A Name To Remember Character Sign Ups

[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[Shura]

Ghost

Name:

​

Jade Hunter​

Age:

22

Gender:

Female

Allegiance:

Rebel

Role:

Tech engineer and information gathering

Specialty:

Power Suit

• Appearance
• Skills and Ability
• Power Armor
• Combat Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme Song(s)
• Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Appearance Notes:
  
  
  Height:
  
  5'8" - Slender build
  
  Weight:
  
  130 lbs
  
  Hair Color:
  
  Auburn
  
  Eye Color:
  
  Green
  
  
  
  Usual Attire:
  
  
  Spoiler

  
  
  As pictured, Shirt and pants are a bit tattered and frayed along the edges usually stained a bit with dirt, grease and blood.
  
  
  
  Marking/ Scars/ Tattoos:
  
  Has no tattoos or identifiable markings aside for some freckles along the bridge of her nose. Her upper left back, shoulder and part of her side are marred with burn scars from the incident where she lost her arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Necklace:
  
  A pendent the about 2 inches in diameter and it has its fair share is scuffed and scratched along the glass but it remains in one piece. This pendent was given to her by her father and she never takes it off.
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Prosthetic:
  
  While experimenting and trying to invent a new weapon when the invention backfired causing a large explosion. Jade noticed the instability before it went off and tried to escape the blast but ended up caught up regardless. In the aftermath she had gained several burn scars along her left side and upper left back worse off was she ended up loosing her left arm.
  
  
  Her arms was replaced with a low tech prosthetic that she has tinkered with over the years and slowly made better and stronger. She does have a noticeable increase in strength in the arm and is resistant to heat and water. There is an system to protect the arm against over load of energy and EMP. Last feature of the arm is a 4 inch sharpened hidden bladed used in emergencies.
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Skills:
  
  
  • Processing large amounts of information
    
  • Experimenting and developing tech.Very inventive
    
  • Hacking and information gathering.
    
  • Diagnosing and fixing problems with machines and technology
    
  • Analyzing and advising
    
  • Stealth
    
  
  
  Code Name: Ghost
  
  Jade was given the name Ghost for her ability to appear long enough to attacking and disappear once more in a blur of speed. She is also supposed to be dead.
  
  Special Abilities:
  
  Super-Human Intelligence
  
  -
  
  increases the mental process of the brain. Has an affinity for technology and mechanics.
  
  
  
  Strengths
  
  : Increased memorization and recall, can calculated faster and more complicated problems than normal humans, greater reasoning skills, and very fast learning, higher mental capacity, accelerated probability, mild precognition.
  
  
  
  Weaknesses
  
  : Difficulty sleeping because of how active her mind is, frequent headaches and migraines. Does suffer from mental fatigue if doing too much for too long. Can be overloaded with too much information. Still needs time to process information.
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Name:
  
  Ghost
  
  Type:
  
  
  Spoiler

  Build for high mobility, speed and uninhibited movement. The armor plating is made for a light weight but extremely durable and harden Calrhenium-Nano-Diboride. Between and underneath the armored plating is a suit core made of hyper flexible hydro carbon suit which allowed for hyper mobility, extremely durable protection.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  History:
  
  Jade has built and rebuilt several times Ghost as a personal project from when she was in her early teens. She tries not to get into fights but has seen her fair share of battles and needed to rebuild the suit, slowly advanced it. She has tried several different experiments with stealth and speed systems at has had some failures but each one has provided a learning experience for her and further advancements for Ghost.
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description:
  
  
  As seen above with some minor changes:
  
  

  • Side view of helmet and upper torso -->
    
  • No wheels, regular feet with small boosters at the ankle
    
  • Suit core does extend all the way up her neck to her jaw line.
    

  
  
  Suit Functions
  
  

  • Physical Enhancements: Increased strength, and reflexes to above average standards.
    
  • Enhanced Speed System: Boosters on back and legs allow for a faster base speed, other smaller boosters and systems with in the system allow for more stability while at high speeds.
    
  • Smokescreen: plumes of smoke released from the front and back used to blind opponents.
    
  • Camouflage: Upon activation a thin personal shield Jade modified to act as a camouflage component. Untraceable by most scans (thermal, electromagnetic, etc.), slight muffling of sound.
    
  • Shield: Energy shield which can be expanded and contracted on command. The smaller the shield the stronger it is, larger shields tend to be weaker.
    
  • System Scrambler: Emits a signal rendering surrounding tech to malfunction. Only lasts 15 sec.
    
  • Environmental Awareness: Has a system of sensors which alert to any in coming enemies and objects, the radius expands 10 ft and will advise evasive measures via HUD.
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Lightning
  
  An old Pre-calamity mech that was in desperate disrepair. It was used for a project started by her father. It has been slowly upgraded and patched up over the ears but was ultimately never finished before his death. It Sustained heavy damage during the destruction of the lab but remained salvageable. The mech is partly functional but still is missing core parts to allow it to be battle ready. Jade salvaged the Mech and has slowly been working on it little by little. Parts are hard to come by slowing its completion.
  
  
  
  Mech Type:
  Hybrid Pre/Post Calamity, speed & stealth based
  
  
  
  
  
  Weaponry:
  
  [unknown]
  
  
  
  
  
  Features:
  
  [unknown]
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Ranged Skills:
  
  A decent shot but not exactly a strong point. Can hit a target at mid and close range though it most likely be a graze or non lethal hit. At long ranged distances she is practically useless even with assistance of a suit.
  
  Melee and Close Quarters Combat Skills:
  
  Excels in close combat and has extensive training in krav maga as well as wing chun. Knows how to use a various bladed weapons, specializing in knife and is pretty good with a wrench as well.
  
  
  
  It is unknown to most but she was trained by Cameron Hardy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Other Skills:
  
  
  • Jades strongest points are stealth and speed.
    
  • Can identify analyze and point out flaws and weaknesses with different armor and mech types.
    
  • She is very resourceful and can make weapons or support tech out of scrap materials
    
  
  
  Tactics: Strike hard and fast.
  
  Jade is not the strongest nor is she much use in raged combat, she makes up for this with her speed, stealth and training in CQC. Her tactics normally revolve around remaining hidden and unnoticed, gathering as much information as possible then striking at weak spots before the target can even know she's their. In situation where there isn't enough time to gather much information she defaults to knowledge already acquired to make the best guess in how to take out an enemy.
  
  
  Her strikes are not usually leather opting to incapacitate over kill.
  
  
  If found in a situation where she is losing Jade will opt to escape using trickery and small gadgets to do so.
  
  Her goal in a fight is not to win but to survive.
  
  Jade tries to stay on the side lines during confrontations and advise from the side lines but will step in when necessary.
  
  
  
  
  
  Firearm: M1911 pistol
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  Secondary: Škorpion vz. 61
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  Melee: Knife
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Other Melee weapons include: Stun baton and Revers sword (on her suit)
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Nourishment Items:
  
  Trail mix, canteens of water, pretzel, high carb & protein bars, pieces of hard candy.
  
  Misc. Items:
  
  Always has a first aid kit along with a large packed filled with tools and small replacements parts for her mech
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  • Wrenches
    Combination wrenches, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Ratcheting box wrenches, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Crescent wrench
    

  
  
  

  • Monkey wrench
    

  
  
  

  • Socket wrench
    

  
  
  

  • Socket wrench heads, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Torque wrench
    

  
  
  

  • Speed wrench
    

  
  
  

  • 4-way lug wrench
    

  
  
  [*]Bottle opener
  
  
  [*]Paint can key
  
  
  [*]Screwdrivers:
  
  

  • Square-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Hex-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Pentagon-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Slot-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Cross-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Phillips-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Fearson-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • French-recess-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Hex-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Hexalobular-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Quadrex-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Bristol-head screwdrivers, multiple sizes
    

  
  
  

  • Pentalobe-head screwdrivers, multiple size
    

  
  
  [*]Lathing hatchet
  
  
  [*]Ball-peen hammer
  
  
  [*]Claw hammer
  
  
  [*]Hand level
  
  
  [*]Digital level
  
  
  [*]Tape measure
  
  
  [*]Portable arc welder
  
  
  [*]Small portable plasma cutter
  
  
  [*]Dynamic light-dampening safety goggles
  
  
  [*]Dynamic sound-cancelling headphones
  
  
  [*]Multi-function vision enhancement goggles (NV, IR, EM, Sonar, Radar, Thermal, UV, XR)
  
  
  [*]Diamond-tipped precision knives
  
  
  [*]Laser pointer
  
  
  [*]Various nuts, bolts, screws, nails, et cetera
  
  
  [*]Bobby pins, for various reasons
  
  
  [*]Mechanical lockpick set
  
  
  [*]Datapad multi-function PDA
  
  
  [*]Prototype SEF Universal conversion cable
  
  
  [*]Files:
  
  

  • Polysteel fileset:
    
  • Flat file
    
  • Knife file
    
  • Rat-tail file
    
  • Farrier rasp file
    
  • Dreadnought file
    
  • Millenicut file
    

  
  
  
  
  

  • Penlight
    

  
  
  

  • Heavy duty cleaning solution
    

  
  
  

  • Halon fire extinguisher
    

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DigiBrace
  
  

  • Visor Link: Links to a visor which displays information brought up by the brace
    
  • Scanner: Serves as an X-ray for most inorganic components.
    
  • Translator: For both written and audio
    
  • Info-storage: Several chip-sets with libraries of information programmed into it.
    
  • E.M.P. Protection
    
  • Invisibility component: A thin personal shield Jade modified to act as a camouflage component. Untraceable by most scans (thermal, electromagnetic, etc.), slight muffling of sound. Runs off the power of the gauntlet so is only used in short bursts.
    

  
  
  

  
• 
  
  
  
  • Personality
  • Bio
  • Writing samples

  • 
    
    
    Personality:
    
    Jade has been obsessed with technology since she was very young and often prefers the company of her creations than other humans. She will spend hours deconstructing and learning about machines, coming up with ways to enhance and upgrade existing tech and brains storming new inventions. Though she is knowledgeable she doesn't offer advice unless asked. She is sometimes forgetful and, oblivious and a bit of an air head when it comes to day to day life. Forgetting to eat or sleep while spending hours with her creations. This often has her coming off as antisocial or ditzy.
    
    
    Jade has a difficult time making friends and isn't always tact full with her responses often being very blunt. She is very smart and logical in her thinking but can relate to others on a base level. To the few friend she does have she is caring and loyal often putting herself in harms way to keep other safe. Jade is oblivious when it comes to anything romantic usually passing it off as they are just being nice. In her opinion romantic relations ships are nothing but drama and a detraction, and would rather avoid it.
    
    
    She is very out spoken and easily enraged if her any of her creations are damaged. She has very little tolerance for horseplay while in the work area often reacting in a very vocal and violent manner. Despite hate seeing others neglect their machines she is willing to lend a hand helping to others with their creations. Sometimes going overboard with her aid. Due to trauma as a child she as a severe dislike of loud explosions.
    
    
    
    Relations
    
    Emma Hunter - Mother [deceased]
    
    
    Edward Hunter - Father[deceased]
    
    
    Cameron Hardy - [Ex] Trainer/Mentor
    
    
  • 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    - Jade is a super genius and has been working with tech since the age of 3
    
    
    - She helped her father work in tech, mechs and power suits. She helped her father work for the king.
    
    
    - He father helped upgrade and maintain Cameron Hardy's Mech
    
    
    - Cameron took Jade on as an Apprentice from the ages of 10 to 19
    
    
    - 6 months ago her family was killed because her Father was helping Rebel forces
    
    
    - Jade is wanted because her body was never found so she has been helping Rebel
    
    
    History
    
    Jade was raised around machines and technology pretty much her whole life. Jades' first picture books were schematics and drawings of different models and systems. Her parents noticed she was different than most other children in that she could read and write by the age of two. When she was five the girl was already dissecting technology and rebuilding entire limbs of power armor. She was able to absorb and digest information and an alarming rate and showed an affinity for technology.
    
    
    Her father was a well know engineer whos life was spent on building and fixing tech. At times he served the king directly and had a hand in developing and maintaining Camerons Hardy's power suit and mech. Jade had gone along on most of her fathers jobs acting as his little help and at times making suggestion even he hadn't thought off. She knew of the mans reputation and power but never saw him as a threat.
    
    
    Over time she build a relation ship of sorts with Cameron seeing him as an older brother figure and mentor. As she helped advance his tech and suits Cameron in turn showed her how to defend her self. While her father was on the kings good side he did wanted Jade trained how to defend her self and fight both in and out of a armor suit. At 10 she was taken on as Cameron apprentice. Given her thin build and lack of strength she was trained in stealth. Though staying out of combat was what her father preached most. Jade listened and did not actively engage in combat unless it was a last resort.
    
    
    Once when she was around 16 she was experimenting with a new weapon for mech suits. The material became unstable though. Jade tried to escape but still suffered sever injuries to her left side, thankfully the damage was limited though. She ended up with scaring along her left side and loosing her left arm. With the aid of her father she regained function with a replacement artificial arm which made Jade very happy. Despite catastrophic backfire Jade wasn't afraid to continue her experiments and working with tech. Though she did do so with a lot more care.
    
    
    While her father did as the king ask he also sympathized with the rebellion and tried to help them out with slightly lower tech weaponry and parts. Which went on for about two years before his activities eventually got back to the king and a small force was sent to deal with the engineer. Jade survived, but only because of the quick thinking of her father in hiding Jade in the wreck of failed machines and mechs telling her to be quiet. Jade witnessed both of her parents death as well as the destruction of all of her fathers hard work.
    
    
    The event was fairly traumatizing for her but it was a turning point in her life. While she had preferred to stay neutral in the conflict and simply focus on tech, she was technically wanted since her body was never found among the wreckage. Even though she was close to Cameron and saw him as an older brother the actions of king changed her view and she grew to hate and resent him. Because Jades family was killed and her body never found she is currently wanted, so she went into hiding and started to actively help the Rebel forces helping to fix and develop their weapons and tech.
    
    
    Jade hasn't seen a lot of combat and mostly deals with tech, information gathering and stealth missions.
    
    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    Instrumental music played softly in her ears as Jade hummed to herself. The young woman had been up since the early hours before the sun was even up elbow deep in the machinery of a long term project. The large metal construct sat in the corner of one of the underground hangers. It had no light or life of its own due to it still being incomplete and missing a lot of core parts. Jade closed one of the hatches on the mechs right arm letting her hands rest on the cool metal as she grinned up at her mech feeling a sense of pride in the bit of progress she had managed to get done.
    
    
    When she had first salvaged the mech from what remained of her father’s lab she was overjoyed that one of his projects managed to survive. A small bit of light in an otherwise very bleak situation. The Mech was a prototype, the next step in the progression of technology however no it was more of a relic. Other models based on her Fathers designs existed now, faster and stronger than the original but she didn’t care. She had her own innovations and upgrades made to the Mech ones not seen by anyone outside the Rebel base.
    
    
    Grease and dirt smudged on the coveralls she wore over her clothes as well as bit on her face but she really didn't mind. She'd spend her whole life getting dirty inside the guts off all kinds of machines. It was worth a little grim if it meant the mechs completion.
    
    
    When she wasn’t working on her power suit or helping someone else with their projects the redhead working diligently on the mech. Most would think of it as an obsession which caused others to see her just a bit odd if not downright strange. Her mannerisms in general did that thought. She favored the company of artificial creations rather than people most times.
    
    
    It had its perks, she could work in pieces and when for help and she would be more than willing to lend a hand in almost anything as long as it was related to a tech of some kind. However there were those that steered clear of her path because they found out the hard way not to mess with her creations. Jade would not tolerate carelessness within the work area and often times those who liked to goof off instead of doing maintenance earned a non too gentle knock on the head with a large wrench or whatever she happened to be holding at the time.
    
    
    Jade brushed off some dust that had gotten on the metal “I’ll get you running eventually…” She promised softly to the unmoving mech. She moved to work on the next task when an alarm on her bracer went off. She jumped slightly glancing at the device before letting out a heavy sigh and setting her tools. “Can never get one day of solid work…” she slipped off the protective coveralls she headed over to a table where her power suit rested.
    
    
    ~~~
    
    
    “Watch your left, there’s a small group waiting. 250 ft out.”
    
    
    “Roger!”
    
    
    Jade chewed on her bottom lip as she watched from her vantage point hidden among the rubles of an old building. She could have gotten a better view from out in the open but wanted to conserve power from where she needed it. Her eyes scanned the battle field through a haze of information displayed on her HUD. Zooming and unzooming to get a better idea on how to advise the small rebel group dispatch of the crew of soldier that had cornered them.
    
    
    She focused in on the suits being used by the enemy some of the less specialized kind which were standard use. “Standard issue armor, normal weak spots. Be careful.” She spoke over the radio once more half listening to the static ‘Roger’ which followed.
    
    
    An alert beeped out of the corner of her eye and she cursed under her breath triggering her stealth system as she got up. There was movement in her direction too close for it to just be passing by. She pressed herself against the wall next to the entrance and waited. The sound of gun fire could be heard from the others engaging the soldiers, she hoped they could fair without her help for the moment.
    
    
    The entrance way was only big enough for one of them to enter so all she had to do was wait.
    
    
    “Doesn’t look like there’s anything here.”
    
    
    “I know I saw something, we have to check.”
    
    
    Two unfamiliar voices, which caused her to tense further and ready to move. Dozens of attack plans and techniques flickered through her mind, all committed to muscle memory through hundreds of hours practicing. She narrowed her eyes slightly pushing past the faint memories which tickled the edge of her mind, of the man who had taught her everything.
    
    
    The long barrel of a rifle crossed over the thresh hold and she narrowed her eyes further waiting for the threat to take another step into the room. As soon as she saw the uniformed suit of an enemy she jumped first grabbing the barrel of the gun first so she wouldn’t be shot then twisted using all of her body weight behind a solid knee to the mans gut. Between her suit and the move its self the man was sent flying back into his partner, both stumbled back. With not a second to stop Jade swung the butt of the gun into the first man’s helmet with an echoing crack shattering the visor and caving in the side. The boy fell limp to the side just as the second man regained his footing and bring up his gun.
    
    
    Jade had already moved to the side as then man fired where she would have been. A powerful sweep kick to the knees assisted by a pulse from the small boosters for added force and the man when down with an audible crack of metal and bone. Jade followed the sweep with the same as the first cracking the soldier over the head with the gun knocking him out Justas the other.
    
    
    Jade sighed heavily looking over the gun with a nod of approval before stealing what weapons and ammo the men had on them as well as a few little things such as canteens and flashlights. It might not seem like much but you’re the enemy of an entire country every bit helps.
    
    
    “Jade are you alright?”
    
    
    “Yeah, On my way, was just dealing with some strays.”
    
    
    
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Personal Theme
  
  [media]
  
  ​
• [/media]
  Battle Themes
  
  [media]
  
  ​
  
  [/media]
  Alternate
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

 

[Brax]

The Wolf

Name: Cameron Hardy


Age: 1504


Gender: Male


Alliegence: King Haystrim's Royal Army


Rank: Colonel

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Mech
• Mech Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Power Armor
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme/Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance: Height: 5'9"
  
  
  Weight: 150 pounds.
  
  
  Hair Color: Jet black
  
  
  Eye Color: Yellow
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes:
  
  
  His power suit connects to his mecha. Cameron's regular clothes are not typically too torn, but from time to time could be found slightly dirty given the fact that he is not often gifted the chance to wash them. Traveling from place to place by himself for long periods of time have also seen them become slightly raggedy.
  
  
  Written Description of Scars and Tattoos:
  
  
  There is a tribal tattoo running from the man's right shoulder down to his fingertips. There's a scar running diagonally down the right side of his forehead to his eyebrow. There's another that runs diagonally from the right side of his neck, down across his chest completely. His back is littered with scars that run haphazardly.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills:
  
  
  Cameron is nimble and acrobatic. He is a fast runner, with the ability to run a mile in six minutes flat. Due to constant weight training throughout a significant portion of his life, the Colonel is in the best shape he could possibly be in. The young man is a talented artist, but the skill is rarely utilized unless he is extremely bored. Cameron's body could withstand substantial amounts of ingested alcohol due to a rather high tolerance level (if that even counts). He is good at his job, and knows where he has to be at all times. A seasoned militant, Cameron never has to be told what to do. Rather, he just does what he feels he has to. The Colonel is also proficient at operating various aircrafts.
  
  
  Special Abilities:
  
  
  Telekinesis. His use of the power is extremely limited, and can only be used in short bursts due to the fact that it is extremely exhausting. He is not able to read people's minds, nor is he powerful enough to take control of another's body. The use of his power allows him to lift heavy objects, even large vehicles - but not for long periods of time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of the Suit:
  
  
  The colors of the mech are blue, black and orange. There are two enlarged parts on the back, which exist for jet propulsion. Lumiere opens vertically, with its front and back both detaching in order for the pilot to get in. Cameron operates by looking through the head of the mech, which is impossible to see into but completely transparent on the inside. The height of the machine is thirty feet tall. There is a blade attached to the right forearm, which is normally pointed in reverse direction; it could face the other way if Cameron positioned it as such. The other forearm has a blaster connected to it.
  
  
  Name: Lumiere
  
  
  Type: Recon, built for fast-pace action and constant movement.
  
  
  History:
  
  
  It has taken part in more battles than could possibly be counted. The mecha was originally created by King Haystrim, as a gift to his son for graduating at the top of his class. Despite the fact that Cameron resents his father for never being around or providing the proper experience for him growing up, the young man found that the machine was quite suitable for his needs. After his first ten battles were won in dominating fashion, Cameron grew to feel as though he became one with his machine. While he is not attached to anything in particular, he has a respect for the craftsmanship of the technology as well as how it handles specifically to his liking.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills:
  
  
  Cameron has been trained with firearms his entire life, though rarely uses them. In situations where guns might have to be used, the man will typically stick to pistols rather than heavy or larger guns. He has better accuracy with smaller weapons. The further the target is, the more likely Cameron is going to miss. He is an average shot.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills:
  
  
  The Colonel tends to fair well when it comes to close-quarter situations. His accuracy rarely falters and he never misses a shot from close range unless he means to from the moment he pulls the trigger. Most of the time, if Cameron is close enough to his target, he will forgo the use of firearms completely - as previously stated.
  
  
  Melee Skills:
  
  
  Cameron is a Muay-Thai fighter, experienced in mixed martial arts along with experience in plenty of fights. It has been many years since he has lost a hand-to-hand bout, because the Colonel insists on keeping his skills sharp as often as he can. He is an acrobatic, elusive and speedy fighter who is aware of all the right points to hit. With bad intentions at all times, Cameron aims to end fights quickly by incapacitating his opponents at lightning speed.
  
  
  Other Skills: The king's son is a magnificent at swordplay.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary: This is a hand-gun. It has a built-in silencer, and a chamber which holds sixteen bullets at a time. There is a red-dot sight attached to the top and custom grip.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary: Good old, reliable shotgun. There's no need to aim with a spread so wide. Can hold up to eight bullets at a time, and is used in situations where the pistol cannot be used.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: This is Cameron's primary weapon, used in most cases. It is a essentially two katanas with fit into one sheath. One is of shorter length than the other. Typically speaking, the Colonel uses both in hand-to-hand combat situations which allow it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items:
  
  
  A load of water flasks and non-perishable food items, such as canned vegetables or soups. For the most part, Cameron only eats to survive; he does not eat because he enjoys a good meal. If it were up to him, he probably would not eat at all.
  
  
  Misc. Items:
  
  
  A sweatshirt and a blanket. A pack of smokes when he could find one. On occasion, he will pick up a bottle of alcohol to accompany him on long trips. His mother gifted him a picture frame of the two of them when he was younger - something he always carries with him wherever he goes. A music player in case he ever gets an urge to listen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality:
  
  
  Cameron is cold-blooded. There is not a lot of things that he cares for. He considers his life replaceable, along with the lives of everyone around him. He lives his life for a paycheck and for the name of glory; he loves being known as the one know one can defeat. When Cameron is seen, he is given the respect he deserves or else. There is no other option, for people; because he is the king's son, Cameron often gets away with a lot of things that others cannot and he is fully aware of this fact, so he uses it to his advantage.
  
  
  The Colonel is not cocky, rather he is just aware. He knows his place, he knows what he can and cannot handle. He is not irrational, rather he has been mathematically abused for multiple years of his life. The man was molded from birth to become a warrior - and for better or worse, that is exactly what he became upon adulthood. The man is not aware of social norms, nor is he stupendous at social interaction. He can be hostile from time to time, but generally keeps his emotions in check. Cameron knows when to speak and makes it a point to get his ideas across when he does.
  
  
  He is not material. Despite the fact that he comes from royalty, Cameron does not display behavior that falls in line with the rest of the family. The Colonel is a wanderer at best, who only comes out of hiding to his father when he is called upon to handle situations in battle. Otherwise, he is virtually a ghost. He is sure to hide his location most of the time, because being alone is what Cameron finds to be the most comfortable living situation. The man is well aware of what is right and wrong.
  
  
  History:
  
  
  Cameron was born into war. He was molded for battle, and designed to kill. From the start, his father had absolutely nothing to do with him. His mother tried to be a loving, driving force in his life but there was essentially nothing that she could do. When he was old enough to walk, Cameron was shipped off to an academy. The process of his brainwashing began, something which lasted for fourteen hundred and fifty years. He was never around and virtually unknown until he was released from the same academy he was put in as a child.
  
  
  The young man has never lost a fight in his mech, nor has he ever lost a fighting contest. From the moment he began learning to do both, Cameron excelled immensely. He is seen as a prodigy, to the point where even assistants challenged the boy to training sessions and lost. The Colonel has always been driven by glory; if his father did not make it a point to know him, then he was make sure to do that by force. If the entire world knew of his plight, of his exceptional prowess, then his father would be forced to as well.
  
  
  Eventually, that drive to be noticed turned into bitter hatred. He was never treated as though he was cared about, and that put his mental state to duress over the years. Cameron had to adapt and learn to trust himself, and eventually he came to a point where he was comfortable enough to prefer his own company over anyone else's. His cold disposition had grown to outrageous points since birth, but they really are not meant to hurt anybody. In fact, they simply exist as a defense mechanism for his emotions. Cameron never knew any better.
  
  
  The first time his father saw him fight in a mech, it was as a replacement for a pilot who had been killed outside of battle. He was young, but forced to pilot nonetheless. When Cameron stepped foot into the machine and got to work, his father found noticed two things. Not only was the boy extremely strategically inclined, but barbaric in his style of fighting. He crushed all opposition he faced without any resemblance of chance from the other side.
  
  
  Rigorous testing ensued following his first true appearance on the battlefield. The king immediately deemed Cameron worthy of piloting a mech and gifted him with Lumiere. It was given over to him on the same day he graduated from the academy. The father of Jade Hunter was responsible for its creation. The very same day he received his mech, Cameron began living on the move. Since then, the prince had been wondering from city to city without aim. He is called upon by his father on a need-basis only. Aside from that, he pretty much operates at his own will.
  
  
  To sum it all up, Cameron is an ice-cold fighter. He exists for glory and bathes in it.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample:
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, Cameron would find himself raising his hands to rub his eyes. It was just another day for the Colonel, who found himself heading home to the King and his mother after a full year of being out on duty. It had been a long time, but those whom he briefed with at the various posts that he visited over the past month were sure to let him know that a vacation was not so bad, every once-in-a-while.
  
  
  Funny, considering the fact that Cameron believed he had been on vacation for the past year. The fact that his father wanted him home meant he would have to work; whether it be on 'family time' or actual things he was needed for. Either way, the young man preferred to not spend his time at that particular dwelling. Honestly, it was not even that bad - Cameron just did everything within his power to distance himself from his father, especially to the point of taking his mother's maiden name.
  
  
  His mech propelled itself through the air, raised at about the same height that planes fly at on average. Thirty thousand feet was not too high, especially considering that Cameron spent most of his time flying in the mech from place to place anyway. At this point, he considered clouds to be much like roadsigns. The height certainly did not scare him by any means.
  
  
  The use of an autopilot feature allowed for the young man to keep his hands off of the controls. Opening the lone compartment belonging to the oversized war-machine, two of the Colonel's vices would make themselves visible. A pack of cigarettes and a bottle of alcohol. Cameron removed a smoke from the pack, bringing it to his lips. When the man found that his lighter was not in the small compartment belonging to the chair he was sitting in, he extended his hand out to his side. The lighter flew off of the ground somewhere behind him, into his palm.
  
  
  Setting light to the smoking apparatus, Cameron's anxiety level instantly found itself lowering. He knew the moment he get home he was going to deal with his mother, who was really a project on her own. She was always so worried and loving. His father was too, but Cameron disliked it. As far as he was concerned, the two were always trying to make up for lost time. When the system let the man know it was preparing for arrival, he leaned back and let the mech run it's course.
  
  
  When he finally landed on the ground and his machine had opened up appropriately, Cameron stepped out dressed like a complete bum. He knew he was coming home, so he did not bother keeping combat uniform on - just the sleeveless, zip-up hoodie. The hood was halfway over his head like normal, both hands shoved into his pockets. As he hopped a couple of feet down from his perched spot, Cameron crouched slightly as to absorb some of the shock. The cigarette between his lips was halfway finished, though still burning away.
  
  
  Two infantryman approached him as he walked up from the landing pad. Both were people whom he had served in the academy with, around the same time he was graduating. As though nothing had changed, the two greeted Cameron appropriately before going off on their talking tangents. The first man mentioned that his wife had a child and her ass was too fat for his liking. This was at the same time the second man decided to tell him a story about the disgusting cyst he popped on his leg the previous night. Cameron stared at the two in disbelief.
  
  
  "Just shut the fxck up, and take me to the big man."
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample:
  
  
  Peering between the two mechs only a few-dozen yards away, Cameron was determined to finish what had been started. The fighting session might not have been too serious, but it was still customary for Cameron to go as hard as he could as though he were fighting for his life. That meant it was not an option to lose. As he continued staring down the two mechs before him, he watched as both began speeding in his general direction - running. Of course, the Wolf had to adjust appropriately in order to accommodate their swift arrival.
  
  
  The suit was connected to his brainwaves. Technology! Adjusting his stance by use of the paddles, Lumiere found itself sliding its left leg out further than the other. It got a bit lower to the ground by means of crouching, one hand grasping the hilt of its sword. The machine waited until both machines moved to strike; one in the form of a punch, while the other attempted to full-on tackle Lumiere from the side. As the fist of the large machine neared him, Cameron was able to duck under what seemed to be a rather slow attempt. The impact of the mech coming from the right actually lifted Lumiere off of its feet, causing the two to roll backwards twice. When they finally stopped moving, Lumiere had been positioned on top of the other mech. It locked its legs into a full-mount position.
  
  
  Cameron began screaming. The mech's right elbow began ravenously smashing into the other mech's face piece repetitively, until there was nothing left. Of course, the partner whom was piloting the other mech was doing so through the chest. Otherwise, there would have been an appropriately-sized pool of blood mixed in with the broken metal and severed wire before him. Cameron quickly peered up to see his last opponent sending a swift kick for his face. This was inappropriate, especially given the fact that the man thought he would be able to get a hit in after missing his first one.
  
  
  Well, the foot of the other mech did connect. The only difference was that Lumiere's arms had raised above its face to block the kick, causing the machine's knees to slide back a couple of feet. They left a trail in the ground as the momentum of the offensive strike forced him to move. Cameron quickly got to his feet, staring down the other mech for a moment. Then both moved in toward each other at the same time. The mech before him had cocked its arm back to throw another punch, but Lumiere had sent a rather violent push-kick toward it's chin.
  
  
  When the heel found it's target, Cameron forced the mech's leg to find ground once more before he slid in and delivered a swift left jab. The machine's arm smashed into the side of the mech's head, causing it to stumble to the side. Lumiere followed up with a hard right hook, which took the head completely off. This caused the mech to fall to the ground immediately, crumpling up as though Lumiere's fist was a hurricane knocking off the shingles to a wooden home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Battle:
  
  
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[Riddle78]

Seamus Young,The Thief of Time

Name: Seamus Young


Age: 27


Gender: Male


Allegiance: Rebels


Rank: N/A

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP
• Theme Song(s)

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: Six foot three
  
  
  Weight: 197 pounds
  
  
  Hair Color: Dirty blond
  
  
  Eye Color: Grey
  
  
  

  

  Seamus' combat wear; A simple flak jacket. He just tosses this over his normal clothes,and away he goes. His normal attire is identical to the image above. His trousers are in a similar style to his jacket,and held up with jury-rigged suspenders. Wears shit kickers.
  
  Written Description of Clothes: As pictured,torn up,stitched and patched back together. When using his power,his eyes blow an icy blue.
  
  
  Written Description: Unscarred,though he has the complexion of a dirty boot. Seamus Young has a lithe build,looking almost malnourished.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: He doesn't even touch firearms. Should he pick one up,he's likely going to miss spectacularly.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: He'll either miss spectacularly,or give himself a hot lead nose piercing.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Give him a staff or polearm,and he'll make it dance. In other words,he's peerless with a long pole-like weapons. With other melee weapons,he's also quite skilled,but nowhere near on the same level as poles. In an unarmed fight,he's also quite adept,but he'd rather a weapon in hand.
  
  
  Other Skills: He's a security expert; No matter how you secure it,Seamus knows how to get it,while disabling all of the security between him and his prize. As well,he is an incredibly sneaky fellow,and knows how to break pursuit in short order.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Thief of Time. Seamus perceives time differently from everyone else. To him,it's a flowing,branching river,and he exerts limited control over this river. He can steal time itself,so long as it's "close" to him,and do with it as he pleases. He can erase the stolen time,extend it,move it,and the like,with the expected results; Swapping two points in time will move the people it effects accordingly. The time could be "universal time",which effects the entire universe,but Seamus is deathly afraid of ripple effects,so he sticks to "personal time",which only effects specific targets.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Seamus wields a simple staff as his weapon of choice. It is simple,and effective,and strictly enforces his "Do not kill" code of ethics. The eight foot long pole affords him excellent reach while enabling him to strike enemies with enough force to break bones and knock people senseless.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: On the go,Seamus keeps three one liter canteens of water on hand,as well as five kilograms of hardtack and a bag of berries.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Seamus carries a hatchet and crowbar with him wherever he goes to use as tools,as well as a full set of screwdrivers and similar hand tools. He also carries several mirrors; Invaluable tools for any trespasser.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: Seamus can be,loosely,described as a pacifist; He absolutely refuses to kill a fellow human being,as he believes that humans,as intelligent beings,are capable of changing themselves. That,and he's a thief,not an assassin. He's fully willing to beat a man to within an inch of his life,however,if he needs to. He's a trickster and joker,even playing up a game with the Crown in hot pursuit. Strangely,he hates being idle,and must always be doing something.
  
  
  History: Whoever said that there isn't any honor among thieves needs to jump off a bridge. Seamus is a thief,and has been ever since he could move on his own. While some would say this is a sign of kleptomania,Seamus likes to see it as a survival instinct; Armageddon has been harsh to Earth,and those that somehow exist in its wake.
  
  
  Seamus' career of larceny is long,but relatively uneventful. He's a natural,having subsisted himself on stolen food and water,stolen belongings,and stolen shelter. He never killed,and likely never will. According to the old timers and old books,Seamus was born in Ontario,though he couldn't pin down exactly where. Roaming from town to town,Seamus did what Seamus does; Steal to live,and beating the occasional asshole into submission for being a threat,be it to himself,or others. This has made him a bit of a person of interest to His Royal Majesty's forces,as he's beaten the living daylights out of more than a few Civil Protection units for threatening civilians. Thankfully,they don't assume him to be a rebel,simply a thief with a white knight streak.
  
  
  Most recently,he escaped Crown custody,and happened across a tiny village to the West of a large metropolis ruin,with a bunker beneath. The locals seemed friendly enough,so he hopped in to see what was what.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Pause. Seven seconds. Turn. One. Two. Three... Now. Seamus vanished from the vent that he was hiding in,and appeared behind the patrolling Royal soldier,moving in lockstep. This was a long-practiced method; He stayed close,but not close enough where they could feel his breathing,but not so far as to keep him from straying within the guard's peripheral vision when he turned around. Speaking of which...
  
  
  Turn.
  
  
  Seamus deftly and silently walked in a wide circle,keeping out of the guard's peripheral vision as he did so,and continued to walk down the hall,undetected. Approaching the door,Seamus saw that it was secured with a simple keypad. Going to have to get around that. Peering over his shoulder,Seamus saw the guard was still walking towards the other end of the hall. Perfect. To Seamus' eyes,the world turned icy shades of blue,and everything slowed. Everything but him. To everyone else's perceptions,time was flowing normally,but Seamus would be an impossible-to-understand blur. He shrank his own moments.
  
  
  Pulling out his tools,Seamus had the keypad open before him in moments. Pulling back the circuit board,Seamus started to hotwire the lock on the door. It didn't take too long. The light above the door blipped green,and the lock disengaged with a click. Reassembling the panel,Seamus slipped through the door before it locked itself again,just as the guard stopped at the far end of the hall.
  
  
  Time resumed at its normal pace for everyone.
  
  
  Inside the secure room,Seamus saw that it was empty. Lucky break. The room was large,and host to numerous computer terminals and containment units,though two stood out. One was completely sealed,though he knew what it contained from the documents he managed to steal. The other was a surprise,and was also fully sealed. Empty rooms rarely remain so for long. Seamus approached the other sealed container,and hotwired its locks,just like the door before. Sliding it open,Seamus looked puzzled; It looked like... A brick. A big,grey brick. The metallic sheen betrayed its nature,though,and it had several panels along it. Sealing the crate again,Seamus turned his attention to the one he knew the contents of; A specialized suit of armour. Pretty much powered armour,though it was light enough to save the power for things like the helmet's toys,and,apparently,hot-swap attachments.
  
  
  Smirking like the cat that ate the canary,Seamus popped the lock on the suit's case,and opened it up. Calling it powered armour was a lie,really. It was a skinsuit with some armoured plates stuck to it,and a helmet that plugs into it. Seamus donned the suit,which was easily done,and strapped on the helmet,before plugging it in. The suit performed an autoboot,and,much to Seamus' satisfaction,didn't have any security features built in. Well,it likely had a tracker,but that'll be taken care of in the getaway truck.
  
  
  Opening the mystery case once more,Seamus pulled out the brick,and saw that it could unfold. He slowly unfolded it,and gasped in realization as he learned what it was; It was one of those hot-swap modules the documents spoke of. The socket was plainly visible,now. And,judging by the shape,and the openings at the ends of the outer pieces,it was a jump pack,or somesuch. Glancing at his visor's HUD,he saw that there were several sockets,though the only one that would match this thing's socket was...
  
  
  "The ass? Really?" Glancing at the pack,and back at his HUD,Seamus sighed,wondering how this would work,exactly. Regardless,he folded the pack up,and awkwardly reach around his back,eventually plugging in the back after an agonizingly awkward minute. Immediately,Seamus groaned in discomfort as he felt a stabbing,twisting pain behind his eyes,while simultaneously feeling as if he were dunked into ice water. When he regained his senses,Seamus saw that the suit recognized the new attachment. "Huh. Icarus Personal Aerial Mobility Unit?" With a thought,the pack unfolded itself.
  
  
  "Cool." Picking up his staff and tools,Seamus made for the door. Of course,they won't let him walk out with this,but he doubted they'd be able to stop him. "Always wanted a jetpack."
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: Seamus shook his head as he looked into the room outside. Five men. Why do the Royals always make it so difficult? Gripping his staff,Seamus kicked out the vent cover with a mighty clatter. Instantly,the men were alert,and moving towards the source of the noise. "It's dented." "Look how far away it is." "Kicked. Check the vent." One of the soldiers crouched down to check the vent,and that's when Seamus made his move. For a split second,the world was blue,bright and cold,and then he was in the room proper,already swinging his staff.
  
  
  "Hello,gentlemen!" Seamus's staff slammed into one helmeted forehead,causing the man to recoil and stumble away. Seamus thrust the staff forth into his throat,causing his breath to come up short,doubling him over to clutch his precious throat,dropping his rifle.
  
  
  Seamus' vision strobed blue.
  
  
  He rammed the staff backwards,into the second soldier's groin,just as he wheeled around to shoot the intruder,though now he was doubled over,just like his compatriot. Seamus chuckled as he spun about and braced his staff against the back of the second soldier's neck,and hopped over him,driving his face into the floor. Seamus landed behind the soldier who went to check the vent,who was still halfway in,and slammed the end of his staff square into his bottom.
  
  
  The sound that the soldier made was difficult to discern. But it involved pain.
  
  
  Seamus pushed with his leg,and the soldier slid into the vent further,likely to avoid another poke from the staff. Wheeling around,Seamus saw that the first soldier was straightening back up,drawing a handgun. His vision strobed again,and Seamus ducked down and to the left,making sure to stomp on the second soldier's head to keep him down. The first soldier fired his gun,but missed,thanks to Seamus' knowledge of time. Seamus came up right in the soldier's grill,and kneed him in the groin,causing him to buckle over once more. Seamus slid around the soldier and kicked the back of his head,pitching him facefirst into the floor.
  
  
  Just to make sure,Seamus crouched down,and gripped the back of the soldier's helmet. "Tell me how much this hurts." Without waiting,Seamus repeatedly slammed the first soldier's helmeted face against the floor,the soldier screaming in fear and pain all the while. By now,the second soldier was crawling up onto his hands and knees,staring at Seamus and his compatriot. "Oh,hi! Didn't see you there!" With that,Seamus thrust his staff forward,straight at the polarized visor of the second soldier's helmet.
  
  
  The staff plunged through,punching a neat hole into it,and burying itself in the soldier's eye. Seamus roughly removed the staff,the end covered in gore,as the soldier writhed on the ground,howling in agony and terror. "'Least you're still alive! Better than you were planning for me,I'm sure!" Seamus slid his staff under the first soldier's arm,and started to apply pressure,up. He was planning on crippling the limb. However,the sound of approaching boots reached Seamus' ears. His vision strobing blue,he saw that the remaining two soldiers were coming up on the same side. Are these guys amateurs? Picking up the dropped rifle,Seamus was happy to see that it was an automatic,and blindly fired on the side the soldiers were approaching from,spraying the entire side of the room.
  
  
  Dropping the weapon like he just learned that it were covered in shit,Seamus returned to crippling his opponent,the two other soldiers now hiding behind cover. He worked quickly,dislocating the first soldier's shoulders,then shattering them with swift,strong strikes from the staff. Crippled. Concussion. He'll live. Standing up,Seamus kicked the second soldier in the chin,cording him belly-up. "If you know what's good for you,you'll stay right where you are,and clutch your eye socket. Try and stop me,and I'll take the other one. Are we copacetic?" The soldier nodded vigorously. "Good." The thief stood up,and walked up to the vent,the third soldier still cowering within.
  
  
  Right,the vent's acoustics must've made it sound like a horror show. Gripping his ankle,Seamus pulled the man from the vent,and flipped him over. Planting one foot on his groin,Seamus thrust his staff into his throat,ready to press down. "Same deal. Try to stop me,and I'll beat on you like a cheap drum." Seamus put his weight on the right leg,the one on the man's groin,causing him to groan and squirm. "Understood?" The soldier nodded as best he could with a staff at his throat. "Excellent."
  
  
  
  
  
  Seamus vanished from the man,and appeared behind the fourth and fifth soldiers. "Didja miss me!?" Seamus lashed out with his staff at the both of them,striking them about the heads and arms,forcing them to drop their rifles and try to cover their heads; Though they were armoured,the force and noise of the impacts were more than enough to rock and disorient them.
  
  
  With their guards so high,Seamus abruptly changed tack,and struck the sides of their knees,shattering them easily. The soldiers fell to the ground like sacks of potatoes,too blinded by pain to do much. Taking the opportunity,Seamus kicked their rifles across the room,and proceeded to strip them of all weapons,adding them to the rifle pile. "Now,I don't wanna have this conversation with you two again. Ya getting me?" The soldiers groaned and nodded,to which Seamus smiled,and replied, "Great! Stay there,and wait for the medics!"
  
  
  
  
  
  Seamus left the room,whistling to himself. I may need to wash my hands after touching so many guns,but that felt good!
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Sneaking: Warframe Soundtrack - Vacuum
  
  
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  Played when he's doing his thang
  
  
  Kicking Ass & Taking Names: Warframe Soundtrack - Reset
  
  
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  Played when Seamus is making people regret their life choices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

​

Bloody Mary,Terror made Flesh

Name: Marianne Fitzgerald


Age: 32


Gender: Female


Alliegence: Followers of the Apocalypse


Rank: N/A

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP
• Theme Song(s)

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: Five foot ten
  
  
  Weight: 187 pounds
  
  
  Hair Color: Dark brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Green
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: Her casual attire is exactly as pictured in the first image,though when she goes out and expecting trouble,she dons an outfit similar to the second one above,minus the mask.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Ranged Skills: Bloody Mary doesn't like to use guns,because of how impersonal it is,but she does know how to use them quite well,thanks to her training.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: She likes the fighting up close,and is actually a remarkably steady shot up close.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Her melee skills are bordering on inhuman; Though she follows no particular martial art,Bloody Mary is able to control a large fight as soon as combatants get within five feet.
  
  
  Other Skills: Bloody Mary is an excellent cook and butcher,valuable skills in the New World. As a hobby,she's picked up taxonomy,disguise,and infiltration.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Walking Nightmare. Those who have not become acclimated to Mary's unique presence are plagued constantly. When they see her,and only when they see her,they are filled with an overwhelming sense of otherness,something wrong,and uncanny that they can't quite put their finger on,triggering a primal fear response. This causes varied effects,but the most frequent is the beholder's marksmanship degrading to "Imperial Stormtrooper" levels,frequently missing at point blank range,even with automatic weapons.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary Firearm: A MacGuyvered submachine gun,the weapon is relatively unique; Only members of the Followers of the Apocalypse are seen using it with regularity. Despite being an SMG,this weapon fires 5.56mm rounds at a fair speed,though the weapon will often overheat as a result,so trigger discipline must be exercised. The barrel is smoothbore,so it isn't exactly stellar at longer ranges.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary Firearm: A pistol so massive,it might as well be a stockless carbine. This five-shooter appears to be a very heavily modified Smith & Wesson .500 hand cannon. Mary liberated this beauty from some bandit lord in the ruins of Toronto a couple years ago. Kicks like a monster,but the accuracy and stopping power are impossible to argue with.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Sidearm: The SIG-Sauer 14mm handgun,rechambered for the infinitely more common 12.7mm short round,which is often mistaken for .50 Action Express. This pistol is exceptionally accurate and durable,though it kicks like an incredibly angry camel. Fitted with a suppressor and an extended ten round magazine. This weapon is a recent acquisition of Mary's.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Royal Forces issue combat knife. This weapon was designed with utility in mind,capable of serving as a standalone knife,a saw,a bayonet,and even wire cutters,when used with the scabbard.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Something that is definitely NOT standard Royal Forces issue,Bloody Mary keeps this ice climbing hook handy as a weapon,but also to keep trophies on. It also works quite well for parrying melee strikes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: Marianne tends to keep several canteens of water handy,and some dried meats.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Bloody Mary always has a frying pan handy,as well as a radio.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: Marianne Fitzgerald is a woman of masks. As a master of disguise and espionage,she could affect any personality she desired at any moment. Her true self,however,is undeniably broken. She is insane,having a morbid fascination with assorted bodily systems,most notably the skeleton. She's been known to break into song in the middle of combat,and can swing from calm to murderous with no provocation and reason.
  
  
  History: Since when were the rebels the good guys? Marianne Fitzgerald was born in a rather... Questionable family. They did what they had to in order to survive. Mother sold herself,father plundered. But Mary? She had more self respect than that. As she grew up,she saw how her parents were always so miserable.
  
  
  She got it into her head,however,that they weren't miserable for the obvious reasons. No,they were miserable because they were living a vegan life. No meat. No cheese. No eggs. So,in her twisted youthful innocence,Marianne set out to correct at least one part of that. Taking one of the kitchen's knives,she went out and killed the first lone person she found.
  
  
  He was a large man,too. Somehow,against all odds,he grew fat in the Hell that was the New World. He must've had all the meat,she reasoned. Why else would he be fat? She killed him,and dragged him back home,mother and father away. She butchered the corpse,quite haphazardly,and prepared a meal for her parents for when they got back.
  
  
  The family dined well that night,enjoying their meat. When asked where she got the meat,Marianne simply said that she took it,and her parents simply rolled with it; They were having good meat,fresh meat. What would it matter where it came from?
  
  
  Her parents never found out,and eventually,when the King's forces came into town,she was drafted on the spot for being young and able bodied. She didn't protest; Survival meant following the bigger guy. In the following years,Mary performed well as a soldier,though not well enough to distinguish herself; She still felt the urge to dine on human flesh. If she distinguished herself,people would be watching her. So,Marianne was eventually promoted to Corporal.
  
  
  By now,she was getting worried. Any higher,and she'd be in a leadership role. That wasn't good; People don't like cannibals. Eventually,she hatched a plan,albeit a flimsy one: Get sent on patrol duty,and play dead when the shit hits the fan.
  
  
  Eventually,it worked. On patrol one day,the squad was set upon by a band of raiders,where she played dead,while her former compatriots were slaughtered wholesale. When the dust settled,and the raiders fled,Marianne fled into the dust,stripping her uniform of any marks of the Crown.
  
  
  She eventually found her way to the Followers of the Apocalypse,and went through their initiation ritual. Once the night was up,she was laughing,saying that she wanted to spend her days off in there. The Followers were baffled,though the human-shaped monsters within the stockade knew better; One third of them worshiped her like a goddess,another third avoided her like some plague,the final third were dead,some of them eaten,because they thought they could kill her. Sucks to be them.
  
  
  Now,Bloody Mary stalks the New World,always looking for fresh meat to bring back to her new happy family...
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: Bloody Mary whistled to herself as she grilled a slab of meat on the enormous barbecue the Followers had set up. She tossed on a pinch of some spice or another,and flipped the steak,inhaling the rich scent the cooking meat made as it sizzled on the iron grill.
  
  
  Tossing on more spice,she flipped the meat again to finish cooking,and started to pull out a plate for herself when someone walked into the tent. Looking over her shoulder,she saw it was the newest person to make it through initiation,Samuel Baker. "Hey,Sammy. 'Sup?" Samuel waved,and said, "Nothing much,but I think I might be hungry." Bloody Mary laughed,and pulled down a second plate. "Catch,ya mooch!" Sam laughed as he caught the plate with one hand.
  
  
  "It's in my nature! So,steak,eh? Damn,you're good,Mary." Mary smirked as she poked the cooking slab of meat. Good,medium rare. "This one's done." Marianne pulled it off the grill with a spatula,and deposited it on Samuel's plate. The slab of meat was at least two inches thick. "Enjoy!" Samuel sat down,and cut into his meal. If his silence was any indication,he was either famished,or really enjoying it.
  
  
  Mary slapped another piece of meat onto the grill,for herself,this time,and began to hum a tune. Some of the older members said it was called TNT,but she didn't care. It was a good tune. As she flipped her steak for the first time,Sam passed by,his plate empty,and started to scrub it in the sink. "So,how far out did you have to go for the meat?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary chuckled,and said, "Oh,not far at all." Sprinkling on some spices,Mary continued, "I never have to go far for my meat." Samuel was confused. "But... I've never seen anything big enough for food around here..." Mary shrugged. "You sure about that?" Mary threw a toothy grin at Samuel,who stared back blankly for a moment,then,coming upon the horrible realization of what the meat was,he quickly paled,and vomited in the sink.
  
  
  Mary laughed,and said, "Don't worry,kid. You'll get used to it!" Mary continued to hum to herself as she finished cooking her meat,and Samuel fled the tent.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: The woman marched in lockstep with her fellows. All soldiers of the Royal Forces,she herself a lowly Corporal. This was intentional; If she rose any higher in rank,eyes would be upon her,and they'd know her... Unseemly habits.
  
  
  Infantry held a special place in a battlefield populated by powered armour,mechs,tanks,and freaks with superpowers. They could go where nobody else could,and strike valuable targets where they felt most secure,without warning,and simply vanish into the dust left by Armageddon.
  
  
  Now,they were marching on a small resistance base. There were thousands of "resistances",but they amounted to little more than petty bandits. Secretly,she was one of them. She had a plan... But she didn't know if it would work. Oh,well. Nothing ventured,nothing gained.
  
  
  "Where the fuck is that base,Captain?" A Private in front of her opened his mouth. His friend beside him shut him up with a swift smack upside the head,but the words were said,the damage done."In this direction,now keep quiet unless you see the enemy! That's an order,soldier!" The Private saluted,and kept his lip zipped.
  
  
  Idiots don't know when to shut up. Her plan was so simple,in theory. But,in practice? Nothing ever is. Especially these days.
  
  
  Night fell on the assault party. It measured two dozen,each of them well-trained,compared to the rabble that prowled the ruins. The Corporal slipped out of camp when nobody was looking,and met her contact in the resistance cell. "We strike tonight,Mary. Be ready." The Corporal,Mary,nodded,flashing an unsettling smirk.
  
  
  Mary returned to the camp as nonchalantly as she pleased,getting only a passing look from the nightwatchman. "What? I had to piss." The watchman shrugged,and continued his scanning of the terrain.
  
  
  Hours passed. If she had a watch,Mary would have checked it,and she likely would've seen that it was one in the morning. But she didn't,so she had no clue what time it was. But,whatever time it was,she saw her signal; Someone reflecting a red light off a mirror in the hills. She reflected the firelight back,and a second later,an arrow was quivering in the nightwatchman's ear,poking out the opposite ear.
  
  
  Well,that was an excellent shot.
  
  
  Mary deftly caught the corpse,and laid it gently down,to avoid making noise. She turned to face her rebel allies,who were creeping into camp,knives drawn,with handguns at their hips. No sign of the archer,but she knew they were still in the hills,ready to fire on anyone that proved problematic.
  
  
  Mary drew a combat knife,standard issue to the Royal Forces,and something else,that most certainly wasn't; An ice hook. The rebels started to kill the soldiers in their sleep,but someone made noise. Too much noise.
  
  
  The camp exploded into motion; They all knew what a night raid sounded like. Mary quickly slit the throat of her victim,just as he turned to face her,covering her in a spray of blood from his carotid artery. Wiping her eyes,she hooked the corpse to use as a momentary shield,though it wasn't necessary; Every other Royal soldier was already dead,riddled with bullets and arrows.
  
  
  Except for the Captain.
  
  
  He was upright,his beret slightly lopsided on his head,though he bore a ballistic shield and machine pistol. "How much did they pay you,Corporal?" Mary simply smirked. That was all the answer he needed; His pleading look fell to a scowl. Instead,Mary approached her erstwhile Captain,and broke into song.
  
  
  "Let's try to make it right,don't wanna start a fight,and we're so sorry if we give you all a little fright..." At that moment,the Captain,thoroughly disturbed,opened fire,though he was quaking. Understandably so; One of his soldiers was a turncoat all along,and now she had apparently dove off the deep end.
  
  
  "We're not so scary if you see us in the daylight," By now,the entire raid party joined in,including the archer in the hills, "You'll be so happy just as long as you survive the night!" Mary was upon him,her hook buried in the Captain's eye socket,and Mary quickly rammed the combat knife into the side of his throat,turning his primal scream of terror into a pathetic strangled gurgle. With a mighty heave,she tore the blade out through the front of his throat,and twisted the head off what little remained of the neck.
  
  
  Driving the hook the rest of the way through the head,Mary pinned the Captain's beret to his head. Happy with her grisly trophy,Mary hung the hook,head and all,on her belt,the Captain's look of horror frozen on his features.
  
  
  "We march! Mission accomplished!" The commander of the raid patted Mary's bloody shoulder. "Bloody Mary lives up to her name!" With a malevolent cackle,the party vanished into the night,leaving the camp to be discovered by the vultures and Crown.
  
  
  Seamus frowned as he lowered the binoculars. He was told to observe,and observe he did. And he didn't like what he saw. He had to fight his very being to not save the soldiers.
  
  
  The Gang needs to know.
  
  
  With a sigh,Seamus stowed the binoculars,and vanished in the desert dust to report his grim findings.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  [image]
  
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  Slaughtering the Sheep: Dark Souls II Soundtrack - The Burnt Ivory King of Farossa
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Idle: Dark Souls I Soundtrack - Firelink Shrine
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]

 

[Penelope Burns]

Lieutenant Lysa Grey

Name: Lysa Grey


Age: 27


Gender: Female


Alliegence: (Formerly) Royal Military, Mecha Branch. (Currently) Deserters, attempting to contact rebels


Rank: (Formerly) Lieutenant, Royal Military. (Currently) None.

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Mech
• Mech Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Mecha
• Inventory
• Personality, History, Writing Samples, and Theme Song
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance: Height: 5'1
  
  
  Weight: 103 lbs
  
  
  Hair Color: Red
  
  
  Eye Color: Blue
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: Clothing isn't torn or ripped, though there are spots where holes and tears were sewn over.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills: An excellent spotter, Lysa was constantly offered a position spotting enemies in the field with the Royal Marines. Lysa is also a mediocre repairwoman, but is able to fix her mech if it malfunctions while in the field. She is a decent shot, with the accuracy of someone fairly trained in small arms use. To add to this, she can fight one-on-one fairly easily, though she isn't one of the best by any means. Finally, she is an excellent strategist, able to devise plans both on the fly and in the long term.
  
  
  Special Abilities: None.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  (Note: Image is the closest to accurate depiction of mecha, not truly accurate. Use description for an actual description of the mecha.)
  
  
  Written Description: The mech is brownish-yellow, the color of the sand often seen on a beach. Due to the lack of resources, the mech also has very uneven arms, with the dominant arm several feet longer than the non-dominant arm. Finally, it is most distinguished by the pre-calamity rifle it has, a rifle that has been cleaned and repaired dozens of times over.
  
  
  Name: Deadshot
  
  
  Type: Recon Mech
  
  
  History: The parts have all seen one battle or another, with only the head itself having never been replaced. The arms are from two completely different mechs twenty years apart, and the legs were from two similar-sized mechs continents apart. It took almost five years for Lysa to find the parts she had for her machine, but nothing could outdo the rifle. It had century after century, hidden under the Earth. Years of decay didn't stop its efficiency, and after half a decade and a dozen repairs, it is still one of the best rifles there is.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: Extremely accurate at long range, and at short-mid range she is fairly accurate.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: The mech is poor in close quarters. It can survive for a short time but not for more than a few minutes.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Limited.
  
  
  Other Skills: Limited boosters on feet, capable of increasing a mech's speed for short moments of time. Only allows for 4-5 bursts.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary: Long range sniper rifle.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary: Grenade launcher. Very limited ammo (3-5 shots at most per mission)
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Small knife, used in emergencies only when confronted with enemy mecha.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Four days' worth of water in flasks. Various non-perishables, including canned beans and fruit. She carries with her one apple at all times, usually leaving it near her person in and out of combat.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Pocket knife and her engagement ring.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: Lysa is luckier than most, not having endured any major loss in her life, and due to this she forms attachments fairly easily. In combat, her brain is constantly thinking of new strategies and positions, planning for victory every way she can. She hardly ever stands still both in and out of combat, and has a hard time relaxing.
  
  
  History:
  
  

  Spoiler

  Lysa was born as the only daughter of two longtime veterans of the Royal Marines. She was taught from a young age various elements about mechanics, hand to hand combat, and firearm use. Schooling was limited, if it could be called that, though she did take many military lessons to heart.
  
  
  Upon reaching adulthood, Lysa joined the military in the Royal Marines, and eventually earned the chance to fight in a mecha by age twenty-two. After the op, she was officially transferred to the Royal Mecha forces and immediately promoted to Corporal due to 'extensive skill, levelheadedness, and resourcefulness in battle.'
  
  
  A year later, her mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Lysa took several of leave to spend time with both her parents, though her mother's condition worsened further and further, and eventually her life ended. Lysa mourned, but eventually she rejoined the front, being called to action when a small rebel faction sprung up.
  
  
  During the operation, Lysa's commander was killed in action, and the entire team fell apart. Lysa controlled the situation and managed to save the rest of her team. Thanks to this, she was given a promotion to lieutenant, as a replacement for the former leader.
  
  
  After the promotion, Lysa was given a private 'high priority' engineer, who was always available to repair or upgrade her mech. The two had a quickly blossoming relationship, and after a few months they began dating. Together, they made dozens of upgrades and repairs to the Deadshot, and the engineer even gave the mech its name, naming after a character in something called a 'comic book'.
  
  
  During the first mission after giving the machine its name, Lysa found herself in possession of a case hidden inside of a building, and when she opened the case it contained a barely damaged pre-calamity sniper rifle - a once in a lifetime find. Lysa didn't hesitate, having the weapon repaired and equipping her mech with it, not caring about protocol.
  
  
  With the rifle she truly became a Deadshot, a walking anti-everything cannon. She was extremely accurate, hardly ever missing her targets, assuming they were far enough away. Her tactics and abilities were near perfect, and eventually she was known as one of the best snipers seen in years.
  
  
  Eventually she found herself in possession of another never before seen find - part of a pre-calamity mech. Unlike her first find, however, the part was confiscated upon her return, with both she and her now-fiance warned not to mention what they found to anyone. Soon after, Lysa found her father murdered in his home, and an investigation refused. Lysa knew it was a warning to stay silent, a slap in the face.
  
  
  Furious, Lysa and her fiance deserted, leaving everything behind but a few day's worth of food. They knew a rebel cell was only a few day's journey, and nobody would want to go after such a beloved soldier who stole little more than a handgun and some food. They relied on this for their short journey, hoping to find someone who could help them before it was too late.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample:
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can't be serious." Lysa said, her expression full of disbelief. There was no way, it was absolutely insane. "Married, here? We're at war, hon. I love you, and you know that, but here simply isn't an option."
  
  
  "But what if there isn't another chance? We're deserters, we stole supplies from the Royal Army, and you're a lieutenant, not some grunt. You know things normal people don't know, they'll want you dead more than anything. We need to do this." Danny had a point, she knew. He wanted their vows to be spoken and the ceremony over with before the fighting heated back up. Every day as a rebel, a deserter, was a constant risk of death, every moment was spent looking over her shoulders, waiting for death.
  
  
  But it just wasn't the time. When things were more stable, when death wasn't a constant shadow, waiting to strike. Until then, she wasn't willing to waste time and resources on a few vows and wedding bands. They loved each other, that would be enough for as long as it needed to be.
  
  
  "I promise, Dan, as soon as things are more calm we'll get married. We'll have the most fantastic wedding seen since the Calamity, it'll be the talk of the land for centuries." Lysa smiled at the thought of historians ignoring the rebellion in favor of a wedding, of all things. She was lying, of course. The wedding wasn't going to be some massive event that everyone attended, at most it was going to be them and some friends. But he didn't need to worry about the little things. That was her job.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample:
  
  
  
  
  
  Lysa felt the controls of her mech for the first time in far too long. Even with the time away, it still felt as natural as it always did, following her subtle movements to the letter. After spending another few seconds getting used to her mech again, Lysa rushed to the battlefield, well aware of why she was getting back in her mech in the first place.
  
  
  Once there, Lysa was immediately greeted with several bullets hitting her machine's arms with several audible thuds. She listened as people barked orders left and right, watched rebels rush to the front lines, providing covering fire for the few mechs and power-armor forces there were. Just as quickly, however, their lights were extinguished, killed by explosions or sniper fire.
  
  
  Lysa didn't waste another moment, using her boosters to rapidly move herself behind the forces, using two of her five boosts. With another gesture, her massive rifle was unholstered, aimed at the small surge of mechs arriving as reinforcements. There were only six of them, but six mechs were more than enough to turn the tide of a ground war. As she took aim, she recognized the familiar paint job of one of her own. Her own team was being thrown against her.
  
  
  Even so, she couldn't afford to hesitate. She would mourn later, when was
  
  
  Lysa aimed her scope at the first mech, the one leading the pack. She didn't recognize the insignia of one of her squad, so she felt no regrets when she pulled the trigger and pierced the mech's shell, impaling the young man inside.
  
  
  5
  
  
  With the leader down, she aimed her scope at the only other person she didn't recognize. It didn't matter if they had no family at all or a family of ten to feed, as far as she was concerned, they were an enemy. She shot the right leg off from under them, and fired a second blast at the grounded titan, piercing its' head and passing through the chest.
  
  
  4
  
  
  All that was left was her team. Sasha, Ren, Dante, and Zack. Not letting herself hesitate, Lysa shot Zack's left arm, his weakest limb, and fired again in the chest. Her first friend was gone.
  
  
  3
  
  
  Dante was trickier. He was a speed demon, normally an impossible target for snipers. But she knew his pattern better than anyone. She knew when he feigned right, and fired as soon as he did.
  
  
  2
  
  
  Ren, the shield. His armor was heavily resistant to heavy arms fire, even her rifle took several shots to pierce. Even so, she broke through, and forced herself to watch as the explosion consumed him.
  
  
  1
  
  
  Sasha, the second. She had loyally served two lieutenants, gladly staying on the squad despite being passed up for two promotions. She was always kind, gladly helping with the transition Lysa had from a random teammate to leader. She was the best of them, one of the best human beings Lysa ever had the pleasure of meeting. Lysa looked away as she pulled the trigger, she wouldn't watch that.
  
  
  Click
  
  
  No. No no no no no no no. That was impossible, she had plenty of ammo, she had checked. It should have been more than enough, why was she out? Rapidly, Sasha was approaching Lysa's exposed position, having found the sniper who destroyed her squad. Lysa was on her own in the open, having moved position when she took out Zack. She checked her gauges: All empty. No grenade launcher ammo, nor rifle shells. She was a sitting duck.
  
  
  Two more seconds passed, and in those two seconds Sasha had covered the majority of the distance between the two of them. There was no time, Lysa couldn't think of anything she could do that would work. She had her blade, but it was almost useless, especially against a melee fighter like Sasha. It only took her another instant to form a plan.
  
  
  When Sasha passed the point of no return, when she used the last of her boost to kill Lysa, Lysa used two boosts to fly her machine into the air, the trap sprung. Immediately she forced her mech to flip, a near impossible maneuver for someone as unskilled as Lysa, but she forced herself to do it. She had to win, she had to.
  
  
  Using her final burst, Lysa blasted herself towards her friend, her blade acting as a spear with which to impale her. Sasha didn't even react as the blade pierced her machine, not bothering to try defending herself. As she pulled the knife out of the machine's now lifeless husk, Lysa saw it stained red with blood. "You never were one to think on the fly." She said to her fallen friend, finally letting the tears fall down her face. It was over.
  
  
  She won.
  
  
  Theme Song:
  
  
  [media]

  [/media]
  
  
  
  
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Daniel Vasquez

Name: Daniel Vasquez


Age: 29


Gender: Male


Alliegence: (Formerly) Royal Military, Mecha Branch. (Currently) Deserters, attempting to contact rebels


Rank: (Formerly) Engineer. (Currently) None.

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills
• Inventory
• Personality, History, Writing Samples, and Theme Song
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance: Height: 5'3
  
  
  Weight 148 lbs
  
  
  Hair Color: Brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Green
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: All of his clothing his stained, as there isn't anything he hasn't repaired a mech in, and his clothes always seem to get dirty repairing mechs.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills: While he has no combat skills, Daniel is an amazing cook and an even better mechanic. He's always the one to cook dinner (whether it's beans or something with actual taste), and never can keep his hands off of damaged or mistreated mechs. That said, he's terribly disorganized, and often naive about anything that isn't machines or food.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Usually doesn't leave the safety of whatever camp/compound he stays at, but if he does he brings two canteens of water and about two days' worth of food.
  
  
  Misc. Items: He usually has some sort of equipment that allows him to repair mechs on the fly, but generally doesn't carry much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: Vasquez is a very emotional, open person. He loves people, though is often quick to be overdramatic. He's extremely naive about nearly everything, but does have a basic knowledge about things.
  
  
  History: Danny has a fairly privileged life, both his parents still live, and all of his siblings are in safe, protective jobs. He joined the military as a mechanic as soon as he was old enough to enlist, though he had no training or real experience. Within three years, however, he became one of the best mechanics in the military, considered capable of "turning An arm, a piece of string, one bullet, and four inches of two ply toilet paper into a cannon."
  
  
  He was ecstatic to be chosen as the high-priority mechanic of up-and-coming lieutenant Lysa Grey, and eagerly worked with her to improve her mech in whatever way they could. Through this they formed a fast friendship, and eventually began to date.
  
  
  He loved working on her machine, and upon the sniper rifle being found he nearly died with joy. He spent days working on the weapon, making it as close to perfect as possible for his partner. When it was finally ready, Daniel gave it to Lysa and reportedly fell asleep for two days and was impossible to wake.
  
  
  Years later, he asked Lysa to marry him, and she said yes. Not even three months later she found part of a pre-calamity mech, but it was stolen from his garage before he could do an in depth analysis of it, even ordered not to tell a soul that it existed. In response, he spent hours venting to his fiance, even outwardly bringing up the idea of desertion to the up-and-coming rebel faction.
  
  
  When Lysa found her father dead, he had already packed for the trip, ignoring his own family who was scattered about the empire. They left almost immediately, searching for whatever rebel group they could find.
  
  
  Writing Sample: "So... What do you think it is?" Daniel asked, holding the strange cylindrical object between his fingers. He had examined it time and time again, but he couldn't figure out where it came from. It was covered with mostly white paper, but about a third of it was instead brown. It was the most peculiar thing, and nobody Daniel had asked knew anything about it.
  
  
  "No idea." The man across from Danny answered, shrugging his shoulders. Of course not, nobody did. How could such a strange item have nobody know anything about it? Pre-calamity materials were endless, but there was always someone who knew something. Danny had just finished speaking with the last person within the rebels who had extensive pre-calamity knowledge.
  
  
  As the man left, Danny continued examining the strange object, captivated by it. It was such a strange find, something he only came across during his midnight desertion from the military. It had to have been overlooked for years, but that didn't explain how it was relatively clean after over 1000 years. There had to be something strange at work, and he was going to find out what.
  
  
  
  
  
  Theme Song:[media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  
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[Riddle78]

@Braxnond


@LotusSan


@Flip Jester Boy


I'm sure you know already,but the character theme songs are mandatory. Raven likes the concept of having music play in the background for when characters steal the spotlight. Even if it's just in your head. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out an appropriate theme song for your characters,or multiple,depending on the situation.


Dark Souls probably has you covered if you need a "Combat" theme for your characters.

 

[Brax]

my characters theme music is on the kitty page because the tab didnt work. but thanks for the heads up... co gm?

 

[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[Riddle78]

The Baroness

Name: Caroline Johnson


Age: 42


Gender: Female


Allegiance: Followers of the Apocalypse


Rank: N/A

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP
• Theme Song(s)

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: Five foot nine.
  
  
  Weight: 163 pounds.
  
  
  Hair Color: Blonde,graying.
  
  
  Eye Color: Blue.
  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: As pictured.
  
  
  Written Description: As pictured.
  
  
  
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  Ranged Skills: Caroline is an exceptionally steady shot,be it with a bow or sniper rifle.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: She is used to picking her threats off from a distance,so up close,she lacks refinement.
  
  
  Melee Skills: In melee,Caroline is hardly trained,and relies on her partner to pick up the slack in this department.
  
  
  Other Skills: Caroline knows how to remain unseen at a distance,and knows hot to take care of nearly any weapon you pass her way. Finally,she's a capable leader.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Thrall Master. Caroline can turn anyone she pleases into a Thrall,an immortal creature that exists solely to serve her. However,she may only have a single Thrall at any time.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary Firearm: Not a gun,but this is Caroline's primary weapon; A longbow with an impressive draw strength,she also has a quiver of arrows with different heads.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary Firearm: Say it with me,now: Bitches LOVE cannons! When stealth isn't an issue,Caroline picks up this beast; A 100% custom 30mm break-action antitank cannon. Be it a hard target or a solitary human,she doesn't care what she points it at,dead is dead. The weapon features an extremely powerful telescopic sight,and Caroline carries both bog-standard bullets and high explosive shells.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Sidearm: This handgun,of unknown make,is what Caroline uses as a sidearm. It has a fifteen round magazine,loaded with .45 caliber rounds. With an integrated laser sight and illuminated iron sights,this weapon ensures accuracy at all hours at close to medium range,though she could never find a way to attach a suppressor to the thing.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Caroline uses a sabre when things get up close and personal. Unfortunately,it's largely a symbol,as she hardly knows how to use it; All she has down is proper edge alignment and how to swing without injuring herself. Note: It differs from the image in terms of colour. It's pretty much polished steel throughout,with a wrapped leather grip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Caroline carries only a canteen of water and a bag of assorted foods when she goes out on a mission; She goes nowhere without Scott Ryder.
  
  
  Misc. Items: She has Scott carry it all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: Caroline is calm and collected,always in control of both herself and her surroundings. A textbook Alpha Personality,Caroline always seeks to gain and maintain control. She has a strange affection for her Thrall,and will often go out of her way to punish those that wrong it,usually with an arrow in the eye socket.
  
  
  History: Caroline Johnson is a woman of the present. The past matters little to her,as it cannot be changed. Acknowledge it,learn from it,and carry on. However,she does explain her origins to those who ask; She was born outside of the authority of His Royal Majesty's kingdom,and as such,she quickly learned how to defend herself. Caroline quickly set out on her own to forge her own life,but was left wanting.
  
  
  She wandered the crippled ruins of the world,picking up valuable skills and items along the way,never really staying on one place for too long. Eventually,she found the Followers of the Apocalypse,a group of misfits who would never cut it anywhere else,for whatever reasons,and she was subjected to their initiation. After the one night in the stockade,Caroline left the pit exhausted,but triumphant. She fought,tooth and nail,all night,because if you don't win,you die. Since then,Caroline made a name for herself among the Followers as an excellent shot,and an excellent leader,should they ever need one.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: Caroline sat at the workbench,fussing over her cannon. Disassembled as it was,one would be forgiven for assuming it was a car's transmission or somesuch. "Phillips." She held out her hand expectantly,not even looking up from her weapon. Within a couple of seconds,her Thrall placed it in her open hand. "Thank you." She removed a handful of screws from the last piece of her weapon,and pulled it apart. Holding out the screwdriver,she called out, "Rag,and oil."
  
  
  
  
  
  Her Thrall dutifully complied,taking away the screwdriver with one hand,and placing the rag and oil in her outstretched hand with the other. "Thank you. You will rinse the pieces,dear." The Thrall nodded,and said, "Thank you,Mistress. As you wish,my Mistress." Directive given,Caroline set out to clean her cannon,piece by piece. Wiping them down,she passed them on to her Thrall in silence. After a few minutes,however,the Thrall spoke.
  
  
  "My Mistress,this piece has a crack." Caroline held her hand out,and the Thrall placed the piece in question in her hand. Examining the piece,she saw that her Thrall was correct; The crack,though thin,was present,and was extremely long. "Hmm. I see." Looking at the pieces,then the one in her hand,she clucked her tongue. "This is part of the chamber. The weapon won't work without a replacement. Be a dear,and fetch one of the replacements?" She handed back the piece,which the Thrall took,and scurried off to the parts cabinet.
  
  
  Continuing to clean the pieces,Caroline was sure to examine them before passing them to her Thrall's workspace,but found no other damaged pieces. The Thrall returned with a replacement part,which Caroline swiftly cleaned,and handed back. The Thrall rinsed and polished the pieces before handing them back. Caroline began to reassemble the cannon,asking for tools along the way,in silence. The weapon reassembled,after an hour's work,Caroline looked at her faithful minion. "Stand at the other end of camp. We need to make sure this works properly." The Thrall stood up,and bowed deeply. "Of course,my Mistress. I was about to suggest the same thing." Caroline smirked,and said, "I'm glad we're on the same page,Scott." At the mention of his name,the Thrall flinched,as if struck,but he didn't say anything. Instead,he turned and left the tent.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: She drew an arrow from the quiver,and examined the head. Bodkin. Minimal trauma,maximum penetration. She examined her target. Flak jacket. No other option. Knocking the arrow,she drew back the string. At least two hundred yards. Bastard made it easy,standing in front of the fire like that... Lifting the bow,she pointed the weapon up,at an angle. It took great skill to use a bow. Unlike a bullet,an arrow was heavily influenced by wind and gravity.
  
  
  The arrow at full draw,Caroline glanced at her target again,and made a tiny adjustment to her aim,then let the arrow fly. The string snapped forward,the bow's limbs groaned as they flexed back to their natural position,and the prehistoric missile whistled through the air. She didn't hear it,but Caroline could just imagine the muted,meaty THUNK! the arrow made on impact. The force was significant,of course; The target did a little half-spin before collapsing onto the ground in a heap.
  
  
  Moving in,she saw that the rest of the camp hadn't stirred. Excellent. Caroline stopped at the camp's perimeter,and peered at the corpse. Front of the neck. That would explain a few things... Looking at the rest of the camp,there were five others. A small party. Hitching her bow,Caroline drew her handgun,and flicked off the safety. Turning on the laser sight,she took aim at the nearest person,and fired. The gunshot ripped open the silence of the night,and the bullet tore into the victim's neck. He won't be getting up.
  
  
  Of course,that woke everyone up,so Caroline killed the rest quickly,each with a shot either in the throat or nose. The enemy slain,Caroline set out to loot the bodies and camp,making sure to recover her arrow. Her Thrall sauntered into camp at that moment,his weapons stowed,and silently assisted his Mistress in the plundering.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  [image]
  
  [/image]
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Prey - Plays when Caroline is being the Apex Predator.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Warframe Soundtrack - Becoming the Hunted.
  
  
  Unease - Plays when Caroline isn't doing anything in particular.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Deus Ex: Human Revolution Soundtrack - Sarif Industries Ambient.
  
  
  

The Attack Dog

Name: Scott Ryder.


Age: 39.


Gender: Male.


Allegiance: Mistress Caroline Johnson.


Rank: Thrall.

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP
• Theme Song(s)

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  A self-portrait,created at the Mistress' behest.
  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: Seven feet,flat.
  
  
  Weight: 273 pounds
  
  
  Hair Color: Medium brown,graying.
  
  
  Eye Color: Pale green.
  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: Scott wears the outfit in his self-portrait at all times,though there are a couple of additions,most notably a pair of shoulder holsters.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: He knows how to use firearms at a distance,but he's no marksman.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Scott excels at short and medium range; He can fire off a snapshot with uncanny accuracy.
  
  
  Melee Skills: He's a butcher. Don't let him get within arm's reach; It won't end well for you.
  
  
  Other Skills: A talented painter,Scott can paint beautiful portraits. He is also a magnificent torture technician,and has,as a direct result,mastered first aid. Under the Mistress,he has learned a thing or two about mechanical things,too.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Thrall. So long as his Mistress draws breath,Scott cannot die,nor suffer permanent injury. If cut in half,only one half will regenerate. Should his Mistress die,Scott will quickly follow suit,his previous injuries all catching up to him at once. Furthermore,he follows a certain Three Laws;
  
  
  1) Either from his actions or inaction,Mistress Caroline Johnson may not come to harm.
  
  
  2) You must obey all orders given by Mistress Caroline Johnson,as long as they do not violate the First Law.
  
  
  3) You must always strive to perpetuate your own effectiveness,so long as this does not come into conflict with the previous Laws.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary Firearm: A MacGuyvered semi automatic shotgun,built to last. Designed to fire twelve gauge shells,this recoil-operated scrapyard killer is capable of killing a man dead with ease. The shells,housed in six clamps on a rotating carousel,are fed into the barrel when the rotating mechanism,forced back from the recoil,slides into it,making jams likely,but trivial to sort out. Scott keeps three different shells handy; Buckshot in red jackets,slugs in purple jackets,and snakeshot in green jackets.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary Firearm: The gangster land weapon that needs no introduction; The Micro Uzi. This 9mm full auto pistol can dump a 30 round payload in about as long as it takes to blink. Although recoil's a royal bitch,Scott has modified his to help minimize that particular bugbear; The muzzle sports a recoil compensator as well as a flashbrake,and in order to maximize on this,he had fashioned 45 round magazines.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Sidearm: The Germans know how to make a good gun; The Mauser C96 is a marvel of engineering,for the time,and Scott has made modifications to make this particular gun suit his needs. First and foremost,he rechambered the weapon to take .357 magnum rounds,and reinforced the action accordingly,resulting in vastly magnified stopping power. Furthermore,he fashioned extended magazines for the weapon,holding 25 rounds each. Finally,and probably most frighteningly,he modified the action,resulting in a one-tap full-auto lead hose of death.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: A pair of handaxes,which Scott had for most of his life,even before the Mistress gave his life meaning. Sharp and hefty,these implements can sunder armour,cleave flesh,and crush bone with little effort.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Scott carries everything for Caroline,so he carries a huge number of water canteens and packages of prepared food wherever they go.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Besides the ruck sack to carry everything in,Scott keeps a laser sight,sniper's shade,and low tent on hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: Scott,as the Mistress' Thrall,is unfailingly loyal to her,and will carry out any order without question or complaint. He is,however,violently protective of her,and will often slaughter anyone he deems a threat to her safety. Anyone who disrespects the Mistress will also get an earful from Scott,demanding they show the proper respect.
  
  
  History: The past is a fog,to Scott. Everything before the Mistress simply doesn't exist. Besides major events since,he can scarcely remember the past. But,the past is irrelevant. The past is dead and buried. What he can remember is meeting her. He was a petty bandit,ambushing anyone and everyone for the meager supplies they carried.
  
  
  She didn't fall for it. Of course she wouldn't. She's the Mistress,and the Mistress does no wrong. Instead,she ambushed Scott. From the darkness,she loosed an arrow,and it plunged into his knee,crippling him. The fight was over before it even began. He remembers her stepping out of the shadows,another arrow already drawn. No matter what he did,he'd be dead.
  
  
  The Mistress examined him,scrutinized him. If she was looking for fault,she would have already found it; She had the upper hand,after all. However,she smirked. She liked what she saw,and fired the arrow squarely into Scott's heart. In a flash,his world became pain,then blackness. And were it anyone else,it would have remained so.
  
  
  But,no,this was the Mistress. She had found her Thrall. The world returned to Scott,with the Mistress standing over him,glaring imperiously. He had done her wrong. He had inconvenienced her. He extracted her arrows,and,kneeling at her feet,offered them to her in apology. She accepted them,and they vanished into the dust without another word.
  
  
  Through the fog,another memory can be found. The prison. The Followers of the Apocalypse,the only people that would accept them,demanded proof of worth. To Scott,the worth of the Mistress was self-evident,but they demanded more. Always more,these people. Their objective was simply to survive twelve hours in the prison. No cells,no guards,no oversight.
  
  
  Simple enough.
  
  
  It was Hell. The prisoners,though sickly and broken,were legion. Scott and the Mistress were assaulted by their bodies,their odors,and their howls. For twelve hours,the Mistress and her Thrall fought. Many times,Scott bled. But the prisoner died shortly thereafter. All that mattered was the Mistress. Twelve hours passed,and they stood victorious. The attacks slowed,the prisoners wary,perhaps even respecting the Mistress.
  
  
  Regardless,as they left,the Mistress fell asleep,and so Scott picked her up,and carried her to their new home,before the fog clouded the past once more.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: "Dear,I've noticed you have paints. What for?" Scott looked up from his book. It was about fairies with lasers,and an Irishman. "I can paint,Mistress. Would you like a portrait? The canvas would never be able to hold your greatness,but I could try." The Mistress looked up at the ceiling,tapping her chin with her finger. After a moment,however,she looked back at her Thrall.
  
  
  "I was thinking,actually,that you should do a self-portrait." Scot spluttered,and dropped his book. "I could never,Mistress! I'm nothing,not even worthy of the canvas! Not while you exist,my Mistress!" To his amazement,the Mistress simply chuckled,and shook her head.
  
  
  "Do it anyways,dear." She stood up,and approached her Thrall. Poking his nose,she added, "My orders." With a knowing smirk,she walked to the end of the tent,and pulled the vanity mirror away from the wall. "You'll be needing this." Sighing,Scott placed a book mark in the novel,and started to unpack his easel and stool. "As you wish,my Mistress. I hope my likeness will not revolt you."
  
  
  
  
  
  The Mistress remained silent,and simply beckoned for him to work. Placing a canvas on the easel,Scott began to paint,occasionally peeking into the mirror to look at his own face. He started with a black background,and added splashed of brown,grey,and white to create a background; It looked blurry,clouded,almost as if it were fog,but instantly recognizable as a warehouse wall,from the inside.
  
  
  Next,he worked on the shape of his body; A base of steel blue for the overall shape,and coats of brown for the leather,as well as a bit of white for his shirt. That was the easy part,however. A portrait utterly fails if the face is off. He started with a basecoat of pink,and quickly applied coats of brown and grey while it was still wet,to make it mix and blend,creating an excellent match for his own skin tone.
  
  
  Next,he did the features. The eyes were black orbs; Not enough room for proper detail. However,he knew his scars well,and painted them in with a fine brush. Finally,he started on the hair; A basecoat of brown. Splashing on greys,blacks,and whites,he finished the look by adding a few streaks of grey,and touched up the hairline. By the time he was finished in a couple of hours,it looked almost exactly like him.
  
  
  Turning the easel to face his Mistress,he said, "I am sorry,but I don't think I was made for the canvas." To his astonishment,however,the Mistress laughed and waved her hand. "It's beautiful,dear. We need to frame it,and hang it up somewhere." Scott bowed his head at the praise. "You do me too much honor,my Mistress." She sighed,slightly annoyed,but she always did that in these sorts of situations. A creature like me is unworthy of praise so long as you draw breath.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: "Stay here,my Mistress. It is unsafe ahead." The Mistress nodded,and took a couple of steps back. She drew an arrow from her quiver,and held it to the bowstring,but didn't draw it back. Stepping forward,Scott removed his shotgun from the small of his back,and held it at chest level. Glancing down,he saw it was loaded with buckshot. Should do quite nicely.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Thrall charged forward,into the door. The room was packed with enemies. Bandits,the lot of them. And they were waiting. "Kill the bastard!" Scott cackled,and fired at the six nearest enemies,all without slowing down. Six bandits collapsed with bloody craters in their chests. Shotgun spent,he simply discarded it; He'd be able to recover it afterwards.
  
  
  Turning to avoid running into a wall,Scott drew his other firearms from beneath his shoulders,and brandished them at the bandits before him. He squeezed the triggers,and the guns screamed bloody murder,the bandits before him screamed in pain,and fell dead,at least thirty of them. All riddled full of holes. The weapons clicked,and Scott discarded them,also.
  
  
  He drew his axes from his hips. His is what he reveled in. Killing for the Mistress was a joy he simply could never match. Turning again,he sprinted up the stairs. His wounds closed as quickly as he got them,the bandit's gunfire doing nothing to slow him down,let alone stop him. Laughing like a man possessed,Scott was upon them,the final five.
  
  
  CRUNCH! The first man's head was split in half from the top.
  
  
  SPLURT! SCLORTCH! The next one had his right arm carved off from below,and an axe buried in his groin. He was hoisted up and over Scott's shoulder as he continued his charge.
  
  
  SCHWICK! The third man was decapitated,his corpse simply flopping to the floor.
  
  
  CRACK! SCRUNCH! The fourth woman was headbutted in the nose,and her arms removed.
  
  
  THUNK! The fifth,however,wasn't his doing. The corpse fell at Scott's feet,an arrow shot through his ear,poking out the top of his head. Looking down,Scott saw the Mistress at the door,already scanning the room. Walking down to recover his discarded weapons,Scott said, "Thank you,my Mistress. I believe that was the last of them."
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  [image]
  
  [/image]
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Sic 'Em - Scott killing for the Mistress.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin Soundtrack - Esquiesse of Violence.
  
  
  Deafening Silence - Scott awaiting instruction from his Mistress.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  The Legend of Dragoon Soundtrack - Valley of Corrupted Gravity.

 

[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[King Of Imagination]

Axel Mercer

Name:Axel Mercer


Age:27


Gender:Male


Alliegence: The highest bidder


Rank: Mercenary

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP+ Theme

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance: Height: 6'1"
  
  
  Weight: 212lbs
  
  
  Hair Color: Dark Brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Hazel/Gray
  
  
  

  

  

  Under his coat
  
  Written Description of Clothes: As Pictured
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: Accurate up to 1000 metres depending on the gun.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Able to hit within 3 centimetres of his intended.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Hand-to-Hand proficient, Knife-proficient
  
  
  Other Skills: Tracking, torture, coercion, survivalist, stealth, surveilance, basic-hacking
  
  
  Special Abilities:
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary Firearm: As Pictured, salvaged pre-apocalypse rifle.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary Firearm: Tactical M-14 as pictured
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Sidearm: Slightly extended clip with pictured silencer. Semi-automatic M-9
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: A bowie knife made of high grade black nylon. Simple but efficient..
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Five or six high protein, high calorie bars, 2 canteens of water, and a small jar of honey for when he wants something sweet.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Basic first-aid kit
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: He's kind of an asshole. He's not particularly bothered by having to kill people, as long as he gets paid. He is a machiavellianist by nature, manipulating people since he was young. He wwas raised to know how to kill mercilessly, in the evven that something cute wanted to eat him.
  
  
  History: Axel has been pretty much everywhere. He's been under the employ of some group or another almost every day since he began killing people. While he may be young, he is remarkably good at what he does. He is from Australia, so of course he is a bit tougher than most. He had to survive all the fauna trying to murder him. He had to learn to kill or be killed, so he doesn't really mind killing or death anymore. He watched friends and family die around him anyway, so he is a little bit messed up, kinda just numb to everything. Anyway, he's one of the most popular guns for hire, among both the Royal Army and the Rebels, and very rarely the Followers, though he prefers not to work for them. He may be a contract killer, but he has some morals.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  "A picture of an adorable kitten"
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  

 

[Riddle78]

The Drunk

Name: Robin Woods


Age: 1,512 years.


Gender: Male


Alliegence: His Royal Majesty Wolf Haystrim


Rank: Brigadier General - Viceroy of what was once the United States of America.

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Mech
• Mech Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Power Armor
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: Six foot three inches.
  
  
  Weight: 217 pounds.
  
  
  Hair Color: Medium brown.
  
  
  Eye Color: Dark green.
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: When not in combat,General Woods wears,or rather,is forced to wear,his dress uniform,pictured top. He keeps a holster on his hip at all times,occupied by his personal sidearm. When in combat,be it in his mech,boots on the ground,or simply in his mobile HQ in a combat zone,he wears his combat suit,which is a marvel of pre-Calamity engineering. Composed of a semi-metallic ablative ceramic and genetically modified spidersilk,the combat uniform will make him royally difficult to put down. Once again,he has a hip holster,home to his personal sidearm.
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  Written Description: The dog tags,bearing the emblem of His Royal Majesty's Armed Forces,contain assorted information relating to General Woods,including name,age,gender,rank,and blood type (AB-). The flask is made of solid steel,and is thus quite durable. More often than not,it contains one form of liquor or another.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills: There's a very good reason as to why Woods is where he is: He's an excellent leader,capable of bonding with his subordinates,and he leads from within the ranks,shouldering their burdens and fighting alongside them,as a brother. As a soldier,he's received full training for the Royal Army Division,and as an officer and general,he's leagues above the rest. In particular,he's picked up and mastered Baliquan. He isn't exactly a stellar shot,however. In his long time on Earth,Woods has learned how to distill his own alcohol,and has the uncanny ability to service weapons and armoured assets while drunk off his ass. In fact,there's an orphaned mech weapon in the Ghost's mech lab,that keeps getting added to while Woods is on a drunken bender...
  
  
  Special Abilities: Local Omniscience. He can't turn it off,leading directly to his current pickled state. This power allows Woods to know of everything happening in his immediate surroundings,as it's happening,all at once. This means that,unless you're trying to snipe or shell him from extreme range,you cannot,under any circumstances,surprise him. He'll know,and he'll likely have a cannon pointed your way as you move into position. Of course,this causes a bit of a sensory overload,leading to constant headaches. As such,he keeps himself drunk to dull the pain. Somehow,his liver didn't fail yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Written Description: Standing at an impressive thirty meters tall,and weighing several orders of magnitude more than it looks (which is QUITE a lot!),this mech,built before the Calamity,is what Woods rides into battle with when the situation calls for it. Note,it has articulated five fingered hands.
  
  
  The left arm is equipped with a double-barreled autocannon,while the right is equipped with a flamethrower and an even wider bore autocannon,loaded with canister shells. The shoulders are host to missile pods (eight tubes each) and rotary cannons. Fins protrude from the elbows; These are,in actuality,combat blades. On command,they swing out on hinges to the hand,and are then held by the hand. They are effectively bladed tonfas. The folding railguns on the mech's back,however,are damaged beyond repair,though Woods has elected to keep them mounted for appearance's sake.
  
  
  The mech is also a command and control unit,home to an incredibly powerful array of transmitters and receivers,as well as a peerless targeting system,calibrated for direct-fire,line-of-sight weapons. Also,the cockpit's been modified to have a bar fridge,which holds assorted beverages for General Woods' pleasure. With a chest-mounted cockpit,the head's just for show.
  
  
  Name: The Achilles.
  
  
  Type: An ultraheavy urban assault mech,this thing has the armour,speed,agility,and firepower to lay waste to nearly any opposition.
  
  
  History: A pre-Calamity mech,the Achilles is leagues above whatever the scrapyard urchins can churn out. Fighting in numerous conflicts,including the wars surrounding His Royal Majesty's rise to power,the Achilles has proven itself invaluable in assaulting fortified positions and cities,being one of the most heavily armoured units in the arsenal. When recovered,the machine's servos required replacement,and the railguns were hopelessly damaged.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description: This monster of a machine,the size of a mountain,serves as General Woods' mobile command center. Beyond a shadow of a doubt,it is the single largest mobile machine to have been discovered,to date; It's the approximate size of a mountain,and that is not hyperbole. Equipped with missiles,battleship deck guns,artillery cannons,and rotary cannons,this machine can and will dominate any battlefield it trundles upon. This machine can deploy up to a dozen mechs,entire battalions of powered armour units,countless infanteers with conventional armoured assets,and up to six VTOL aircraft.
  
  
  Name: The Ghost of Sparta
  
  
  
  
  
  Type: Mobile Command Center,Mobile Fortress,Ultraheavy Tank,Self-Propelled Mobile Artillery,Land Battleship,Aircraft Carrier.
  
  
  History: The Ghost of Sparta is a pre-Calamity war machine,likely developed as the United States Emergency Government Headquarters. Equipped with a huge array of heavy-duty weaponry,this thing was also able to dominate battlefields. During His Royal Majesty's rise to power,The Ghost of Sparta was used as a frontline trump card; Whatever line it appeared on never lasted long,being battered by a constant barrage of missiles and anti-shipping shells,while also serving as a servicing station for aircraft. Under the command of General Woods,it has since been relegated to patrol duty in the turbulent remains of the United States,and has been fitted with the finest bars in the world.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: Thanks to the targeting systems,Woods can hit damn near any target he pleases,so long as he can physically see it.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Close quarters fighting is what the Achilles is equipped for; Nothing survives,
  
  
  Melee Skills: Even though bladed tonfas aren't exactly common weapons,both unarmed and with the tonfas,General Woods fights remarkably well in melee,thanks to his mastery of Bajiquan,the movements of which are naturally well suited for such weapons.
  
  
  Other Skills: It should be noted that the Achilles has hot-swap heat sinks; It can eject old heat sinks and engage a fresh set immediately thereafter,allowing an almost-total,near-instantaneous dumping of excess heat. The Achilles carries one spare set of heat sinks for this reason.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary: These autocannons,bolted to the forearms of the Achilles,serve as the primary weapons of the platform. The double barreled system fires standard solid slug shells,while the much larger,single barreled system fires canister shells,which are effectively shotgun shells. For mechs.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary: A flamethrower,plain and simple. Mounted to the right forearm with the canister cannon,this weapon proves efficient at clearing out buildings,infantry,and even hostile mechs,as it can cook the operators alive,or,failing that,overheating critical systems.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: A pair of bladed tonfa,concealed within the arms of the Achilles. Sharp,hefty,and durable,these things can wound and weave and carve and cleave with impressive agility and power.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: Woods keeps his flask of booze handy at all times,as well as several canteens of water,and enough hardtack to choke an elephant.
  
  
  Misc. Items: At all times,including in the cockpit,Woods keeps his personal sidearm handy at all times,a Nanite Systems .44 Commissioner revolver. It is loaded with special,custom rounds; Armour-piercing high explosive,designed to peel open power armour,and the operator within.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: A drunken sot,Robin loves booze. He'll drink at all times,and often share with his subordinates. Even sober,he's seen as a friendly man,always giving and never taking. Who says old age and hardship makes people bitter?
  
  
  History: War never changes,does it? Men and women,fighting for any number of things; Wealth. Power. An idea. A higher power. But,at the end of the day,war never changes; To fight a war,you have to kill. And kill he did. Robin Woods,a close friend to His Royal Majesty,fought alongside him in the war that had a great goal: To unify the shattered remains of the world. To this end,he killed countless men and women,and led countless others to do the same.
  
  
  Unity. Fellowship. These things make communities,nations,strong. And this is what Woods fought for. It was a bloody war,but they won. Obviously. In the wake of the war,the planet needed to be reminded of who was in command. His Royal Majesty sent forth his greatest generals to police the world,their very presence suppressing malcontents and nurturing growth. Of course there were people who resisted,but they were snuffed out in short order.
  
  
  Now,he patrols the Northern reaches of the United States,following a lead from his scouts; Something's brewing. Currently,he's deploying from New York state.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: The General was in one of the many bars he had ordered installed on The Ghost of Sparta. He and his men were drinking this evening,as usual. Then again,when was General Woods not drinking? Even waking up in the morning was cause for drinking,in his books. The bar was buzzing with activity; People drinking,chatting,singing,just being people.
  
  
  One of the soldiers came up beside the General,and said, "So,Robin!" In the bar,ranks didn't exist. It helped foster an environment of trust and fellowship. "When're ya gonna work on that gun,again?" Robin laughed,and took a deep swig from his mug of... Shit,what was it again? Peering into the mug,he saw that it was clear. Vodka,then. "How 'bout... Now! C'mon,everyone!" Robin rounded up the patrons at the bar,and they all paraded through The Ghost of Sparta to the mech lab,most people with a drink in hand.
  
  
  The soldiers still on duty had a good laugh; This was a common enough scene on the Ghost,especially when the General takes a drinking break. Reaching the mech lab,the carousing party arrived at Robin's little workshop in the corner,and set to work; No less than ten people were working on the enormous mech weapon at any given moment. Drinks were passed around,jokes were had,and the suggestions were ceaseless. It was a regular shop party!
  
  
  The weapon was ballistic in nature,obviously. The loading mechanism was motorized,rather than gas or recoil operated,which was strange. There was an array of power cells in there,too,as if the weapon needed a power supply. Nobody knew where the cells fed to,but,really,nobody really ared that much,at the moment; What was being worked on now was the barrel. The ideas flowed like wine,and the party of drunks managed to assemble a long barrel from spare parts; It was long,like a sniper rifle,but it was rather boxy,like a gun out of some cheesy sci-fi flick.
  
  
  A couple of hours later,everyone was out of booze,and nobody knew what else to do to the weapon,so they decided to go sleep it off,which was probably for the best,and the General followed suit,his little drunk project left for another time.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: "Danger: Missiles detected." The Achilles AI was nice,but sometimes,it was just annoying; It had a nasty habit of telling General Woods what he already knew. With a thought,the rotary cannons on his shoulders acquired their targets,and shot down the offending weapons,though they likely wouldn't have done much to scratch the paint.
  
  
  Taking a swig from a bottle of booze he had in his hand,Robin Woods advanced on the enemy,alone. Sometimes,he had to do this,fighting alone. Just to make the "rebels" know what they were dealing with. He stepped into the intersection,surrounded by buildings,and was greeted by an interesting sight; Three hostile mechs. Two of them were junkers,while one was Old World. That thing's going to be a threat. He stepped forward,and crouched low,in a wide stance; Incredibly stable,and allows for mighty strikes,should the fight get into melee.
  
  
  The enemy wasn't moving. They suspected a trap. With a smirk,the General turned on the loudspeakers. "Hey,hey,hey! Come on,I'm hardly Baithoven!" He chuckled at his horrible joke; Sure,he was a strategic mastermind. As a General,he had to be. Bur,this time,he wasn't playing bait. Maybe next time. The rebels,however,took the invitation,and the three of them moved in; They were all armed with melee weapons. Typical rebels. No supply lines,so they just eschew the need for ammunition altogether.
  
  
  The Shiner was coming in from dead ahead. One Junker on either side. And... A third one. Flanking around? Clever. Anyone else,and it would've worked. He fired his autocannons at the Shiner,allowing the recoil to push the arms back,cycling the weapons as if he were punching; High caliber shells rocketed downrange at the rebel ace,which were dodged,at least in part; It's a little difficult to dodge a cloud of mech-wrecking buckshot.
  
  
  As the mechs closed in on either side,Robin deployed the tonfas,and stepped forward,delivering a kick to the Shiner's chest,knocking it back. Rooting himself once more,he drove the back point of the right tonfa into the Junker on that side,slashed out with the left on that side,and delivered a fatal thrust with the right tonfa to the Junker on the left; He withdrew the weapon with a bloodied point. However,he didn't stop there,as he wrenched the tonfa free,and stabbed backwards with the weapon again,burying it into the chest of the other Junker.
  
  
  The third Junker was coming around the corner at that moment,armed with a missile pod,as well as a sword. Gotcha,sucker. Removing the right tonfa from the enemy,he spun around and drove the forward points of both tonfas into the remaining bait Junker,twisted,and tore the scrapyard clank in half,the pilot tumbling from the cockpit to the street below,doomed to be crushed by the pieces of his machine.
  
  
  He hurled the upper half at the would-be ambusher,and rooted himself again. "Was wondering when you'd show up!" The enemy Junker charged forward,swatting the debris aside with a forearm. The Shiner's finally getting back up. The machine was still supine,however,so he simply pulled a handspring,driving the point of one of his tonfas into the cockpit,killing the operator instantly,and he proceeded to land on his feet on the far side of the now-disabled Old World mech,his sole remaining opponent still advancing.
  
  
  Smirking,General Woods kicked the machine at the enemy,striking them square in the torso. Without missing a beat,Robin dashed forward,flamethrower blazing,creating a smokescreen of sorts for him while also wreaking havoc on the opponent's systems. He heard it more than he saw it; The missiles in the Junker's pod cooked off,annihilating the attachment in the process. "God DAMN it!" A woman? No,a girl! She should be in high school,with a voice like that! "Language,little miss!" The rebel mech pilot slashed out with her sword,but the General knew it was coming,and acted accordingly; He wrapped his own arm around hers,and placed the blade of his tonfa on her shoulder; Her own weapon was against the Achilles,but the armour was more than good enough to ignore it.
  
  
  Driving the weapon down,he severed the Junker's sword arm,and he moved to plunge the other tonfa into the cockpit to end it there,but he noticed something... Unusual.
  
  
  Her mech's chest had a suit of power armour strapped into it.
  
  
  "Huh. Clever." He dropped the bottle of rye he was drinking from,and drew his Commissioner,just as the girl ejected her power armour from her decimated mech. The armour careened through the air between them,and slammed right onto the front cockpit cover,anchoring herself with claws and harpoons. When she drew a core sampler,her knew her intent. A mechjacker? Her,I like! Disabling the loudspeakers,the General issued an order to his AI. "Disable and collapse front screens." "Alert: Such an action would--" "Override! Do it!" The machine complied,and the front screens flickered to blackness,and their mechanical arms folded them away from the front panel.
  
  
  Any second now. He trained his gun at the exact point where she'd break through,and picked up his bottle of rye,which still had some drink left in it.
  
  
  A few seconds later,the laser of the core sample cut through the panel completely,leaving a clean round hole. The rebel climbed into the hole,and froze when she saw what the mech's pilot was doing. "A handgun? Seriously? What the fuck are you gonna do with that? Plink me into submission?" "I said watch your language,young miss!" He pulled the trigger,,and the deafening thunder of the Commissioner filled the cockpit; The round hit her hand,holding her to the hole she made,and penetrated the armour,where it then exploded,reducing the limb to a bloody pulp.
  
  
  With a screech of pain and surprise,she tumbled into the cockpit proper,her other arm scrambling for something at her hip. "Don't think so." BANG! The second round hit the elbow of the offending arm,and when it exploded,the arm was severed from the elbow down. No blood leaked from the armour; Her wounds were cauterized. Taking a long swig from his bottle of rye,emptying it,he kept his revolver trained on his new prisoner.
  
  
  Casting aside the empty bottle,he spoke, "You are now a prisoner of Brigadier General Robin Woods,Viceroy of the United States sector of His Royal Majesty's kingdom. You stay right where you are,and don't do anything stupid." He used his foot to open his bar fridge,and pulled out a bottle of beer. "Drink?"
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Swagger & Slaughter - Sober and kicking ass.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Hell March to the Apocalypse - A remix of Frank Klepacki's "Hell March",by Prince Uf Darkness.
  
  
  I'm Seeing Double! Shoot Them Both! - Drunk off his ass and kicking ass.
  
  
  [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcNtKpnBNUw[/media]
  
  
  Korpiklaani - Vodka!
  
  
  A Toast! - Drunk and having fun.
  
  
  [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VIVSHOQboo[/media]
  
  
  Dropkick Murphys - Kiss Me! I'm Shitfaced!
  
  
  On Duty - Sober and on duty.
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  The Legend of Dragoon Soundtrack - World Map 4
  
  
  
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  [image]
  
  [/image]
  
  
  

 

[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[Der Kojote]

Dylan Steuben

Name: Dylan Steuben


Age:24


Gender: Male


Alliegence: Rebel


Rank:

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Power-Armor
• Power Armor Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Power Armor
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP

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  Written Appearance: Height: 5’ 11.2”
  
  
  Weight: 180 pounds
  
  
  Hair Color: Brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Blue
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: The is his usual outfit minus the hose, coils, shoulder armor and mask. The general color of the coat is brown, with the hood being a faded green. Singe marks cover the back of the coat as if it was close to a great fire for a while. The jeans are faded blue, sewn up in multiple places.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description: Scars are a bit larger than this.
  
  
  
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  Skills:
  
  
  -Medically skilled: Has a great range of medical knowledge, including human anatomy, surgical procedures and battle field medicine.
  
  
  - Inventive. Have you ever had to try and keep a ragtag band of rebels in one piece? Dylan has, he’s had to use limited supplies, persistence and a little bit of prayer. He’s done it before he can do it again.
  
  
  - Mechanically knowledgeable: He is by no means a good engineer, more to say competent. Can he make a suit of power armor? No. Can he maintain a gun and make minor repairs to his armor? Yes.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Electroknisis: Electrical manipulation is versatile. On the offensive side of things, he can shock a person which is the obvious route. He can add Electricity to his punches adding that layer of pain. Seeing how it takes only 5 miliamps across the chest to kill someone. This can be rather deadly. However with a sufficient burst of Electricity in just the right way, he can overload a nervous system, or shut it down. Causing either excruciating pain, or paralysis as well. His offensive capabilities are limited to closer range outside his suit. Inside though…there is a reason why his nickname was Blitz in his old rebel group.
  
  
  However Dylan has found utilitarian uses for his power, such as, Jumpstarting a car, deadening a patient’s nerves in a localized area so precious anesthetic didn’t have to be used. Other Uses Electro-cauterization of a wound. Or overloading an electrical system.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Written Description: If you cannot find an image you like, that’s fine. Describe any personalizations the character has on the Power-Armor, what color is it? How tall is it? Limit nine feet.
  
  
  Name: “Scrapper” Danube Class Power armor
  
  
  Type: The scrapper might look shoddily built, but actually it would be rated as a medium weight power armor. The Idea for the Scrapper was fire support and to give Dylan a platform to use his electric warfare. It needed to be armored enough to take a hit, light enough to allow a decent pace of movement. Coupled with strength increasing subsystems, in built recoil dampeners and “re-appropriated” shielding technology. The scrapper represented the best the Black Forest Legion had to offer.
  
  
  History: The suit was product of 2 years of raids in what used to be Germany by the black forest legion, a rebel group that rose against General Redmond. It was the most recent major revolt in Europe, and it had been a long time coming. The armor was constructed via stolen and recycled technology, and put together by some of the most…eccentric minds of the rebellion. It’s gone through many battles, and even got Dylan through the end of the rebellion where it was crushed at the massacre of the black forest. Though now without taking its share of hits, it was almost put permanently out of use until he joined up with the rebel cell in Canada.
  
  
  
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  Ranged Skills: When it comes to long range combat, Dylan ranks on par with other soldiers, There he was not a sniper, nor an expert marksman. He was decent. However with an electrical blast he ranks fairly accurate.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Here Dylan really fights well, ambushes were a common tactic. Sometimes his squad would wait until the military patrol was near. Then they’d fire from the underbrush. Sometimes not all of them were finished off. Sometimes they’d be in heavy armor. At that point it’s shotguns and SMGs. He’s had more than a few encounters, but he’s still standing here, and the other guys not.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Dylan uses a combination of Krav maga charged with his own electrical energy, giving him powerful strikes, which upon contact can cause amazing pain, or localized paralysis. He also is fairly skilled in the use of an axe.
  
  
  Other Skills: Elemental based combat, He's gotten good with his electric based powers.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Firearm: RPK: A Russian made Machine Gun in the same Vein as the AK-47. Reliable, Hard hitting, and most of all, Durable, Coupled with the recoil dampeners of the Scrapper, and it’s increased strength, the machine gun is like a heavy assault rifle.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary:SPAS-12
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: Ax: collapsible and easily stored.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: After living in the woods, practicality is the main idea for nourishment. He carries a large canteen on his side that contains a good amount of water. Then he has jerky. It’s tough, marinade has not been a concern, so it tastes like rubber. But it has a nice amount of protein, and great for long distances. Finally for some carbs…well…hardtack is still a thing. The water can help break it down.
  
  
  Misc. Items: 1. Medical kit with basic supplies. 2. High-proof rebel brewed hooch (he counts this as not a nourishment item as he uses it as a means of disinfectant.) 3. Last team photo remaining of the Black Forest legion. Slightly singed on the sides.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: Forlorn yet determined. Dylan attends all of his duties with a grim perseverance. He has seen one rebellion crushed, though he does not feel that this one will fare much better, he still holds out some small shred of hope, and is clinging to it. He is loyal to his few friends that he has recently made, though he feels like an outsider with most other people in the rebellion, half of this is because he is an outsider. They are rising up in Canada, and he is from Europe. Half of it is the fact he really doesn’t want to get too attached, he still reeling from the emotional toil that the destruction of the last rebellion had on him. Nevertheless, he still attempts to perform medical work with some semblance of a bedside manor…it’s not very good but…he’s trying. He also is very non-communicative when it comes to the Black Forest Legion. Mentioning it is just a way to bring up bad memories. Or inspire deep bloody rage if someone is from the Royal Army.
  
  
  Also he hold a special place in his heart for his deep and burning hatred of General Redmond, she was the reason he rebelled in the first place, she caused the destruction of it, and most of all, she decided to take some of the members as her playthings. At this point, he can only hope that they are dead, because from the rumors, it’d be a kindness. If he got the chance to kill her…hell MAIM her…then it’d be hard to turn him around from the opportunity. Well it’s like they say, those who fight monsters…
  
  
  History: Europe is hell. One would think that perhaps with a lesser number of animals ready to eat you or kill you things would be better off. No that assumption is wrong dead wrong. Dylan like most of the people there lived in fear, constant fear, two words could send a grown man running for cover, women sheltering their children, and send babes wailing, General Redmond. For Dylan the fear was an omnipresent force in his life. It always was the same story, the mobile base drew near, the army came to town, they took someone they left. Rumors would spread about the condition of the poor man. Sometimes people would never see the body, it was unlucky when you did, sight generally was fear inducing.
  
  
  Like Dylan, most people just bared with it, thanked God that they were not dead, and their families were not touched. They offered condolences to those that had families taken. However the simmering resentment built over the years. It came to a head when rumors of a whole village were taken. Either it was a horrible truth or a damn good lie, because it got people riled up. If death was certainty while waiting, why then sit with your neck upon the chopping block. Why wait for the blow to come? Why not try and strike back? A rebellion was brewing in the now overgrown black forest region of Germany, so at age 17, Dylan joined. The rebellion started small, one or two deserters from the royal army, who had some change of heart, those who felt that in all honesty they were damned if they didn’t damned if they did, adventurous sorts, reckless adventurous youths, those who lost family to Redmond joined fairly quickly.
  
  
  First came the training. The leaders of what soon would be called the black forest legion wanted a disciplined group of soldiers, not just some haphazard militia. This potentially was one of the reasons the rebellion lasted for so long. It wasn’t open for most of its lifespan. The opening shots were fired in a raid on a convoy a few miles out from the forest when he was about 20. It harassed patrols, ambushed convoys, even raided an outpost or two. It went on for 2 more years. During which Dylan became a veteran. He was picked to use one of the more recently created Power-armors. Operations were picked up pace, and for a while, it looked like things were coming to a head, the Legion was getting bolder in its attacks. Backing was coming in… things were looking up.
  
  
  Then May 26th happened. Apparently the legion had been pricking at Redmond’s forces long enough. What occurred wasn’t so much a battle, as it was an utter massacre. The night had been rather successful, a raid between many groups of the legion had just recovered some nice tech. Someone probably thought of putting a tracker on it. Around 0200 hours sentries reported some movement. At 0210 the sharp sound of explosion rocked the main base. At 0215 the Royal army rolled through completely by surprise. Dylan has managed to get into his power armor and with some soldiers attempt some form of resistance.
  
  
  It was for nothing though, at 0225 the rebel force was surrounded. The royal Mech Corp is merciless; many that had their hands up were shot where they stood. The Scrapper armor saved Dylan’s life as a shell exploded near him. The blow though left him semi-coherant and caused a fair bit of facial trauma as it tore through some the armor’s helmet with shrapnel. The armor in the back was damaged considerably also. Some coolant from the armor managed to seep into the main core of his suit, causing massive burns on his back. He was dragged to safety by a few of his comrades and hid in one of the Black forest’s many caves. Maybe it was a day, maybe two, but the shooting had long stopped. when his friends emerged they saw utter carnage. Barely a Royal casualty. But complete decimation of the main legion base. The rebellion had been crushed in a single night. The group headed to a nearby village that had been friendly to the rebellion.
  
  
  The story they heard broke their spirits, over 95% of the legion had been killed, 4% had been taken as General Redmond’s playthings. 1% (them) had been unaccounted for, though they were presumed dead. It took 6 months for Dylan to recover. By then he’d given up on Europe. There was nothing left for him. with what little funds he had he got passage to North America. All he had was contained in a crate, a few possessions, and the nearly broken suit of power armor that had saved his life. It had only been three weeks when he heard a rumor. Another rebellion was gaining traction. Location, Canada. He couldn’t help but laugh at the prospect. Yet, something about it called to him. It was a chance to aid once again. It may fail, but maybe he could do something more…maybe this time there could be a chance. Even with doubts about its success…he made way to Canada. Perhaps to chase ghosts, perhaps to die, perhaps to help something live.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample:
  
  
  “So are you sure who know what you’re doing?” Dylan turned his head to the patient that was sitting on the table, He raised and eyebrow breathing out a sigh of annoyance. He spoke with a voice that had more than a touch of a German accent, “Yes…I’m sure…now did you want that problem we spoke about fixed or not?” The patient looked at him again then at his foot. “It’s just the fact they usually have lidocaine or something.”
  
  
  Dylan looked at the man’s foot, even in the military one, the stoutest man could be crippled by an ingrown toenail. “Look, we don’t have the lidocaine. Can’t really do a virtual block if I don’t have the materials…I can do one thing better.” He grabbed the man’s foot. Looking at him he spoke, “Alright…this is going to feel…well weird at first then not at all.” He focused a bit on the foot, feeling the electrical impulses of the nerves. He concentrated then, much to the patient’s surprise stopped them. The man looked at Dylan. Who know was scrubbing his hands, “Don’t worry…I dulled your nerves… I could amputate the thing…and you wouldn’t feel it. Well…after about 15 minutes you would…but let’s not think of that…let’s get that chunk of toenail removed.”
  
  
  The procedure was done in about 5 minutes; the bleeding had been stopped via electro-cauterization. The wound had been cleaned thoroughly, and soon he’d be back to training, the same which Dylan would have to get back to as well. He plopped down in the crappy chair that he’d gotten assigned to what passed for an “in and out clinic.” He reclined back a bit looking up at the flood light that provided light to room, swaying back and forth.
  
  
  He quietly muttered to himself as he pulled a file from a stack. Inside only lay one thing, a picture. It was 7 people 4 males, 3 females, all in rag-tag clothing, guns slung over their shoulders smiling at the camera. The sides were singed, but still the important part of the photograph remained. He looked at one person in particular, himself. He reflected on the fact that 6 years ago…the world seemed so much more than now. Back then he had hope, he had purpose, he had his friends, his countrymen. Now he had ruins, he had a new rebellion, and now was the only person to remember these faces as they were. He leaned back again, looking at the swaying light. “6 years…6 years, I still haven’t gotten what we joined that rebellion for. But I promise you guys…one day…maybe…or I’ll join you all on the other side.” His eyes slowly closed as he grew tired. Soon he was asleep in his chair.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: The thundering of explosions could be heard from around the camp. Panicked cries were quickly silenced by the roar of automatic weaponry. The smell of charred flesh infiltrated every crack in the armor, providing a terrifying realization for Dylan. They were being massacred. He brought the RPK to bear, a rock his only real cover. He squeezed off a short burst at the advancing Royal Army soldiers. Screams from his fellow comrades echoing out. “ENEMIES ON THE LEFT FLANK! ENIMES ON THE-” then silence after another roar of machinegun fire.
  
  
  Dylan swung his machine gun to the side, and began firing, the recoild dampeners doing their job. The RPK chewing through ammo and enemy infantry, while the hard plinking of enemy bullets could be heard on rock and the Scrapper’s armored areas. That was the sort of feeling power armor gave, protection. Though still a sufficiently powerful anti-armor weapon would break through it. It was much more than just body armor. He continued firing at the enemies on the left flank till an explosion rocked their ranks, a small rebel squad advanced up from behind him. Thank God. The thought was short lived as more Royal army fireteams continued their advance.
  
  
  A rebel called back to Dylan, “We need a breakout NOW!” Dylan nodded, “smoke out on my signal. Suppressive fire on the advancing forces!” He stretched his hand out towards the advancing enemy squad and unleashed a bolt of lightning, arcing from one trooper to another. They fell down twitching. He didn’t know if they were dead, or close to it. At this point he didn’t care. The rest of Dylan’s squad brought to bear their automatic weaponry on the advancing royal forces, forcing them to take cover. He pointed to the open side, and made a waving motion. The smoke was deployed, covering their position. The squad began retreating through the dense smoke cloud.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  General viewpoint- Ruska From Apocolyptica
  
  
  [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfVqOZQVcJQ[/media]
  
  
  Battle[media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Shoot to Kill Two steps from hell
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[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[Queen Nala]

Deleted

 

[King Of Imagination]

Mathias Kaine

Name: Mathias Kaine


Age: 22


Gender: Male


Alliegence: Rebels


Rank:

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills and Weapons
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  Written Appearance: 5'11"
  
  
  Weight: 160lbs
  
  
  Hair Color: Brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Green
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: I promise the jeans are looser and more practical than they appear. They are also very ripped, especially around the knees, though for some reason his shirt always looks freshly pressed. He also wears basic combat boots.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description: The tattoo is on his right shoulder. He also has an x-shaped scar on his left palm.
  
  
  
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  Ranged Skills: Semi-accurate, long range is not a strong suit of his.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Much better in close quarters, skilled with pistols especially semi-auto or machine.
  
  
  Melee Skills: Also skilled in melee combat.
  
  
  Other Skills: Artistic, natural cartographer, amazing sense of direction, extensive knowledge of plants and natural remedies, ambidextrous
  
  
  Special Abilities: He can, to an extent, create things he imagines from thin air. They cannot be larger than him, nor can they be overly complex, such as power armour. He cannot create anything plants or animals, but he can create minions such as golems from stone or dirt or wood or metals. He can create melee weapons and simple explosives, however firearms are a bit beyond his skill level.
  
  
  He can also only summon a certain volume of objects each day. That volume is equal the space his physical being takes up. So he could create food for day or two, or a large number of bullets, or a couple melee weapons, or one large minion. His abilities seem to reset with the rising of the sun, so he can create new things beginning at dawn.
  
  
  His minions lose function at sunset, and his creations disappear unless he is in relatively frequent contact with them, such as his sword.
  
  
  If he is within a couple of miles of something he has created previously, he can, once a day for three different items, call them to himself, though the drain this causes on ability is rather drastic.
  
  
  Primary Firearm: None
  
  
  Secondary Firearm: None
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Sidearm: He wields two of these. They are Beretta 92FS's, .40 caliber rounds. Modified for lighter trigger pull, faster loading and reloading, faster rate of fire, and slightly extended clip. Both grips are customized for his left or right hand.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: A more modernized version of a Roman gladius, the blade is made of high carbon spring steel, the pommel and hilt are cased in a high grade plastic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Carries a small bag of nuts, berries, and granola, a canteen of water, a handful of mint leaves.
  
  
  Misc. Items: A small mortar and pestle, a bag of assorted medicinal herbs, box of matches, a few cloth bandages, and a small box of water purifying solution.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: He has a very clear sense of right and wrong, and never does anything that might be morally incorrect. The only exception to this is when protecting others. That is the only occasion in which his sense of morality is over written. He watched so many die when he was young, he feels it's his duty to protect everyone else, even if he dies in the process. He is kind and gentle, not a leader but not a blind follower either. He makes jokes and enjoys his time with the people he cares about, because he knows his life is likely ticking away faster than most.
  
  
  History: Mathias grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Nothing really happened, no one really stood out, except for him. Starting at about six years old, he began subconsciously creating things from his imagination, just simple things, mostly toys. Of course, the royal army took notice though. He was nine when they arrived in his town, the people wouldn't give him up. The entire town disagreed with the things the Army was doing. So as Mathias watched from the safety of his home, his entire family, his friends, and every other man woman and child in the town was massacred.
  
  
  He rushed out of his home, screaming at the Army, tears streaming down his face. They turned on him, and as they did, he summoned his first animate creation. A metal cat with fangs and blades all over its body. It tore through a number of the soldiers, the rest of them running from it. Mathias, terrified, backed away from the creature, but the blades covering its body retracted, and it became similar to quicksilver, rubbing against him gently.
  
  
  From that day on he never looked back. Always sought justice and a little bit of vengeance. He picked up a few useful skills along the way, including accurate dual wielding, swordsmanship with a shield, and natural medicine, as well as a number of other things about plants. He arrived with the rebels around 2 weeks ago.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: Mathias stood atop a mountain, just breathing in the crisp, high altitude air. It was a wonderful feeling, being this high, nothing between you and the sky. He watched as the sun rose over the peaks before him, a smile crawling onto his face. Nothing was greater than waking before dawn in the mountains. He stretched and began to pack up his things.
  
  
  He picked up the branch he had grabbed in the woods earlier in his journey, having used it as a walking stick for the last three days. It helped him, especially on the rocky terrain of the mountains. While there were paths, they were broken and sketchy at best, and non-existent in some cases. The branch helped him stay steady on the broken paths, and when he needed to climb, he would slide it into a strap of his bag.
  
  
  He started off down the mountain, one of the clearest trails he had traversed so far, with only a few dozen large boulders to climb over. He wasn't walking at an overly brisk pace, though he was trying to reach the next peak by nightfall. He did have four more peaks to reach after all, so he hoped to make some serious progress.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: Mathias, pistols in hand, stood behind a pillar in what he assumed was an abandoned museum. The sounds of boots behind him was slowly getting closer, and he wasn't looking forward to them finding him. He had accidentally pissed off a small group of Followers, and it turned out their small group was a large, well armed caravan. He groaned internally at his own stupidity. Of all groups to piss off, the Followers were likely the worst choice.
  
  
  Alright, enough harping on yourself. Mother, Father, forgive me for what I am about to do. With that though, he swung around the right side of the column, pistols already out, and unloaded four quick shots, taking down two of the followers. He quickly made his way over behind a small wall as machine gun fire whizzed by the spot where he just was. He breathed deeply, hearing the boots now flanking both sides of the wall. He turned, hung the pistols on his thumbs, and pulled himself over the wall, fixing his grip on the pistols and firing off another six, seven, eight shots, taking down another four followers. Six down, only nine to go. He groaned, running over to another corner and ducking behind it, a bullet skimming his arm and leaving a scratch and a burning sensation.
  
  
  He wouldn't survive the remaining followers, he had to get out of there. He tried to think of something that would get him out of this, and a flash-bang came to mind. He pictured it in his head, putting his pistols in their holsters, and in his right hand was a basic flash-bang. He breathed heavily, turned, and tossed it into the center of the room, closing his eyes and covering his ears as it went off, then dashing out of the building as fast as he could and into the winding streets of the beaten down city. Damn that was close.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Adorable kitten gif anyone?
  
  
  

 
General Theme, Everyday: [media]



[/media]
Battle Theme: [media]



[/media]

 

[Penelope Burns]

Colonel Andrew Gren

Name: Andrew Gren


Age: 43


Gender: Male


Alliegence: Royal Army, mech forces.


Rank: Colonel

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Mech
• Mech Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Mech
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme Song(s)
• Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance: Height: 6'3"
  
  
  Weight: 237 lbs
  
  
  Hair Color: Brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Brown
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: Sleeves were torn off and sewn back on, parts of pants are torn, especially around the knees.
  
  
  

  Spoiler

  

  Spoiler

  Written Description: Along with his missing right index finger, Gren has a scar in his shoulder from a bullet hitting it.
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills: Gren is an expert at hand to hand combat, and an excellent shot with short-mid range weapons. He's a skilled strategist, and is a master of resource management. He has few non-war skills, preferring to use others to do things like repair his mech.
  
  
  Special Abilities: None.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description: The mech is mostly green, covered from head to toe with places to fire missiles from. The mech has two machine guns used as its primary weapons, and has relatively thick armor, having survived dozens of battles.
  
  
  Name: The Crush
  
  
  Type: Heavy Mech
  
  
  History: The Crush has survived dozens of battles, from its early days with nothing but a machine gun to the surfacing of the new rebels. It began as only some spare parts thrown together, but over time it was upgraded more and more, until eventually peaking when outfitted with dozens of small missiles. It is extremely formidable, having never fallen in combat.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: At short range, the mech obliterates everything. Anything further is difficult to hit, it is very much spray and pray.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: In close quarters, nothing survives the machine guns. They tear apart armor in moments, to the point where any explosive use is unneeded.
  
  
  Melee Skills: The mech is almost impossible to use in melee, being extremely slow. However, due to the large amount of armor, any melee attack generally can be brushed off until the missiles or machine guns manage to hit the attacker.
  
  
  Other Skills: None.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary: Dual Machineguns
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary: Missile launchers firing over two dozen missiles.
  
  
  Melee: None.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nourishment Items: Gren keeps no nourishment items with him, opting not to travel without an army behind him.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Gren keeps a small knife with him at all times, finding it useful in many situations. Otherwise, all he keeps is a broken pocketwatch he took off a dead rebel corpse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Personality: Gren is ruthless, willing to throw aside as many lives as he needs if it achieves his short term goals. He has no long term ideas in mind, worrying only about the moment. He sees his soldiers as little more than pawns, knowing that reserves would always follow.
  
  
  History: Gren began his life in the Northwest portion of the United States, living among the remnants of a Native American tribe on the brink of destruction. Hating his life there, he volunteered to join the Royal Marines as soon as he was old enough.
  
  
  Once in the Marines, he quickly advanced through the ranks, killing enemy after enemy to prove himself. Eventually, he was seen as an efficient but careless commander, someone who was capable of getting the job done, but not usually without casualties. In one particular mission, he lost over half his team, lost his finger, and was shot in the shoulder, but still managed to complete it.
  
  
  Eventually, he found a mech and ordered it repaired, spending the next few months learning how best to pilot it. With that, he was moved to the Royal Mech forces as a Lieutenant.
  
  
  As a Royal Mech, he only proved himself further, killing dozens upon dozens of people over the years. Over time, his mech was upgraded as well, built up with scavenged parts from operation after operation.
  
  
  Once he reached his early forties, he was promoted to colonel to replace a retiree, seen as an efficient if ruthless commander. From there, he only slipped further into ruthlessness. Eventually, when one of his soldiers found a mech part that should have remained a secret, he ordered her father killed to send a message to her, leading to her desertion.
  
  
  Seeing her desertion as a slight, Colonel Gren now wants to put as many resources as he can to eliminate her.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: "The hell do you mean?" Gren screamed at the messenger, his face red with rage. He couldn't believe the pathetic child, coming to him with news like that. "Leave, and don't return until you find them." He said, refusing to look the fool in the eyes.
  
  
  As soon as she was gone, he began to scream, letting out a noise that could be heard across the field. "How? Where are you, where where WHERE?" He slammed his hands on his desk, watching the cracks appear. Pathetic, even objects failed him.
  
  
  He had sent reinforcements to the mech base days prior, knowing that she would eventually return for her machine. Once she arrived, they were ordered to capture her alive and bring her to him. She would pay for insulting him as she did.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: "Damage report!" Colonel Andrew Gren yelled to the operator over headset. The firepower used by the rebels had not been predicted, so when only a few mechs were sent in they were little more than cannon fodder for the rebel assault.
  
  
  "Minor damage to the left arm, sir!" The boy responded, the stress obvious through his voice. Gren hardly cared, it wasn't like the child would be helpful in battle. All that mattered was the opposition.
  
  
  "Send reinforcements immediately, I need backup down here!" He yelled, not caring what the idiot would say in response. All that mattered was having a distraction so he wasn't the only target for the rebel gunfire.
  
  
  With that done, he turned to face the oncoming rebel soldiers. There were only a few mechs, it seemed power armor was most of what they had. How hilariously simple.
  
  
  He aimed his machine's left arm at an approaching mech, watching as his gun began to spin, faster and faster. A moment later, bullet after bullet flew from his weapon, death being his only goal.
  
  
  The mech didn't last more than a few seconds, it's operator too stupid to know how to run. He smiled as it exploded, the person inside dying. There was a certain appeal to death, it never didn't seem to be beautiful.
  
  
  His thoughts were interrupted, unfortunately, by the other two mechs advancing on his position. "Oh, this just won't do." He said, his tone condescending. Even if they couldn't respond, it was likely they could hear his broadcast. In mech combat, it was only honorable to speak to your opponent before they died. While he despised the concept of honor, he had to admit that terrifying his foes before ending them was fun.
  
  
  As soon as he was certain they heard his broadcast, he pressed his favorite button. Almost instantly, the missile ports opened, revealing his two dozen children. With another press of the button, missile after missile fired upon the two mechs, throwing a storm of dust over the area.
  
  
  When what little scrap left was revealed, he smiled, having won again. With that distraction over, he turned to the rebel forces, his reinforcements taking most of their attention. "Time for round two." He said, walking toward the pitiful defenders.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  (When in combat with Lysa, specifically): [media]
  
  
• [/media]
  (What can best describe his mind): [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

 

[The Empress of Ice]

Lady Death - Colonel Morrison -

Name:Kathryn 'Kate' Roann Laine - Roann is pronounced Row-Ann {Morrison is her mother's surname}


Age: 562 - looks 28 - 32


Gender: Female


Allegiance: The Royal Army - General Brody


Rank: Colonel

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Power-Armor - Mundane & Battle
• Skills Outside Power-Armor - Special
• Power Armor Appearance and Details
• Power-Armor Skills
• Weapons in Power Armor
• Inventory
• Personality and History
• Key to RP & Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP & Theme Song(s)

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: 5'9 feet
  
  
  Weight: 141 - including muscle mass
  
  
  Hair Color: Her natural hair colour is a dark dirty blonde color, however her current hair color is as pictured above.
  
  
  Eye Color: Hazel
  
  
  

  Spoiler

  

  

  

  Spoiler

  Written Description of Clothes: The clothes aren't ripped however they are worn out, the top having a washed out white colour, the boots are almost always dirty. Kate rarely wears her jacket unless she is in need of it during harsh weather. The pants reach her ankles, unlike what the picture shows. Kate stays in her tank top and her boxer underwear when in her power-armor.
  
  
  

  

  

  

  
  
  Written Description: As pictured, however the skull tattoo is on the left side of her left leg.
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Skills: Due to her old 'mental' age, Kathryn has had the chance to learn multiple skills which come in handy once in awhile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  • Languages: Kathryn can speak both English and Swedish fluently while being able to understand and speak a bit Somali and Spanish.
    

  
  
  

  • Cooking & Baking: If Kathryn didn't discover her power and her passion for the battlefield, she could live off of being a cook and a baker. The scent of her dishes are simply mouthwatering and her pastries out of the world. Perhaps it's due to the long experience, or perhaps it's just talent; either way, Kate is a heck of a chef! She's constantly trying new recipes, making recipes.
    

  
  
  

  • Fishing: Kathryn's a decent fisher, able to catch most prey with her strong muscles. A skill she picked up in her old hometown.
    

  
  
  

  • Smithery: Being a daddy's girl and having a father as a blacksmith just changes the idea of fun for a thirteen year old. Always been entranced by the clang of metal on metal, the heat radiating of the furnace and the stress-relief, Kathryn still prefers making her own small weapons.
    

  
  
  

  • Herbologist & Health Care: Due to her constant travelling, and fates obvious hate for the chick, Kathryn picked up on a few skills during her long lifetime, one of them being herbology. Being able to grow them herself, the crazy woman uses it to make not only medicine but poisons. I'd be careful if I were you... By the way, herbs are awesome make-up bases. Take it from Kate, she knows.
    

  
  
  

  • Traveler: As Kate has been travelling around alot, she learnt a thing or two, which she refers to the Traveler skills. You see, you got traveler skill when you can easily choose which way to go when in a crossroad, in a jungle, without a map. Born to be on foot, that's travelers.
    

  
  
  

  • Farming: Due to her passion for cooking, Kathryn has taken it upon herself to farm some of her own vegetables and what not.
    

  
  
  

  • Sewing: Kathryn was forced to, by her mother, to learn how to sew and all that embroidery shit. While she was good at it... It wasn't and still isn't her favourite past-time. Unless, that is, she is working on a new outfit.
    

  
  
  

  • Swordsmanship: Kathryn loves fist-to-fist fights but she also sees the needs to be able to defend yourself, besides throwing a punch. And so she has dedicated herself to constant training with swords, whether they be one-handed, two-handed, long or short. Daggers or otherwise, this girl can rock'em.
    

  
  
  

  • Tracker: Another move she learnt from travelling so much, needing to catch that goddamn juicy bunny, Kate is an excellent tracker and boasts about it. Due to her own experience and her keen eye, the girl finds it easy to find other stuff. Or people.
    

  
  
  

  • Thievery: Kathryn wasn't always so... Well-off. And when you have to fight for bread, you learn a few things. Stealing an apple or a diamond is not that hard, just go well prepared, leave no evidence and have an escape route ready. Or several.
    

  
  
  

  • Make-up artist: Re-living her life, Kathryn has come to learn something, And that is, the power of make-up. A bit of highlight here, some contour there and she can look like a whole other person. Which comes in handy when you live so close to your childhood friend.
    

  
  
  

  • Decent Mechanic: Being the original owner of the Trex-89 and Atalanta's current owner, Kathryn learnt to live in the moment, in the battlefield. And in the battlefield, you won't find mechanics laying around, so knowing a bit about your own P.A./Mech could go a long way. Note: Decent mechanic, as in can repair my car, my stuff
    

  
  
  

  • Maternal Instincts/Observant: Remember that white lie you told the other day? Or that sneaky glance you sent Kyle's way? If not, Kathryn does. Not only due to her motherhood but also due to the fact that the old bat has been alive alot longer than she should have, Kathryn is one of the most observant people around. And the best part? Nobody knows, because she doesn't show it. She won't blab about the affair between Kyle and Joe, because she doesn't care, and it is none of her business.
    

  
  
  

  • Stealth: Staying hidden is not a problem for Kathryn most times as she just has to adjust her age and put some make-up on.
    

  
  
  

  • Muay Thai: During one of her travels, Kathryn encountered a man by the name of Veradis Arthit, he teached her an ancient art {from the 2000's} called Muay Thai. A combat sport which concentrates on delivering power in each strike, making the best use of close-quarter fighting. Almost all techniques in Muay Thai use the entire body movement, to make the blow as efficient as possible: rotating the hip with each kick, punch, elbow and block.
    

  
  
  

  • Boxing: Faster reflexes, better speed, more endurance {more shifts} and more strength. Now imagine boxing and Muay Thai together... Yep, Kathryn was blown away too when she came up with the idea.
    

  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Special Abilities: Kathryn has the ability to manipulate her physical age, making her ageless.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  • The User is practically ageless, being able to change their physical appearance. The strength of the power varies from person to person.
    
  • There are two sorts of age transformations: Temporary and Permanent. Both of them require different things.
    
  
  
  
  • Temporary Age Shift: This sort of shift can vary, from changing the age of your hand to changing your whole appearance. The power feeds off of energy from the physical form it is in, the energy equaling to stamina and endurance. The more endurance a physical form has, the longer the transformation lasts. Using the power on only one or few body parts takes less energy than a full transformation.
    
  
  
  
  • Younger physical forms {0-15} tend to be 'Burst Shifts', while the physical form is perfectly intact it lasts upto two-four hours, when on low maintenance {allowing certain body parts to be less 'young'}
    
  
  
  
  • Older physical forms {46+} tend to also be 'Burst Shifts', however they can last up to 7-8 hours due to the trained endurance.
    
  
  
  
  • The In-The-Middle physical forms are the ideal ones, having longer 'energy bars', these can last up to about 17 hours.
    
  
  
  
  • Permanent Age Shift: This sort of shift is dependent on the physical form it is in while performing 'The Ritual', requires an immense amount of concentration and energy. The Permanent Shift is a slow process, taking from 32-48 hours to complete. The body slowly changes, one part of the users body becoming permanent after the other.
    
  
  
  
  • Requires some sort of blood: While human blood is the ideal for this sort of shift, animal blood suffices. The user is to relinquish their energy by taking a sip every ten minute. For some reason this seems to fuel the invisible 'energy bar'.
    
  
  
  
  • As mentioned before, the less energy one has in their current permanent physical form, the harder it is to perform the ritual, and the more blood is required.
    
  
  
  
  • Permanent shifts turns ones body into what it original was during that 'age cycle', when at for example the age of 26 you had a tattoo on your leg, when shifting permanently back to 26, you will have that same tattoo on your leg.
    
  
  
  
  • Age Cycle: After each permanent shift, one restarts the age-cycle, so to say, if we were to shift back to the age of 34 and you were fat during that time, you will be fat when you shift to that age. However, let's say that you were fat from the ages of 23-47, after the shift, if you go exercise and turn into a hottie, during your next permanent age shift, you will return to the hottie form you were in. You followed another 'age-cycle'.
    
  
  
  
  • Notable Side-effect of the age-cycle: Let's imagine Kathryn getting shot by a bullet, the bullet goes straight through her stomach. While Kathryn can temporarily age shift her stomach, it will return to its age soon after, and when it does, she'll die immediately. Temporary Age Shifts do not stop the original age-cycle, and the permanent age of the user continues to age separately during temporary age shifts.
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  • IMPORTANT! - Kathryn is ageless, not immortal. Any mortal wounds can and will kill her.
    
  • Can't change her facial or body structure; So if you know how the grandma from next door looked like back in the days, you'll probably notice her apparent age-shift.
    
  
  
  
  • Prone to extreme exhaustion: As mentioned before, this power requires extreme amounts of energy and so the user is prone to exhaustion after heavy use.
    
  
  
  
  • Sudden Death: As mentioned before, during the temporary shift, the original permanent body ages separately and so, while stuck in another form for more than 17 hours, her original body may get dehydrated, starve to death etc.
    
  
  
  
  • Has to be conscious: The power has to be used consciously, or it won't work. Temporary shifts disappear when user is either asleep or knocked out.
    
  
  
  
  • Only able to shift to ages she has actually lived through: Kathryn can't shift to the age of 90. Why? Because she hasn't lived to the age of ninety during any of her age-cycles.
    
  
  
  
  • 17 Hours Maximum: Kathryn has been unable to temporarily shift for more than seventeen hours, once she reaches the seventeenth hour, she has to either rest and naturally relinquish her power or drink blood.
    
  
  
  
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  Written Description: Silver linings on the sword, the royal crest where the logo is and two small 'wings' on the shoulder blades, each wing has a jet engine as their core which boosts its speed. The Atalanta has three different stages, as pictured, the first one used as merely a power-up suit [mostly used during sniping from faraway], the second one an upgraded version which boosts the agility and speed. The third version is the complete, fully armored style that is seen on the battlefield.
  
  
  The P.A. is 'attached all together' by a 'dressing-machine' onto the users body. [iron-man way babyyy!] Once in the suit, Kathryn activates it through voice, eye and blood/DNA-recognition, using a small inbuilt pin to take a drop of her blood every single time. To change the official user of the P.A., one would have to decode and rewrite the whole core-system.
  
  
  Kathryn pilots the P.A. through body-synchronization and has a hud-interface inside with a inbuilt radar. Her whole armor is like a see-through window from the inside, and she has a small 'window' open in her hud-interface which is connected to several cameras on the back of the Atalanta.
  
  
  Name: X-IE7, otherwise known as Atalanta/Ata by Kate.
  
  
  Type: Recon, light-weight but efficient.
  
  
  History: The X-IE7 is a mix between salvaged parts of the TREX-89 [ Kathryn's former mech, destroyed during a raid in a mission about 58 years ago] and new high technology. The Atalanta has been in action for 36 rough years {With Kate}, surviving through so many battles that Kate has lost count. Kate's been strangely attached to the machine since she first handled it during a test run, giving it a nickname compared to the TREX-89 that she had for more than 60 years.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ranged Skills: Kate is an average shooter for a Royal P.A. Operator, and continues to be so as she has no interest in the arts of crossbows, guns etc. However she has a keen eye and so, she is a slightly above average sniper.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: Kathryn lives for the adrenaline rush she gets whenever her fist connects with her opponents cheek, and so she puts herself through rigid training to perfect her movements both inside and outside the Atalanta. And with hard work comes much earned superior skills.
  
  
  Melee Skills: As mentioned before, Kate lives for close quarter fighting and so she has also trained herself to excel in melee skills, especially as it is Atalanta's main fighting style.
  
  
  Other Skills: Atalanta has, as mentioned before, two 'wings', which are in fact just larger parts used as a jet engine, which allows the armor to boost its speed, however for it to 'soar' through the sky, it requires energy and is mostly used as last second-escapes from heavy blows. The 'retreating-soar' is also activated when the core-system of the P.A. is in failure, so as to salvage any mechanical parts after the battle.
  
  
  Since the Atalanta is more light-weight than average, it depends on its speed and maneuvering and was designed to deliver just that.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Firearm: The M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle [twice the size] [Ammunition; 300WM and .300 Ultra Mag.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Secondary: Imagine that attached to the hands of Atalanta, three times the original size, these 'Wolverine Gloves' are perhaps Kathryn's favorite weapon, used as her melee/close quarter-weapons, they put more slashing power to her punches. Able to tore through 'light' P.A. armour, and has an average damage rate on the heavier ones.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Melee: The Titania is the Atalanta's main weapon and is made out of pure titanium folded in more than a hundred layers, and another two-hundred layers different layers of steel. [17-4PH, 15-5PH,] About five meters long, and it is constantly sharpened before battle.
  
  
  
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  • 10x flasks of water
    
  • Dried fruit; 4x small packs of each. [10x of Fig, however.] Fruits; Apple, Plum [Prunes], Grapes [Raisins], Apricot, Tomato, Mango and Cherries.
    
  • Small pack of potatoes
    
  • 'Survival Nutrition'; 25x small packs of nutrition filled, minced food that lasts up to 69 weeks without going bad. Used only during emergencies.
    
  • A plastic jar of peanut butter.
    

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  

  • Money - >.> <.<, she has a few stacks... A couple thousand dollars... [Or whatever currency we are going with]
    
  • Extra clothing; 4x Tanktops, 2x cropped tops, a pair of sweatpants and one pair of combat pants.
    
  • Several worn out journals, and two in pristine condition.
    
  • A small micky mouse child watch - Her son's old one, from when he was five. Vintage, antic even but still working.
    
  • Books; The Psych Investigations series by Kevin Weinberg [including The Foxes series]
    
  • A pocket knife
    
  • A circlet - Passed down from her Great-Great-Great-Great-Great grandmother, the beautiful white gold circlet has been in tradition used by the eldest female child during her wedding to later on be used by her own child.
    
  • Most importantly; A Tool Kit, for her mech and weapons on the go, it contains reserves for the core-system, to the smallest screw. Used in case of emergency and when not within reach of an engineer.
    

  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: To most, Kathryn is the cynical, calm female colonel that takes shit from no one. She comes to work, does her work and then leaves. She doesn't stay to talk to her subordinates about their families or ask someone how they are doing, she simply doesn't play around. But that's how she seems to be, not the way she is. Kathryn, being older than most of her subordinates and comrades, has come to an understanding that relationships don't last, at least not when you're her. Not when you can stop your aging and the ones you love can't.
  
  
  She's loyal to the Royal Army, and if you speak to her, calmly and with respect, she'll speak to you in the same manner. And she cares. For whom? Marcus, for one. The King. The Army. Her comrades. She simply doesn't show it the same way others do. No, because Kathryn is the one that secretly makes sure that Eric, the annoying engineer intern, gets the last piece of cake during the royal engineers monthly faculty meeting. He's not lucky, he's merely in the good graces of Kathryn.
  
  
  And Kathryn depends on the few people that knows this, to be the ones she can lean on. The ones she can randomly put her head on their shoulders or ask if they'd like to grab a bite at two am, and expect them to understand and say yes. {Strong maternal instincts, by the way.}
  
  
  Her enemies? They're threats to her peace, to her family. And according to Kathryn, threats are to be destroyed before they become a possible reality.
  
  
  History: Kathryn was born in a small village not far from what used to be the city of Gotenburg, Sweden, to a family of five. Being the youngest, she was pampered by her two older siblings and her parents.She lived a relatively normal life, falling in and out of love, losing friends and gaining others. Building a family once she became old enough.
  
  
  His name was Greg. Greg Jonathan Arthur Leonardo Thames. He was the love of her life, the one that made her smile no matter what sort of situation she was in. The one she had her first child with. Lucas, the firstborn, resembled his father. And her daughter, her beautiful daughter Leyla.
  
  
  But then, she turned forty. The day Kathryn discovered her power was not a joy, not when she saw her own children rot away. Not when Greg was buried six feet under. But neither could she die. She was afraid from death.
  
  
  After her first permanent shift at seventy-six, Kathryn decided to travel around, learning things on the way. It was during one of her travels that she met Marcus, and after rigorous training, went under his command.
  
  
  She had been 165 when she was allowed her first run with the new TREX-89. She loved it. The power surge, the way she could annihilate a whole platoon with little assistants. The way she could forget for a split second about her life, about her fears.
  
  
  Kathryn lives for the battlefield.
  
  
  Inbetween that time, Kathryn has traveled a lot, however always being on alert and ready for a mission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Played during permanent shifts. Evanescence - My Immortal - The Instrumental
  
  
  [media]
  
  
• [/media]
  Played during temporary shifts. Paramore - Misery Business - The Instrumental
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  {I'll insert a battle song later}
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

 

[Riddle78]

The Jackknife

Name: Jackson Knives


Alias: The Jackknife


Age: 49


Gender: Male


Allegiance: His Royal Majesty's Armed Forces - General Woods


Rank: Major

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills Outside Mech
• Mech Appearance and Details
• Skills and Weapons in Power Armor
• Inventory
• Personality, History, and Writing Samples
• Theme Song(s)
• Key to RP

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  Written Appearance
  
  
  Height: Six foot nine.
  
  
  Weight: 238 pounds.
  
  
  Hair Color: Black,with a shockingly white stripe on either side,above the ear.
  
  
  Eye Color: Left: Cybernetic prosthetic - Amber lens. Right: Brown.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: Ditch the cap,and replace it with a helmet identical to Woods'. Replace all iconography with Haystim's Royal Forces icons,and ditch the sword and bolter pistol.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Written Description: Scars are mirrored,to the opposite side.
  
  
  
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  Skills: An excellent marksman and melee fighter,Jackson earned his nickname. Furthermore,he's quick-witted and knows how to blow glass.
  
  
  Special Abilities: Entirely mundane.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Written Description: The forearm guns don't exist,and the mech has two fully-realized hands,designed for grappling,climbing,and tearing. As such,the arms are also very heavily armoured.
  
  
  Name: Dominator Mk II
  
  
  Type: Heavy Assault Mech
  
  
  History: The Dominator was once a pre-Calamity mech,and had a spotless service record,up until the Power Struggle. During the Power Struggle,the Dominator was crippled and thought lost,until it was recovered by General Woods in The Ghost of Sparta. Due to the extensive damage to the chassis and superstructure,the critical components were cannibalized and installed in a new,post-Calamity chassis to serve as the reborn Dominator Mk II. It is significantly bulkier than the original,and as a direct result,a little slower,but the destructive potential remains undiminished,and is just as well protected. After reconstruction,the Dominator was given to Knives for his exemplary service under Woods.
  
  
  
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  Ranged Skills: The main gun on the right shoulder features an intricate targeting system,ensuring pinpoint accuracy with every shot. Even without the targeting array,however,Jackson has been known to bean moving targets a kilometer out with it.
  
  
  Close Quarters Skills: While the targeting array is for the shoulder gun,everything else is fly-by-wire. With a sophisticated HUD projection on his helmet's visor,he can aim his weapons with ease,though without assistance. His close quarter skills are sharp,and he's been known to cripple enemy mechs,rather than destroy them outright.
  
  
  Melee Skills: He's never lost a melee engagement,though not due to any particular skill; The Dominator's kit is the main reason. However,with a melee weapon,he shows impressive technical skill.
  
  
  Other Skills:
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Primary: The Dominator's main gun is actually a fully functional artillery piece. Mounted to the shoulder,and with the barrel cut down,it can only be described as a railway gun that jumped off the rails. With an effective range of ten kilometers,it is also able to be easily pointed at any single target within line of sight. Obviously,from the image above,only the gun is used,not the railway car.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Secondary: For some handheld firepower,the Dominator comes equipped with an enormous machine gun,equipped with a laser rangefinder that links directly to the pilot's HUD,and loaded with armour-piercing high-explosive rounds,designed to pulverize mechs,and annihilate outright anything smaller.
  
  
  

  

  
  
  Melee: In melee,the Dominator brings something unique to the fight; Special armour-shredding claws. Their sharpness and durability enable penetration,while the real kicker does the work; A highly concentrated burst of electromagnetic radiation,delivered by each blade,and the palm,for good measure. This enables the Dominator to shut down any mech they get into melee range of,and the fact that they're claws means they're very nimble; Armour isn't a defense against these things. When not in use,they retract into the hand.
  
  
  In addition to the above,the Dominator has a largely automated laser antimissile turret attached to the "head". However,Jackson has ordered manual overrides be placed on the device,allowing him to use it as a short-range weapon,if missiles aren't heading his way. The cockpit is located in the rear of the chest,unlike the front,like most other mechs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: As the Jackknife,Jackson is expected to do anything,anywhere. As such,he keeps a footlocker filled with food and water in the floor of the cockpit of his mech.
  
  
  Misc. Items: The footlocker also contains several survival tools,including a folding hatchet,and a utility knife. Just like his superior,Jackson also keeps a sidearm on his person at all times,including in the cockpit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Personality: Jackson Knives plays the straight man to Robin's oddball. He's constantly snarking on his superior's half-baked ideas,or just being serious overall. Despite this ],however,Jackson does have a sense of humor; He finds it hilarious when he kills the joke. His intellect and quick wits combine to make him an incredible snark machine,and excellent soldier.
  
  
  History: Major Jackson Knives was effectively born into the Forces; His parents served,and their parents before them. As soon as he turned seventeen,he enlisted into the Forces,and displayed an uncanny aptitude for the soldier's trade,able to do anything he was told to do up to expectations,while everyone else had strengths and weaknesses. This trait led to his nickname,the Jackknife; A tool that can do damn near anything.
  
  
  Marching out of BMQ,Knives went on to serve in multiple garrisons and combat forces,before eventually landing himself on The Ghost of Sparta after Woods had noticed his exemplary record,having,on multiple occasions,stolen or otherwise used mechs and power armour suits that he was technically not trained on,and used them well anyway. What followed was a meteoric rise through the ranks of His Royal Majesty's Armed Forces,and an eventual commission from none other than the Drunken General himself. To this day,he serves as General Woods' number two aboard The Ghost of Sparta.
  
  
  Out of Combat Writing Sample: The Major sat in front of an open flame,a tube in his mouth. He blew into the tube,a gob of glass at the other end taking shape. It was his hobby,blowing glass. The Ghost of Sparta always had sand on board,likely due to the debris it kicks up wherever it goes,so he decided to actually use it. He blew into the tube as he turned it,while also simultaneously pressing a form to the infant glasswork and passing it periodically over the flame to keep it hot and malleable.
  
  
  A pitcher. Yes,that'll be a good thing to make. The Major liked to make functional pieces. The crew on the Ghost liked it,and he also sold some of his pieces to the locals whenever the base stopped,at the encouragement of his General; It further cemented the Ghost as a harbinger of peace and stability,rather than war and destruction,when the crew stepped out not with guns and hand grenades,but with pitchers and vases.
  
  
  Pulling the form away from the pitcher,Jackson pulled a fistful of granulated pigment from a container beside him. Orange. A nice colour,for glass. Looks like precious amber in the sun. He returned the glass to the flame,and sprinkled on the pigment before returning the form to the glasswork,before it deformed too much. The glass flowed and folded at his proxy touch,creating a pear-shaped pitcher without a handle,though it did have a spout. The pigment had melted and diffused in the semimolten glass,and provided a visual texture reminiscent of Jupiter's atmosphere.
  
  
  Pulling the glass away from the flame,Jackson Knives slowly rotated the newly-formed pitcher in front of a fan,cooling it enough for him to be able to set it down without fear of deformation. With that done,he killed the flame,and checked the clock. Damn,0300. That took a while... The Major packed and cleaned up,and headed for his quarters. The following day looked to be a busy one.
  
  
  In Combat Writing Sample: The Dominator shuddered as the round impacted with the side of the main gun. At least that thing was heavily armoured. Turning to face the threat,Knives was more than a little surprised to see a tank,of all things,firing another round,landing square on the chest. The Dominator shuddered again,though the damage was largely cosmetic. However,a tank was still a threat to power armour,and if they had the balls to fire on a mech...
  
  
  He leveled his machine gun at the tin can,and opened fire. However,the tank already scuttled away behind the cover of a hill. Just as he was about to pursue,a much larger round slammed into the back of the Dominator,causing the lights to flicker in the cockpit,and sounding several alarms. Spinning around,Knives saw the unmistakable shape of the Deadshot in the distance,loading another round. "Shit! General,I've located Grey! She has recovered the Deadshot! Repeat; Grey has recovered the Deadshot!" "Copy that,Jackknife. Remember; Do not kill her. I have to deal with this little shitstorm on our back lines. Speaking of! C'mere,Gren,you little shit stain!" The radio feed cut out,just as Knives heard something thunder into the Achilles' hull. Heh,sucks to be Gren.
  
  
  
  
  
  Getting his head back into the game,Jackson ducked and weaved erratically,keeping as much of the terrain between him and Grey as possible. Round after round thundered into the ground around the Dominator,and one or two into the Dominator itself,though the armour held,thankfully. The Deadshot's main gun isn't known to do half-measures. Flicking on his loudspeakers,the Major addressed Grey directly, "Lieutenant Lysa Grey,stand down at once! You are guilty of dereliction of duty,being absent without leave,desertion of your post,and engaging in combat against the Crown's soldiers! By order of General Woods,I am placing you under arrest!"
  
  
  
  
  
  As he said this,Jackson advanced relentlessly,and fired on the Deadshot,even using the artillery piece to foul Lysa's aim. Any damage done to the mech was more than likely cosmetic. As he drew nearer,Lysa abandoned the Deadshot's rifle,and drew the grenade launcher,ideal for medium and close range engagements. "I said stand down! I don't want to hurt you!" She fired a grenade. Those things had insane destructive potential,however...
  
  
  "Guardian L-AMS. Fire on unguided explosive munitions." "Confirmed." The laser turret on the top of the Dominator swiveled to target the incoming grenade,and,after a moment,unleashed a lance of violet light. The beam struck the grenade,and it detonated harmlessly mid-flight. By now,the Dominator was in lunging distance. Casting aside the machine gun,the Major deployed the claws,and lunged at the Deadshot like some creature from the depths of Oblivion.
  
  
  Lysa drew her mech's knife,but it was too late. He was upon her,and had swatted aside the weapon in a deft parry as he rode the opposing mech to the ground,burying the right claw into the Deadshot's left shoulder. Immediately,the Deadshot shut down all systems,fried by the EMP. "I think we'll be staying like this for a bit. Tell your friend in the tank to retreat; We're not here for them."
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Assault & Battery - Combat Theme
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Warframe Soundtrack - Archangel
  
  
  Time is the Enemy - Critical Situation Theme
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Freelancer Soundtrack - Dublin Race
  
  
  Happiness is Like Glass - Standing at Ease
  
  
  [media]
  
  
  
  [/media]
  Freelancer Soundtrack - Tau Sector Space
  
  
  
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[The Empress of Ice]

Thorn - The Strategist

Name: Real name unknown


Alias: Thorn - 'Red Rose' by enemies


Age: 20


Gender: Male


Allegiance: Terrence - Clarice


Rank: N/A

• Appearance and Attire
• Skills
• Inventory

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  Written Appearance:
  
  
  Height: 6'4
  
  
  Weight: 194lb - Including muscle mass
  
  
  Hair Color: Dark brown
  
  
  Eye Color: Chocolate brown
  
  

  Spoiler

  

  

  
  

  

  
  
  
  Written Description of Clothes: As pictured, includes the glasses from the appearance pic and a blue knitted scarf. Wears either the tank top with the scarf loosely hanging around his throat or the t-shirt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  
  
  Written Description: Everything is as pictured, however the text on his wrist reads: Terrence.
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  Skills: Thorn is a decent fight and can hold his own, he has potential due to his constant physical training. He's observant, and a quick thinker naturally. Thorn is known for his patience, weird enough. He's an okay cook, and has some skills within the mechanical fields.
  
  
  Thorn is a great inventor however he doesn't have knowledge around engineering world, his inventions more in the 'spy' category.
  
  
  Thorn prides himself in being great at chess, or any other strategy-based game.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thorn hasn't discovered his 'power' but it is rather passive. However, in due time, this power will develop and be easily noticed by both him and his peers.
  
  
  Tactical Analysis Ultimate Form: It's is the ability to be an extremely skilled strategic genius and apply this skill for several objectives. One is able to grasp situations easily, create extremely complex plans/strategies/tactics, and think of several possible outcomes and how to counter them before they come to happen. This isn't only implied in battle but also in everyday life.
  
  
  Tactical Analysis {Present}: Thorn has always had a knack for grasping situations, however it takes a bit time. He can plan fairly good strategies, and think of few possible outcomes and how to counter them if they happen/before they happen. However he can't as of yet, imply this in everyday life, except perhaps games etc.
  
  
  As mentioned before, Thorn hasn't discovered his power because it's weak and he hasn't had the chance to explore it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Nourishment Items: Too many packs of meat to count, a few 'energy' bars, three canteens of water, seven canteens of alcohol {Bourbon, Vodka, Gin and Rum}. He also carries around a few survival food packs, just in case.
  
  
  Misc. Items: Thorn carries around two small @HeartoftheRaven