of him without his Mask on, he looks like so: with the normal armoured infantry Hat:
Personality
Richardson is a strange sort of man. A different type of crazy. He does have a soul and he isn't heartless, but he was a soldier before the war even kicked off. When it started he saw some shit, some things that made him question his life and his morals. In civilian life, he was an upbeat, cheery chap. With a love of machines and a connection to his girl Drudgery. He is VERY superstitious about battles, he believes that everything is luck and chance. That if he can get lucky, just once he can see the war until the end. he is brutal in war, he will fight till he can no longer stand and will fight when he is on the ground, he knows the war, he doesn't need to be told his duty. he has seen combat, the tough, brutal mess of the front lines, the dug in deep men and later women, fighting for their lives.
History
Richardson was born unto a Mundae family. His family was a group of hard working civilians at the weapons factory. His mother worked the assembly line, putting bullets together and checking over the shells. His father worked in the control centre and ran the machines. And his brother, well, he worked on the Armoured Vehicles. They were not the large vehicles that were seen on propaganda posters or paraded around, he worked on the Perseus' that came through and occasionally the Krumpnicks when they were needed. As a child, working in the motors and gears of the factory, Charles was fascinated by them. How they worked and how they operated. He had a happy life in his early years, fixing the blockages and cleaning gears when they got stuck. As he grew into a teen, he outgrew the narrow work spaces of the machines and moved onto the factory floor.
His new job in the factory was to oversee the guns loaded onto the vehicles. For this job, he had a ball. he would often sit in the Commander's seat and play around, radioing into the other children on the rigs. This did serve a purpose, however, as he soon learnt how to best use each radio and what radiofrequency worked best for what rigs and radios. As the years went by he kept at work at the factory. Grinding on, until he was put into a job making his own Rig at the age of 21. As soon as the parts came in, he was at home. As the parts for his Perseus, he built it up from the ground, from the legs to the chassis. He had the guns swung in and fitted and had a specially tuned radio inserted that would display a clearer, crisper sound. During the weapons test, he was put in charge of driving the rig, as he powered up the motor. He could feel the kick, the life in each leg. The pulse of the engine under his hand, he felt like the rig was speaking to him as if it had chosen him. He knew he didn't want to leave her, didn't want to leave her to some soldiers who wouldn't treat her right. She handled like a dream came to life and had her own personality. It was at that moment, in the pale green light. he decided he didn't ever want to leave her. Didn't ever want to see her go, like a Boy Bonds with a Dog, Richardson bonded with his Perseus.
Richardson, finding his new lot in life. Enlisted in the Army under the Armoured Division. He was lumped in with the 67th where he ran patrols along the border and trained on the guns. He was, luckily, assigned to his Perseus that he called Drudgery. Down to the fact that it was a slow, drudging machine and in many instances just threw rounds. When they went through training, he would work the guns. Hitting many of the targets, he would get used to the gun. Be that the anti-tank shell or the Machine gun. He wanted action, but at the time, there wasn't anyone to fight aside from the occasion ruffians holding up coaches. It wasn't a fun time in those years on the leadup to the war that he didn't know would happen. But he was happy, he was with his Old Girl and it felt like home. Of course, he got lots of stick for his connection to the piece of metal, but he was happy that he said something he could trust in.
Then it happened. The first patrol of the new month. The vehicle was trudging through a forest. Past a mountain cave that was a favourite hiding spot for border guards to sneak off and have a cigarette or smoke. The explosions dropped. The sound was deafening as it rumbled down the cave, the rig was put quickly into the drive as they hurtled out the cave looking up, streaks of tracers of bombs covered the sky. Black flat disks wich make loud buzzing noises filled the skies and dropped their fiery payload. Dropped it all around, along with the border. In the towns and provinces, even down the ravines. It was pandemonium among the border ranks and stationed troops, what were they to do? They were being attacked by weapons they didn't know about and were unable to defend against them, they were not equipped to handle such machines. So as the machines buzzed overhead, the men that were supposed to defend from ANY invaders sat and watch, unable to intervene and stop the butchery.
After the smoke had cleared and the attack was finished, the war was declared. As one of the few surviving rigs left near the border, he was sent to the front. Sent ahead to assist the 29th Infantry Brigade as a support platform. They had dug in hard into a meadow just a few miles over the border and they needed assistance. They were being attacked daily and the mortar support was firing too close or ontop of them. Richardsons Drudgery was sent into assist, as where the rig went. Richardson followed, locked in the mud and the rain, dug in so deep behind the tranch they built. He provided fire support and knocked out enemy armour and infantry when the time arrived. He set there, firing a gun at enemies that were neverending and undying. He sat there in his girl, watching men dying at the hands of faceless wonders, people who he never met but seemed almost godlike in skill. As the battles raged, soon he was just sitting in a crater, in front of lines of trenches devoid of life, trenches that stretched beyond the eyes range and that were within spitting distance of the hostiles. Yet, throughout all of this, the rig was never knocked out. It sat there, dirty, burnt and scarred. But alive and working.
When the 65th Spearhead Divison was made he volunteered his rig. He volunteered himself to the plan, the transfer. He knew he was unlikely to make it out alive. But he doubted his own death, he had his girl, she wouldn't let anything happen to him, no. She was the guardian angel. And he was gonna be A-Okay.
(I am sorry if by his volunteering breaks the plan. But I wrote the bio non-stop. And I do like the story. It's not the best. But it works)
Family
Thomas Richardson - Older Brother - Alive - Serving in the 21st Engineering Corp. Still on the production line of the Rigs
John Richardson - Father - MIA - Went Missing in the Bombings
Jayne Richardson - Mother - KIA - Died in Bombings
Rita Richardson - Grandmother - Alive - Living at the care home.
Theme Song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emaTh9QnZwE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbw1pGUhG7Q
Charles Richardson
Gender
Male
Age
28
Birthplace by Nationality
Gersa Coalition - Hollai - Chorlton (Small Industrial Town)
Rank
Lance Corporal
Role
Armoured Crew
Equipment
Model 100 "Reissend"
Dark green, steel, Tankers Helmet with his serial number stencilled on
Brown Aviator Goggles
Brown Coal Mask (Gas Mask)
Two Spare Filters for the Gas Mask
Entrenching Tool
2x Three-Quarters Quats Canteen
Black Leather Steel Caped boots, scuffed and Worn.
Leather Bound Chainlink Glove
Dark Grey Overcoat, Silver and Tin Buttons going down the front.
Leather Satchel with some tools to fix minor problems, it also holds the Following:
- Two Pairs of Brown Socks
- Three Pairs of Pants
- His Identification
- Pair of Spectacles
- Some assorted foot Stuff
- 60 Rounds for his Revolver
He also has his grey Tankers Trousers that match his Overcoat, of which has on it:
- A Lance Corporal Epaulet on his right Shoulder
- 29th Veterans Badge on his right Collor
- 67th Trooper Badge on his Left Collor
Appearance
A decent 6'3. He is thin and hollowed cheeks. He wears his black Armoured Infantry coat and Gas Mask when he is stoking the engines. He has buttons of tin down his jacket along with two pouches, one for ammo, the other for repair supplies. In terms of him without his Mask on, he looks like so:
Personality
Richardson is a strange sort of man. A different type of crazy. He does have a soul and he isn't heartless, but he was a soldier before the war even kicked off. When it started he saw some shit, some things that made him question his life and his morals. In civilian life, he was an upbeat, cheery chap. With a love of machines and a connection to his girl Drudgery. He is VERY superstitious about battles, he believes that everything is luck and chance. That if he can get lucky, just once he can see the war until the end. he is brutal in war, he will fight till he can no longer stand and will fight when he is on the ground, he knows the war, he doesn't need to be told his duty. he has seen combat, the tough, brutal mess of the front lines, the dug in deep men and later women, fighting for their lives.
History
Richardson was born unto a Mundae family. His family was a group of hard working civilians at the weapons factory. His mother worked the assembly line, putting bullets together and checking over the shells. His father worked in the control centre and ran the machines. And his brother, well, he worked on the Armoured Vehicles. They were not the large vehicles that were seen on propaganda posters or paraded around, he worked on the Perseus' that came through and occasionally the Krumpnicks when they were needed. As a child, working in the motors and gears of the factory, Charles was fascinated by them. How they worked and how they operated. He had a happy life in his early years, fixing the blockages and cleaning gears when they got stuck. As he grew into a teen, he outgrew the narrow work spaces of the machines and moved onto the factory floor.
His new job in the factory was to oversee the guns loaded onto the vehicles. For this job, he had a ball. he would often sit in the Commander's seat and play around, radioing into the other children on the rigs. This did serve a purpose, however, as he soon learnt how to best use each radio and what radiofrequency worked best for what rigs and radios. As the years went by he kept at work at the factory. Grinding on, until he was put into a job making his own Rig at the age of 21. As soon as the parts came in, he was at home. As the parts for his Perseus, he built it up from the ground, from the legs to the chassis. He had the guns swung in and fitted and had a specially tuned radio inserted that would display a clearer, crisper sound. During the weapons test, he was put in charge of driving the rig, as he powered up the motor. He could feel the kick, the life in each leg. The pulse of the engine under his hand, he felt like the rig was speaking to him as if it had chosen him. He knew he didn't want to leave her, didn't want to leave her to some soldiers who wouldn't treat her right. She handled like a dream came to life and had her own personality. It was at that moment, in the pale green light. he decided he didn't ever want to leave her. Didn't ever want to see her go, like a Boy Bonds with a Dog, Richardson bonded with his Perseus.
Richardson, finding his new lot in life. Enlisted in the Army under the Armoured Division. He was lumped in with the 67th where he ran patrols along the border and trained on the guns. He was, luckily, assigned to his Perseus that he called Drudgery. Down to the fact that it was a slow, drudging machine and in many instances just threw rounds. When they went through training, he would work the guns. Hitting many of the targets, he would get used to the gun. Be that the anti-tank shell or the Machine gun. He wanted action, but at the time, there wasn't anyone to fight aside from the occasion ruffians holding up coaches. It wasn't a fun time in those years on the leadup to the war that he didn't know would happen. But he was happy, he was with his Old Girl and it felt like home. Of course, he got lots of stick for his connection to the piece of metal, but he was happy that he said something he could trust in.
Then it happened. The first patrol of the new month. The vehicle was trudging through a forest. Past a mountain cave that was a favourite hiding spot for border guards to sneak off and have a cigarette or smoke. The explosions dropped. The sound was deafening as it rumbled down the cave, the rig was put quickly into the drive as they hurtled out the cave looking up, streaks of tracers of bombs covered the sky. Black flat disks wich make loud buzzing noises filled the skies and dropped their fiery payload. Dropped it all around, along with the border. In the towns and provinces, even down the ravines. It was pandemonium among the border ranks and stationed troops, what were they to do? They were being attacked by weapons they didn't know about and were unable to defend against them, they were not equipped to handle such machines. So as the machines buzzed overhead, the men that were supposed to defend from ANY invaders sat and watch, unable to intervene and stop the butchery.
After the smoke had cleared and the attack was finished, the war was declared. As one of the few surviving rigs left near the border, he was sent to the front. Sent ahead to assist the 29th Infantry Brigade as a support platform. They had dug in hard into a meadow just a few miles over the border and they needed assistance. They were being attacked daily and the mortar support was firing too close or ontop of them. Richardsons Drudgery was sent into assist, as where the rig went. Richardson followed, locked in the mud and the rain, dug in so deep behind the tranch they built. He provided fire support and knocked out enemy armour and infantry when the time arrived. He set there, firing a gun at enemies that were neverending and undying. He sat there in his girl, watching men dying at the hands of faceless wonders, people who he never met but seemed almost godlike in skill. As the battles raged, soon he was just sitting in a crater, in front of lines of trenches devoid of life, trenches that stretched beyond the eyes range and that were within spitting distance of the hostiles. Yet, throughout all of this, the rig was never knocked out. It sat there, dirty, burnt and scarred. But alive and working.
When the 65th Spearhead Divison was made he volunteered his rig. He volunteered himself to the plan, the transfer. He knew he was unlikely to make it out alive. But he doubted his own death, he had his girl, she wouldn't let anything happen to him, no. She was the guardian angel. And he was gonna be A-Okay.
(I am sorry if by his volunteering breaks the plan. But I wrote the bio non-stop. And I do like the story. It's not the best. But it works)
Family
Thomas Richardson - Older Brother - Alive - Serving in the 21st Engineering Corp. Still on the production line of the Rigs
John Richardson - Father - MIA - Went Missing in the Bombings
Jayne Richardson - Mother - KIA - Died in Bombings
Rita Richardson - Grandmother - Alive - Living at the care home.
Theme Song
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emaTh9QnZwE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbw1pGUhG7Q
In
The Blackshirts of Borovia - An Industrial Era RP of Crushing the Revolution
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
@DepressedSovietI know your gonna hate me, but I am thinking of making a ww1 (I know you hate that) stretcher bearer. that way he ISNT a battle hardened veteran. But someone who can do medicine and run fast. I was also thinking of having him with a Webley revolver as purely personal defence as there is no point in having a rifle if you are charging into the fray of battle
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