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2 mos ago
Current Stop being passive aggressive. Just be aggressive.
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2 yrs ago
It is certainly not 'optimal', but it *is* doable, depending on what you want to do with it. You could go swords or valor bard and play them more like a warrior with some magical ability
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2 yrs ago
One might say your villain arc has begun. Embrace it.
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2 yrs ago
Man do I love watching the circus
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All of the international war crimes we've come to know and love, now with only 50% of the child soldiers. Probably.
Nice! Happy to get a bit of traction! I'll have a character up soonish for a reference/example!

Click Picture for Background Listening.
Falling Skies


Plot, Premise, Expectations:

Hello everyone! Welcome to the interest check for Falling Skies! This is a reboot of a particularly old series- the original being written about a decade ago, and the last iteration being about 4 years ago. This Space-Opera-with-mechs RP follows the adventures of a group of men and women from the Empire's 101st Special Operations Group. I will be accepting a relatively small number of players- thinking between 3 and 5 not including myself or any co-gms, so this is not first come first served. This is a Mecha RP, with the idea that the mechs themselves are reminiscent of Gundam (specifically its 'grunt' suits), Macross/Robotech, Front Mission and Armored Core.

While nothing about giant mechs really fit the premise of 'hard sci fi', this RP will be aiming to fit something along the lines of 'hardish' sci fi: grounded in reality where possible, with some rule bending of realism and suspension of disbelief where needed. Something sorta like classic Halo 1-3 in terms of gritty military fiction vs space fantasy.

We the players will play the role of the 7th MAS Squadron, a squad from the United Earth Empire's 101st Special Operations Group, as they embark on their next campaign into the Persean Sector, a stretch of hotly contested space. Par for the course, absolutely everything goes wrong and they'll find themselves struggling for survival in increasingly hostile space. The RP itself will loosely follow a mission -> hub -> mission framework, though things may change and adapt as the RP progresses. Posts will be expected within 7-10 days following the GM post, with extensions to be provided as necessary. This RP aims to blend the melodrama of a space opera with the cold and harsh realities of war, and of course with giant robots.


Terminology and Technology:




Mobile Armor Suit Builder:


Tech Room:


Character Sheets:

The following are the Character Skeletons for the the 7th MAS Squadron. The CS's are a 2 part set. The first part is your character, the pilot. The second part is your mech, which you can make using the builder above or choose one of the UEE MAS' from the Tech Room.

A note on Callsigns: A callsign is a typically a name given to you by the rest of the squadron (whether you want it or not). There are very few people that will be willing to unironically call you "Grim Reaper" or "Kingslayer". Nicknames and Callsigns should be short, sweet, easy to call out. Examples of common callsigns are in reference to habits people observe you doing or quick shortening of your names: eg "Brit" because you have a strong English accent, "Twitch" because you tend to look around a lot/rapidly, "Kanga" because your last name is Roo, etc. If you're a brand new pilot and haven't been around long enough- or haven't been notable enough- to have an established callsign, you either won't have one or will be referred to something along the lines of "Noob", "Rook", "Rookie", "FNG", etc.

As far as roles within the squad goes- I'd like to see a relatively diverse mix of experience and talent. Squad leader, Rookie, Veteran, etc.





A PC for reference:



Galahad Caradoc



"Ah yes, the fate of the world as we know it hangs in the balance but we wouldn't want things to be unfair now would we? Etro knows that would be entirely too unreasonable." Galahad grumbled under his breath, even as he offered the Grovemasters a short, graceful nod of his head.

Their tone was grating, the poorly hidden disdain for the Kirins. Was their mission so far fetched? Though Galahad doubted any of the other groups had found the connection between Valheim and the Blight like they did, it wasn't as though they were the only group that had set out from Balmung to put a stop to the Blight. One might've recognized the importance of their mission. Galahad might've been more open with his disdain for the situation but caught himself. Perhaps he'd been spending too much time around Eliane.

"We appreciate your generosity," Galahad managed cordially, though his sarcasm was difficult to keep fully hidden. "And we would be honored for the opportunity to undertake these trials to prove the worth of our intents."

The Trial of Tides it was then. Yet another complication in their journeys. Galahad could only hope that securing the remaining crystals wouldn't come with the same issues, though knowing their luck, fates would probably find a way to shit on them again. More than the trials though, Galahad was practically seething at the fact that they'd lost Neve, so soon after her return- even after he and the others had practically swore to her that they'd make sure the Grovemasters would not have their way.

Galahad placed a hand on Neve's shoulder. He glanced at her and tried to say something- anything encouraging, but found himself without words. "I'm sorry." Galahad murmured quietly, he couldn't look her in the eyes. Perhaps after all of this, when they were successful, he'd be able to return and apologize properly. If they were successful. For now, they had a trial to face.

"You're only going to join us part of the way? How unfortunate, we surely could use your guidance." Galahad addressed Master Isolde in a rather clipped tone. "Perhaps you can recommend the services of a less talented, dedicated healer as we go." Galahad added, as he turned on his heel, ready to be rid of this place. "We've just lost ours, and perhaps this may come as a surprise to you- but in our line of work, white magic comes in handy."





[Location] Food Stands, Landow
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Mentions] @Mirandae @Silly



Any sense of calm and rationale was quickly destroyed as some untold number of strange creatures appeared. A flood of man hungry piranha-spiders or crabs, creatures seemingly hellbent on doing nothing but devouring anything that lived. People screamed, gunfire rattled through the air, their reports echoing off the buildings and filling the air with a near deafening din. Akamu tensed as he watched an unfortunate group of people too close to the harbor get devoured, and began to bound forward. Behind him, he could feel and smell the scent of Laura transforming into her Dominant form, and glanced over his shoulder to nod at her. Extending around her was an aura or barrier, both calming and quieting the uproar around them- a haven for the innocent. The woman who had joined them seem to be doing something too- her eyes glowing, but Akamu had little time to decipher exactly what she was doing, now was not the time to be thinking- it was time to act.

The noise resumed as the Regalia crossed the threshold of the barrier, people swarming past him as they rushed for the safety of Gaia. Their combined security details had already formed a defensive line, firing at the swarms as the Captain directed fire, and another beckoned civilians to safety. Unlike Laura, Akamu couldn't rightly transform in such cramped quarters at this- not without risking the lives of innocents. He'd have to make do with what he had around him for now. Heavy hands slammed onto the ground, walls of earth and stone raising around the barrier. Wide enough for the security personnel to climb up onto and use as a vantage point to fire at the monsters without catching civilians in the crossfire, with gaps in the cardinal directions for civilians to stream through. With how the creatures moved, Akamu doubted a mere wall would stop them, but it would at least slow them.

"To me!" Akamu bellowed, his booming voice cutting across the roar of gunfire and screams, encouraging both civilians and remaining Regalia and security to rally towards the shelter Gaia had created. "Away from the harbor! This way!" He cried out, even as he leaped forward towards the oncoming horde of monsters. Heavy feet slammed onto the ground, dozens of chunks of stones lifting into the air as he did. A clenched fist condensed the chunks into razor sharp shards before launching forward into the monsters. Another heavy stomp sent up more chunks of rock and stone, this time flying to Akamu to cover his body in a sort of rudimentary armor as he began to wade into the chaos, grabbing a fallen man and tossing him towards the barrier- he could apologize for his lack of gentleness later, for now he had to stem the horde. Reaching down, Akamu grabbed a fallen claw hammer from a discarded toolbox. He hefted the tool in his hand for a moment before plunging it's head into the ground, drawing out heavy rectangular chunk of stone as he yanked it back out of the ground. Good enough.

One of the crab monsters leaped at him, razor teeth gouging into stone as Akamu caught it on his forearm, his other armored hand roughly ripping it off of him before throwing it onto the ground, a stone covered foot stomping through its chitinous shell. A second lunged at him, sent flying like a baseball as Akamu batted it away with a heavy swing from his new weapon. Now appropriately armed and armored, Akamu charged into the thick of it- not seeking glory or battle, rather he sought out those that had not yet been able to flee to safety. Though not as recognizable, with his face now covered in stone- it was hard to imagine it was anyone else but the Regalia of Titan as a stoneman stormed forth.
Gerard Biserus



"Mhmm." The checkpoint guard's eyes were practically glazed over as he read the documents, his eyes glancing up briefly as he compared the information he on the papers to Justice- indicating that as bored as he looked, he was indeed paying at least a modicum of attention. "Well, you picked a hell of a time to go visit your dad." The guard chuckled mirthlessly. "There's a beer festival or something going on, so the streets are crowded and the hotels are packed. Mind how you drive." He added, glancing at the large, beaten looking truck.

In the back of the truck, Gerard was snickering more or less like Justice's inner monologue had predicted, as Morden stirred the shit with an ever impassive face. The guard had a laugh that was shared with no one, as he continued poking around the back. "You there," He pointed at Gerard, the princess next to him shooting up like her spine had been replaced by a steel rod. "I'll have a look at your papers too, and the one next to you."

"Sure," Gerard replied casually, slowly reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, his brain unsure what to do with the princess- they'd changed her clothes and put a hat on her, but forging fake IDs wasn't exactly in any of their skillsets- maybe Justice, if she had time and a space to work, but definitely nothing on the fly. "Well? Don't take all day-"

The private was interrupted by the checkpoint guard slapping the side of the truck. "Its fine." the lead guard called back, "Just military here to visit family."

With a slight rumble and hiss, the truck continued its rather unceremonious trek through the checkpoint. As the guard at the front had mentioned- it was slow going. The roads were thick with cars and people, and it was early afternoon- basically as busy as the city would get. They could heard the distant sounds of music and the near constant dull roar of an entire city of people talking. Bright pennants hung on strings stretching across streets and buildings, and more than one sloshed daydrinker forced Kali to come to a sudden halt as he walked through traffic, a rather grumpy looking police officer cutting him off on the other side.

"Think we can stop somehwere for a drink?" Gerard called out from the back, "I only vaguely recall putting Dunbarton Bier Fest on the itinerary!" His voice dropped a bit lower as he poked his head into the cabin from the back of the truck, his map app open on his phone. "Veld's people want us going here-" he added more seriously, floating the phone up onto the dash. "An even older part of town, if you could believe it. Residential district by the cliffs. I don't think this fat ass truck is going to be fitting into some of those alleyways."

Galahad Caradoc



Perhaps Galahad should've expected such a reaction from the Grovemasters. Perhaps it was their general disinterest in matters of war, or their general apprehension in the face of development, but it honestly surprised him just how withdrawn Drana Asnaeu was from the world stage. Even when Leonhart had sent out his many invites and letters to the banquet in Balmung, Galahad could count on one hand how many from Drana Asnaeu responded to the calls- just the composition of their party alone was indicative of the Dranian response. Galahad had- perhaps generously assumed that the Grovemasters were just reserved in their actions, but perhaps they really were just ignorant to everything happening around them. It was frustrating- truly. No one seemed to truly understand what was going on- how close to peril they were. They'd rather stand on ceremony or resolve petty grievances- his own family included. It was beyond frustrating- aggravating really.

Luckily for them, they had the Kirins to explain to them just what was going on: The Blight and its causes- namely Valheim and its continued corruption and invasion of Ibros. Some of them were calm and factual, others were passionate and idealistic. Éliane in particular was... a bit more aggressive and to the point. Galahad couldn't say that he exactly disagreed with her stance- his patience too had began to run thin. Though he wasn't exactly sure about the implications or directness of her statements, she was not wrong. Ibros needed to stand united. A vein on his forehead pulsed.

"Hopefully, it won't come to that." Galahad clarified, his voice calm and collected. "But to be clear. The threat that both Valheim and the Blight represents is incredibly real, and present."

"The Blight as we know it has expanded aggressively in just the past few months alone, and as young Rudolf has said, we've come across direct knowledge that ties to Valheim and their exploitation of the Sacred Crystals as its cause. The time to sit idle has long passed us. Valheim airships have already appeared in the skies just beyond Drana Asnaeu's borders. Valheim's spies may already be within your borders." Galahad continued, conveniently leaving out the fact that the Valheim airship in particular was chasing them- hoping just the threat of Valheim's proximity might give credence to their cause.

"We are going about the task of putting a stop to Valheim's machinations. The very least that we need is a dedicated healer for our expedition. Neve understands the gravity of the situation at hand, which is why she sought us out. Skael's stance is obvious- and if it hadn't occurred to you, even the old enemies of Edren and Osprey have seen fit to put aside our blades for now. The reality of the situation is, all of Ibros is facing calamity and needs to stand together- and the Crystals are the key. It is my hope that you'll allow us to do our duties."

"But for the sake of our world, we're not asking."
Rathello




The death of the boss came soon enough, Rath noticing a level up ping on his notification window as he shifted back to his humanoid form. A mild surprise to be sure, but not an unwelcome one. He must've been closer to a level up than he'd expected. Reaching down into the boss' corpse, Rath fished out a chunk of loot and held it over his head with a broad grin as he returned to the party.

"Not a bad fight huh? I think-"

Whatever good vibes that were to be had quickly disappated as they were interrupted by the talk of the town- the PK jester himself. He wanted the artifact, and unsurprisingly the party wasn't quite willing to acquiese- and Rath was no exception to the matter. He strode to the front of the party, putting himself inbetween them and the Jester.

"Doesn't the patronizing shtick get tiring?" Rath scoffed. "It's a game- and the boss isn't even that hard. What? You and your boss can't handle baby's first dungeon run by yourselves? Quit the clown act and buy the artifact off the free market like a normal person. It'll end up there after we're done with it anyway."

Rath's shoulders rolled, his eyes never leaving the jester- obviously ready for a fight. He never particularly took well to these sorts of players- insufferable assholes the lot of them. Best part about TOE was the feeling of being able to physically fight them instead of typing out vitriol over a keyboard.
oh shit- that is entirely my bad! Slipped my mind! I'll get something up soon!
Galahad Caradoc




Well, at the very least it seemed an immediate conflict would be avoided. All things considered, this was probably one of the better outcomes that could’ve been afforded them. Not to mention, some much needed downtime to restock and recuperate- thankfully on solid ground for that matter. The group of them began to slowly disperse for the day, each tending to their own needs as necessary. Glancing down at his own gear, Galahad frowned. He was in need of some repairs- and an Edren smith was not exactly in the cards. Luckily, he’d been to Drana Asnaeu once or twice before- mostly as a part of diplomatic duties, and knew a few places that could provide quality similar to that of Edren’s smiths. Lucky it was, that one of them did business within Costa Del Sol.

Looking up at those that were slower to disperse, Galahad called out to the steady swordsman, ”Arton.” He said, glancing over Arton’s equipment as he did. ”I know a smith in the area that I intend to visit. If any of your gear is in need of repair or refresh, I’d invite you to join me.”

”I appreciate the offer. There are some repairs and adjustments I need that require a proper smithy.” His voice was somewhat hoarse, if any little strained. A full, simple metal helmet covers the entirety of his features, allowing just his eyes to be seen with the right angle. The rest of the swordsman was covered in a tailored, direct mix of plate, mail, and hardened leather. It would be as hot as it was heavy.

”I'm surprised we didn't have any heat stroke incidents.” Galahad commented as he regarded Arton's armor. ”From you or I both. My armor was designed for fighting in the frigid mountains, and yours seems to lack a lot of ventilation.”

”Are you unwell, Arton?“ Galahad inquired as the two made their way down the streets of Costa Del Sol, the Dragoon informed enough to lead the way without need for direction. ”I would've thought Neve would've seen to you before the others.”

Arton’s mind returned to the conversation with Neve a few nights prior when Galahad brought up his armor’s seemingly air-tight construction. He had made it so and packed it with whatever could absorb the stench that came from the blighted parts of his body. ”I admit that it feels like I could swim in my armor after an intense fight.” He chuckled.

Arton paused for a moment at his question and nodded. ”She did come to see me shortly after we all boarded the ship together. I’ll tell you more after we get done with the smith.” The secrets he had been keeping were quickly coming to a head now. Galahad had a lot on his plate, but Arton knew it was time to let him know.

The forge in particular was unnamed, bearing no sign that otherwise denoted it's name, though the sound of constant hammerblows within the premise led them to believe that the Smith within saw no small amount of business. The Smith in question was a rather bulky and stocky Faye that went by the name of ‘Dirk’. Barely taller than the two Sollans that approached him, only his pointed ears marked him as a man of Faye origins. The Bulky Faye fixed them with a glance as the two approached. ”I've not seen a Dragoon cross my threshold in some time. Far from home aren't ye, Edreni? “

”More than you know,“ Galahad admitted, already beginning the process of removing the damaged parts of his armor. ”Most of the smaller dents I can live with, though my companion and I would have you see to some of our more worn and damaged armor.” Galahad requested, nodding to Arton as he did. He placed a bag of coins on the counter, mostly looted currency from Mizutane's mansion, though some small amount of Edreni Gil as well. ”This ought cover the costs of repair, and the rush as well. We'd like this to be done by the end of the day.”

The familiar acrid smells that came from the forge hit Arton with a sense of Nostalgia. It was in a forge just like this one in which his master had worked and passed on his knowledge to him. Perhaps it was the nature of cranky, old smiths to reside in such workshops.

Arton took his place a bit behind Galahad, letting him handle their business. It came as a surprise when the dragoon handed over a considerable sized pouch of coins. It was beyond generous. He wanted to voice his objection but one look at Galahad’s expression was enough to understand that would get him nowhere.

He removed the armor he needed work on, which included most of his plate, mail, and a few of the hardened leather pieces. Lucky for him the heat and odors from the forge covered up what smell there might have been from him. The same could not be said for the exposed skin left behind by the gaps in his armor.

Come, Arton, let us give this man his space.”

There was a small closed off yard within the smithy, meant for those to wait or test out the fit of their armor. A sparsely decorated little area, clad with young or dying grasses and a small pond, a single tree dominating the corner of the rest area. There was a single round table for seating, with a few stumps to serve as stools.

”Arton. Your arm. What has happened to you?“ Galahad asked plainly, with just a hint of wariness. It seemed that Rudolf was not the only one he needed to keep an eye on, though at this rate Galahad might have needed at least three more pairs of eyes. It was becoming almost routine at this point; another day another curse.

”Neve said something similar when she noticed too.” Arton first replied, walking over to a wooden stool before taking a seat. His gaze turned to the entrances to the yard before he began to unravel the heavy linen and leather that wrapped his left arm. Clear of the fumes and heat of the smithy, the scent was one that Galahad couldn’t mistake. ”I’ve been meaning to tell you…all of you. A few days prior to the king’s summons I was fighting blight beasts on the outskirts of a village. One of them managed to clamp its teeth on my shoulder. Guess that must have been when I got infected.” Arton looked at him with a steadfast look. If only that were everything.

”Etro above.“ Galahad swore, his face scrunching as the scent hit his nostrils. ”Pardon my language, but what the fuck?“ Ironically, despite his reaction, Galahad couldn't help but feel a small amount of relief, it was an injury, a grievous one to be sure, but not some dark spirits or Valhiemr experimentation. Or at least, he hoped so. ”Neve wasn't able to take care of that for you? What is the nature of such an injury?”

Perhaps it was lucky for them that they were in Drana Asnaeu, even if Neve couldn't heal him, chances were someone in this place would be able to, or at least know more about it.

Arton couldn’t help but stifle a weary laugh at Galahad’s reaction. He knew it was a serious issue but perhaps the talk with Neve had allowed him to somewhat come to terms with his situation. ”Trust me, I’m aware.” That brief moment of laughter soon died out with the question that came next. He shook his head as his expression grew serious. ”There was nothing she could do. As for its nature….” His hands reached down and slid a silver necklace over his head and held it out by its chain. A purple gem that was dulled and cracked hung from it.

”This was a materia I received from my master before I set out. It's supposed to increase one’s vitality. I have reason to suspect it's the only reason I’m alive right now.” He took a moment to catch his breath, gauging his friend’s reaction. ”I rarely sleep, Galahad. I find myself prone to anger. Worse yet, the moment a blightbeast enters a certain range around me the afflicted areas burn with pain.” Arton was on a death march, plain and simple.

Galahad frowned, his previous high hopes quickly dashed as he regarded the cracked materia. It didn’t seem like it was capable of providing magic anymore, more or less just a cracked bauble. The ramifications of Arton’s words were also not entirely lost on him.

”How quickly is it spreading?” Galahad asked quietly. What manner of curse or affliction was such a wound? Galahad found it hard to believe that a plain blightbeast was capable of causing such destruction- he himself had been bitten but a day into their journey. Though, with how unknown the Blight was, it stood to reason that there was a possibility of special types of infections or diseases. ”I don’t mean to sound morbid, but how much time do you predict you have left? We are in a land of healers after all, I don’t think any in the party would begrudge you if you sought out a more advanced healer- no offense intended to our dear Neve, of course.”

”Hard to say. I think…a month. Without the materia, it's definitely spreading faster. Its been on my mind since Neve talked to me. Apparently she met someone pretty skilled on her way. Perhaps she will be able to help.” If anything, he had to seek out someone or anything that could cleanse this blight from him. He knew Neve would never forgive herself if he were to perish from this. That was something he didn’t want lingering over his afterlife.

”I hate to change the subject, but there is something else I wanted to bring up to you.” Arton made sure the coast was clear before he recalled the ambush that took his parents’ lives to Galahad, about the mysterious rogue agent that orchestrated it, and how they ran off with his dear friend. It was easy to convey the details as the same nightmare had been plaguing his blight-ridden dreams every night. ”I have reason to suspect that Furi and Reisa are one and the same.”. He at last concluded, a dire look in his eyes.

”Are you certain?” Galahad asked, ”Reisa is the one that murdered Izayoi’s loved ones, if I recall correctly. For them to be the same person… Either your Furi has always been a Valheim operative- or turned soon after you lost track of them. Have you told Izayoi?”

”Not yet. We were only eight when we were separated. They must have done something to her, but I am certain she is the Furi I once knew. The gods know she haunts my dreams enough.” He sighed, his fingers running through his mess of dark brown hair. ”No matter what, she is responsible for countless deaths. I do not think Izayoi would suffer us to question her if we got the chance.”

”No, I imagine she would not.” Galahad nodded in agreement.”Izayoi seems to have few goals left- Killing Reisa seems to be one of them.”

Truth be told, Arton wasn’t sure what he even intended to do with Reisa. Countless years he imagined all the ways he would stumble upon her at long last and save her from whatever fate she had fallen into. Now it was less clear what he should do. Regardless of what he decided, he needed to at least ask her what happened. What events led her to become this twisted version of herself.

”Quite the conundrum we find ourselves in.” Galahad sighed, ”Still, I thank you for your frankness with all of this. Well. One step at a time. First let us figure out this how we’ll deal with this affliction of yours, then we can figure out how to stop Izayoi from killing Reisa- Furi, long enough for you to talk to her.”

”I feel as though finding a cure is the easier of the two. I appreciate it, Galahad. I plan on telling the rest next time we’re all together. It's about time I stop running.” He implied in his tone that he was speaking of much more than the blight. A light smirk crossed his lips. ”Say, that coin cover enough for a full plate to be made?” It might have been an odd change of topic but it was something he had been interested in.

”You’re not perhaps trying to take advantage of my generosity, are you now, Arton?.” Galahad chuckled, ”Though I suppose your gear could do with an update- especially with the trials we will no doubt face in the coming weeks. Come, we ought tell the blacksmith before he gets too deep into his work.”,

”I would never.” He laughed along with Galahad. ”Yeah, I have some designs I want to show him. I just hope he can make it to spec.” Arton nearly lost himself in the passion of his craft before catching himself. ”Galahad, thanks for hearing me out.” It felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

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