Fandom Crimson Lineage Character Sheets (Project Wingman Story)

[ManofManyRoles]

Coding is allowed, but for basic people like me here is the bare-bones character sheet. You can delete everything in brackets, those are just directions.

Keep in mind Rose Company is still a small group of specialists, from skilled rookie's to pro's, the actual PMC group is still finding its legs. Characters will have a chance to get better equipment through the story. Don't go too out there.

With the above said, as it has been eight years since the end of Project Wingman's story, there is no reason to believe new jet models have not been designed in that time as well. Creativity is allowed, or take a base model and upgrade to something new with the story.

[Insert name here]
[Insert callsign here]
[FC goes here]

Age | [Minimum age of 21]

Build | [Physical build & height]

Marks & Piercings | [Scarring, tattoos, markings, freckles etc]

Personal affects & Gear | (Lucky lighter? A 1911 if they get downed? A favorite film back at base? Etc.)

Craft & Specs | (What jet are they flying?)

Expertise| (OPTIONAL: Leaving this blank implies a jack of all trades skillset, like the games Hitman Team: Are they known for advanced acrobatics? Are they great at dogfights?)

Origin/Nationality | [Region and/or specific city. You may create your hometown and its immediate surroundings, along with local lore, leaders, government and history.]

Background | [Character history, cover what you want from just the basics to an epic story]

Emblem: [What's painted on the side of their craft or the tail?]

Personality | [Optional, as much or as little as you want to reveal. I don't require a personality section.]

Training & Experience | [Qualifications, stuff they're good at, education etc. Where they always a soldier of fortune, or take this life for a different reason?].

Random Facts | [Optional, random things, quirks, stuff that didn't fit elsewhere]

Theme song
​

 

[ManofManyRoles]

Team Lead
Emma Saylor
"Patience"

Age | 28 (9/12/412 AC)

Build | Slim as a wick and short at 5'3, Emma is the sort where it looks like a stiff breeze might knock her over, and the bare minimum in height to pilot.

Marks & Piercings | An electrical burn that travels up the right leg, starting at the waist and traveling to the ankle. She also sports a tattoo across her shoulder of the words 'Dust to Dust' that fades away into embers.


Personal affects & Gear | Keeps an aged and weathered service pistol on her at all times. There's a small charred-up photograph of her and a few other men and women seated on and around a jet, the sort of thing that's small enough to keep in the cockpit, alongside another photo of her old man.

Craft & Specs | F/D-14, equipped with HVSM, MLAA, and UGBS-3

Expertise| A jack of all trades with a documented history of reckless, dangerous, and G-Force-inducing combat maneuvers. The callsign is considered ironic.

Origin/Nationality |Presidia, Cascadia

Background | "World seemed a whole lot simpler when I was a kid. I didn't have to worry about war being on our doorstep or fighting for our way of life. I just had to remember to wake up in the morning, feed the chickens, water the crops...And, Dust Mother willing, pop would let me take the duster for a spin. Born and raised on the outskirts of Presidia, in the farming sectors, my old man always boasted we had the best apples money could buy out of the little orchard we had. Mom had passed away shortly after I was born, and the old man was a retired pilot for the National Guard, honorably discharged after he was shot down by a pirate he swears got lucky and the crash cost him a lot of the means of flying. He taught me everything I knew about flying, and then would cuss me out when I did something stupid...always hated my tricks. But I never learned. Adrenaline was my drug, and Dust Mother, I wanted to overdose on it.

When Cascadia broke away from the Feds, I was around twenty at the time, and we just figured we'd be fine. Dunno if we were stupid, or naive...Presidia, my home, fell within a month. The old man was stubborn as fuck all, though, and when boots showed up on our lawn, he didn't take kindly to it. I remember him cussin', and then I remember a gunshot. A fed dropped, and then my old man did the same. Bit of a blur after that, I remember running as far as I could. I remember getting that hunk of junk we used off the ground, and just started going north. I don't know where I was going, but with my only kin dead, I didn't have anywhere to go.

I'd always had a piss poor attitude growing up, so it didn't take much for that to turn into a craving for vengeance...for my country, for my home...for my dad. Signed up with a small rag-tag team of fighters, called themselves the Swans. Dunno where they got the name from. They weren't picky, it was an ad-hoc group of Cascadians who didn't qualify for the guard, but were crazy enough to still fight in the air if they had a modicum of skill for it. It's honestly not as hard as you'd think, swapping from crop duster to fighter. And God, it was satisfying when you'd pull the trigger and feel it rattle, to hit speeds I only ever dreamed of. I was getting my vengeance, and my drug, all in one go. Swans even provided support for Sicario on occasion, with other mercenary groups. I remember the furball of a mess the Bering Straight was. I think that's when it finally started to set in for me, really...how big the scale of things was. We were some of the first to show up, and I was losing wingmen left and right. The fighting never stopped, it felt like it'd go forever. Then they showed up. God, you shoulda seen it...Hitman Team? Hitman Team know what they're doing, wherever they ended up. And the Crown...Dust Mother, I think I understand why Feds called him the King of Hell. Don't think he even got nicked, craft was always fine when I saw it out of the corner of my eye... I remember the fight against Task Force One. I didn't see it to the end though, we had to pull back early, too many lost between that furball and then. Swans had their wings clipped and had bit off more than they could chew.

Shortly before the Cascadian Independence Force launched Operation Anticipation to take my home back, it'd only been a few months since we'd lost Presidia. A few months too damn long, I was chomping at the bit to go back home, and the first step was taking back Prospero. It was an easy fight, their defenses had been mulched by the ground for days now. Fuckin' hell..should always listen to your gut. Swans were doing mop-up support the best we could with what we had. And then...I have no words for it. The geological stations put it best. Calamity. Hell is real, and it made a visit to Earth that day. There was so many cruise missiles...we couldn't stop all of them, even Hitman couldn't stop them all. The city, the soldiers, everyone got torn up in cordium fire. Adrenaline's a drug, and I'd finally overdosed. And let me tell you...I never really knew how awful that would feel.

The Swans got burnt to a crisp, every last one of em. Except for me...for whatever reason, I and a few other fighters managed to keep in the air. But my fighter was damaged, and there wasn't a stunt in my playbook to come out of it. I crashed a few clicks away, managing to avoid the blast radius by just enough to stumble my sorry ass into cover. Found an old shelter and holed up there, an off-the-map hole in the wall. Probably old military that got forgotten about.

...

...

The Swans didn't fly again after that. I didn't fly again after that. After spending the rest of the war licking my wounds, I can't take to the air by myself anymore. I can still fight, I'm still a damn good pilot. But I have the jitters...I can't shake them. I know WSO's hate flyin' with me, and it's hard to find a good one. But I can't solo in the air anymore...I need wingmen, or I need someone behind me, but I'm not crashin' by myself again. Fortunately, Rose Company seems to see a few of my kind, and is willing to accommodate my issue, long as my skill keeps earning wages. Haven't let them down yet. We've had eight years of peace, and now my home's back on Hell's doorstep. And this time, the Crown's not here to reign it in..."

Emblem:

Personality | Emma is reported to have once had a fiery temper to her and a sharp tongue to match, an adrenaline junkie with a death wish, but whoever that woman was has long since gone on vacation. Lead for one of Wildcard Squadron's Teams, she's even-keeled and level-headed, and damn near impossible to get a rise out of, and Dust Mother protect you if you manage to piss her off. One can still see sparks of the old Emma up in the skies, where speed is measured by the thousands and height is measured by angels.

Training & Experience | Emma started flying planes when she was a teenager, old rickety crop dusters on her father's farm. When she signed up with her last mercenary company for the Cascadian Conflict to take up arms against the Federation, her training was trial by fire for fighters once she understood how to utilize weapon systems. Has displayed favoritism and proficiency with AOA systems, utilizing them to great effect in her last outfit.

Random Facts | Emma has a country drawl to her voice, that while it's gotten less thick, is still quite noticeable.
Loves to watch comedy movies, even if she rarely laughs at them.
The bane of every WSO. Which is unfortunate, as she hates flying alone.
Constantly searching for someone who can fit an AOA onto a two-seater.

Theme song
​

 

[CatJones]

Marina West

Callsign: Hound



Age | 30 (Born 8/8/410 AC)

Build | 5' 7", around 141 Lbs, Slim build, mostly wiry muscle.

Marks & Piercings | Large scar on back from Battle of Bering Strait

Personal affects & Gear | Carries a small sliver of her first jet in a bottle. The metal was removed from her back after being shot down. Carries a heavily faded photo of her family, depicting her as a kid, graduating from elementary school.

Craft & Specs | F/E 18, Equipped with MLAA and SAA

Expertise| Dogfighting

Origin/Nationality | Prospero, Cascadia

Background | "I was born in Prospero, before there was any vocal outcry for secession. I had a normal life, a normal family. My dad worked as one of the Manufacturing Managers at the Apodock Fracture Cordium Refinery Facility. Needless to say, he was away for months at a time; longest stretch was nearly 8 months before he came home. Mom was a hairdresser, mostly to giver her something to do while dad was away and I was at school. I did well in school, not top of my class but high enough that I was practically guaranteed a scholarship to any academy of my choice. Problem was the only thing I was interested in at the time was flying. Something about the open blue sky called to me.

But, to be a pilot with any of the major air lines required either a degree and plenty of hours logged as a trainee or have the Federation back you with military service. So, against both my parents wishes, I took a scholarship to the Federation Air Academy in Ulaanbaatar. Best three years of my life. I made friends, got to fly a bevy of aircraft, learned so much about the history and glory of aviation. Then I graduated. I was initially sent to help field test some aircraft in Magadan and partake in some combat training exercises. I was 21 at the time that the Cascadian Independent Forces kicked off the Cascadian Conflict.

Now, for a pilot itching for their first combat experience, this was the best news you could hope for. But as a Cascadian, it was gut wrenching. Worse yet, command looked at me like I was a liability. That at any time I could defect and join my countrymen. I was sidelined before I even got a chance to fight. At the time, I saw Cascadia as the enemy. I was deep in Federation territory so I started developing the Us vs Them mentality. I was hoping to impress my command enough to let me off the leash and get my first taste of combat. Instead, the closest I got was listening to the radio and nursing my ******* with my thumb. It didn't help that some hot-shot mercenary group hit the Apodock Fracture Facility. My dad was okay, shaken up from what I was told, but he was alive. It cemented how far my countrymen had fallen, the lengths they would go for victory. I was sickened by it, though in hindsight it was just a personal bias.

Then, the call finally came. April 17th, the Showdown Over the Bering Strait. I was deployed along with the Magadan's Federation Aviation Regiment. The CIF were engaging a conga line of support aircraft, all loaded to the brim with Federation Units trying to regroup outside of the Cascadian Conflicts AO. Madagan launched some 200 fighters as fast as humanly possible. Maybe it was the confusion or the months of dogging command, but I was finally let loose. I guess I saw it as a chance to aid my fellow Cascadians into understanding that this wasn't a war they could win and they were simply prolonging the inevitable defeat that would hurt the country even more. My first taste of actual combat, and it was a furball. No matter where you looked, the contrail lines of plane and missile alike blocked half your vision.

It was a mess. IFF was overloaded, every maneuver felt like it was going to be a midair collision. You hear people shout FOX 1, FOX 2 in such rapid succession that you expect to eat a friendly missile every time you pull the stick. I downed two that day. I was stricken with some kind of melancholy from it. I saved the lives of two Madagan pilots being chased by enemy pilots, but I killed two of my own countrymen. But that came later. at the time, all I could think of was the awards they would pin on my uniform. The fighting continued and both sides escalated. Then escalated some more. I didn't know it at the time but my first combat sortie was the largest furball in human history. Either way, eventually things came to head. The call came over the radio that Peacekeepers would be deployed and to hold on. Didn't do so well with that last part. The mercenary company that had attacked Apodock showed up. And I was the first Federation aircraft they managed to down after arriving in the AO. I didn't even hear the sound of my planes system warning me of the lock, I was too focused on splashing bogey number 3.

When your plane is on fire, the fuselage blowing apart bit by bit, it doesn't feel like a second. It feels like an eternity is passing by, like you have time to decide what to do next. I did the only thing I could as I felt the several thousand degree fuel igniting just behind my cockpit. I ejected. I remember that, I remember my chute deploying, and I remember hitting the water. After that, it's a little fuzzy. I was told that I was picked up by a passing trawler, barely aware of the fight in the clouds just above them. One way or another I made it back to Federation territory and spent most of the Conflict in a hospital bed. My plane sent a rather large piece of near-molten metal into my back. It was a humbling experience to get so close to death and manage to slip away from its icy grip.

I spent most of the conflict after that in a hospital bed, like I said. But, I cut ties to the Federation when Prospero was destroyed. That was when my mindset changed. I had seen the Federation as a force for good. Maintaining stability and trying to keep the world from spilling over into barbarity. I knew they had a bad side to them, but what country can claim to be wholly good? Most people I spoke to after Propero was leveled told me they thought it was necessary to end the conflict. The loss at the Bering Strait, the CIF maintaining air superiority, and the rising question of the Federations ability to protect its Periphery-adjacent nations, caused them to blow apart my home, taking my parents with them. I know my dad. He's the kind who would refuse to leave without a gun to his head. Their bodies were never recovered, but I know that the Federation killed them, along with who knows how many other innocents.

By the time I finally recovered from my injury, the Conflict was officially over. The Federation and CIF had signed a ceasefire, ending the war. Yet, I found it hard to believe peace would last. I slipped away from the Federation while they were still trying to regroup after the ceasefire. I joined with a few Anti-Federation merc groups for a while after that. Hopping contract to contract when they either stopped targeting the Feds or they were bought out by them. Now, here I am, back in Cascadia. It might sound selfish of me but every part of was hoping that the Federation would do something to renew the conflict."

Personality |Generally considered taciturn and distant, Marina is often described with the phrase "Forever a Sergeant". Lacking the necessary skills to be a leader but more competent then the average pilot. She can be inhumanly persistent in trying to get the things she wants, which was how she got her callsign. She also has a tendency to be a motor mouth when either nervous or around people she is comfortable with. Obviously, Marina has a vendetta against the Federation for what happened at Prospero. She considers herself to be something of a Libertarian when it comes to politics.

Training & Experience | Well trained by the Federation Air Academy, she is a skilled pilot; more so from her time as a mercenary then with the Federation. Part of her training includes both basic airplane maintenance, wilderness survival and some minor leadership classes. She's generally considered smart and picks up on new training quickly.

Random Facts |Has a deeper voice then most would expect.
Usually found reading books and lounging when not busy.
Is an extremely deep sleeper and can sleep almost anywhere she can fit.
Has a passing interest in Nuclear Energy.
Looks fairly young for her age.


Theme song

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[Jackson123]

Alfred McMillan
Callsign: "Flush"


Age |
27

Build |
Well-rounded physique, strong muscular strength, standing at 5'10 tall.

Marks & Piercings |
Visible scars on face.

Personal affects & Gear |

A custom patch on his flight suit featuring his cat Pumpkin
GAU-5A Aircrew Self Defense Weapon.

Craft & Specs | F/D-14, VF103 livery, equipped with SAA and MLAA


Expertise|
NOE (Nap-of-the-earth. Very low-altitude flight to avoid enemy detection and attack in a high-threat environment.)

Origin/Nationality |
San Diego/Cascadia.

Background |
Alfred "Flush" McMillanFlush has dedicated his life to master the art of flying. He was a renowned tomcat pilot in the Cascadian Independence Force before joining the world of mercenary. Hailing from the sunny city of San Diego. With a passion for aviation deeply ingrained in his soul early on, as he grew up watching fighter jets take off and landing in Miramar air base, captivated by the sight of aircraft soaring through the skies, inspired by the bravery and skill of pilots, since young age Alfred had invested heavily into developing his aviation-related skills such as maths, physics, spatial awareness, aviation knowledge, he sworn to one day taking control of the cockpit himself.

After earning a bachelor degree in aerospace engineering, he enrolled to the Officer Candidate School, where he was indeed selected as a naval aviation officer candidate, and embarked on the intense training program to become a pilot.

Early on in his pilot training, Flush had an unforgettable encounter that would earn him his enduring callsign. During a particularly windy landing in a T-38, fate intervened when a gust of wind caught Flush off guard, causing him to veer off course. In an unfortunate twist of events, his aircraft collided with a row of porta-potties, creating a spectacular and comedic sight for everyone involved. The incident quickly became the stuff of legend at the base, and Flush's fellow pilots christened him with the callsign "Flush" in good-natured jest.

Despite the initial embarrassment, Flush persevered, channelling his determination into his training. He quickly earned a reputation for his unwavering focus and exceptional skills, particularly when it came to NOE flying. Flush's ability to fly close to the terrain, utilizing every inch of cover, allowed him to outmanoeuvre opponents and execute daring tactical manoeuvres.

When the Cascadian Conflict broke out, Flush and his squadron joined the Cascadian Independence Force. Flush's proficiency in NOE flying caught the attention of his superiors, and he was handpicked for elite missions that required exceptional piloting skills and a fearless attitude. His contributions to various missions, often conducted under challenging conditions, earned him accolades and respect from his fellow pilots in the squadron. Unfortunately, the CIF lost almost the entirety of their operational units in the conflict, mainly due to the Presidian Disaster decimating their combat-effective forces. Like many former CIF pilots, Flush turned to become a mercenary, like many of them, he was partly inspired by the legend of how a single mercenary pilot turned the tide of war.

Personality |
Passionate, dedicated, disciplined, ambitious, and resolute. Despite early setbacks, he showed unwavering determination and perseverance in his career. Resilient and courageous, Flush is always willing to take on challenging assignments and push his limits, exhibiting adaptability and resourcefulness in the face of adversity.

Training & Experience |
Naval Aviation Officer Commission
Aircraft Carrier Qualification

Theme song


Backseat RIO:
Jeanette Simmons
Callsign: "Soprano"


As a tomcat RIO, Jeanette's primary responsibility is to operate the radar and communication systems in the F/D-14 Tomcat fighter jet. Her keen eyesight and quick thinking enable her to detect and identify potential threats, providing crucial information to her pilot counterpart. Whether engaged in dogfights or tracking hostile aircraft, Jeanette's exceptional situational awareness has saved lives and led to numerous successful missions.

Her callsign, "Soprano," stems from her high vocal range. Especially when she laughs which is sometimes reminiscent of the Queen of the Night's famous aria, "Der Hölle Rache," from Mozart's opera "Die Zauberflöte." Her high-pitched voice became a signature characteristic that caught the attention of her fellow pilots. Embracing her distinctive vocal talent, Jeanette owned her callsign proudly, allowing it to symbolize her unwavering confidence and fearless attitude in the face of any challenge.

Off-duty, Jeanette is known for her vibrant personality. She brings laughter and joy to those around her, with her infectious energy brightening even the dullest of days. Her sense of humor is as sharp as her skills in the cockpit, and she has a knack for finding the silver lining in any situation.​

 

[Cierra]

(Note, I wrote this while very tired and will clean it up later today.)​

​

Renart Perreault​

Callsign: Sunny



Age | 32

Build | Built like an ox, 6'1", not shredded with muscle but definitely bulking

Marks & Piercings | Several bullet scars and deep knife scars across his chest and legs

Personal affects & Gear | A survival rifle stowed under his seat (Henry Repeating Arms Survival .22, basically), and a set of high quality knifes and cooking pans at base. An extensive collection of letters from his aging mother.

Craft & Specs | F/C 16 fitted with MLAG and MLAA



Expertise| Jack of all trades, though he does have a slight edge towards strafing/bombing runs.

Origin/Nationality | Albion, though he was born across the channel on the western edge of the United Kerneuropa Alliance.

Background | Born on the western side of the United Kerneuropa Alliance, his mother quickly moved him and relocated into the Republic of Albion when he was 10 years old following the sudden death of his father. An accident with a car in town was what he had been told. They moved across the channel and into Albion to live with his uncle on his farm in the Albion countryside. The majority of Renart's childhood was spent helping with farm work and going to school. Labor at the farm and his own interest in both music and boxing left him a remarkable adaptable young man. His uncle, suffering from age, asked Renart to assist with crop dusting using an old civilian plane. For Renart it was simply another skill to learn, which he readily rose to master. After weeks of training when he was 16, he flew for the first time. Though he didn't have much love for it at first, the feel of flying steadily grew on him.

By the time he was 18, he was an accomplished small plane pilot, now assisting with neighboring farms for enough to maintain the plane he used. He had no intention of doing much else but stay at the farm and live a long life of repeatable hard labor. One day, on his way home from the local pub, he was approached by a stranger asking for his family name. Upon giving it, the stranger became noticeably excited, mentioning that he was a friend of his fathers. Over drinks, the stranger had told Renart of how his father had once been one of the many mercenary pilots that managed to sneak away from Oceania before it fell apart under the Federations assault. He revealed to Renart that his fathers sudden death was no accident but rather revenge by another mercenary who believed his father had betrayed Oceania to the Federation. A man named Robert 'Windy' Raton. The stranger, a bounty hunter by trade, offered to take Renart on and train him to be a fighter pilot rather then a crop duster for the rest of his life.

Renart initially wished to decline the offer but couldn't shake the feeling of leaving his family behind. Yet, he quickly found himself paying for farmhands to assist the farm while he stepped away to find his father murderer. With a quiet goodbye to his mother and uncle, Renart set out to start a new chapter of his life; the life of a bounty hunter. Under the strangers tutelage, the stranger simply calling himself 'Dingo', he quickly found himself in the cockpit of a two seater T/F 4 with a fellow rookie as his WSO. 'Jester' was both their callsign and a window into their personality. Due to his own stoic and distance attitude, Renart was given his first TACname; 'Sunny'. His first few sorties were all minor engagements with rag-tag mercenaries wanted by the Federation. Though it was nothing troubling as far as combat went, Renart still felt a tinge of guilt that those they pursued were killed outright instead of given a chance to atone for their crimes. A sentiment that would soon drive a wedge between himself and his fellow bounty hunters.

Bounty hunters preferred to bring in targets alive for a better reward, but sometimes air jockeys refuse to come quietly. Sometimes, the target has a kill only order on them due to their dangerous nature or the weight of their crimes. Renart was using the money from his contracts to pay for the help at his farm back home, and since his pay was being split between several other people, plus the cost of living and repairs to the plane, Renart quickly broke away from Dingo's group as soon as he could afford a plane of his own and set out to set himself apart from the other members of his trade. He applied with and was accepted by the Bounty Hunters Guild, quickly gaining a minor celebrity status once his parentage was discovered. He rarely worked with other bounty hunters but continued to improve his skills, both in the sky and on the ground. Barfights, late nights playing cello, boxing tournaments, dogfights and even a few aerial races; he was doing everything that challenged him. But he always kept true to that singular purpose; finding Robert Raton.

In this search, his work brought him to Cascadia as the Cascadian Conflict was reaching its climax. He had been lucky enough to be in a relatively safe place when the battle for Prospero ended with the Federation nearly destroying all of Cascadia with their attack. While waiting out the subsequent storms, he picked up faint radio transmissions from Dingo and his group, in the area with a solid lead on Renarts target. Without any hesitation and ignoring the danger of the freak weather, he took off to finally catch Robert Raton. Meeting up with his old squadron, they set out towards the Creole Republic. As they approached the coordinates Dingo had scrounged up, no other planes came up on short wave, nor anyone answered their hails. A makeshift dirt runway with a scrapped plane was all they could find from the air, after days of searching for any signs of life.

Landing and investigating, they found a shack in the woods near the runway. Inside, they found Robert Raton. Dingo had described the man as a merciless killer and villain, someone underserving of the gift of life. What Renart found on the floor of that shack was a broken man, what little of his life remained wasted on the whiskey bottles that littered the floor. Renart saw no value in taking revenge out on a man who paranoia had destroyed first. He left Robert Raton for Dingo to take, asking for none of the rewards and parting ways once more with his teacher. With no goal driving him anymore, he briefly wondered what he should do with his life. After almost a month of drowning his sorrows in the Republic, he flew back west, towards Cascadia. Arriving, he was surprised to hear that the Cascadian Conflict had already ended, with the Independence Forces being the victors. Even more surprising was they were hiring almost every mercenary they could get their hands on.

Seeing the possible rewards of helping with a nation on the rise, Renart approached the new government was hired on as a pilot. Breaking his tied with Bounty Hunter Guild came with a supposedly steep punishment, but Renart didn't even bother to worry about what they would do. He was a member of the Cascadian Military now, with a new adventure before him.

Personality | In a word, stoic. Renart keeps a fairly healthy distance from anyone who he doesn't have to directly interact with. When spoken to, he will casual and short answers, never saying more then what is needed. When pressed to elaborate on something, he has a tendency to over explain and will continue to do so until he feels he's said his piece. He has been known to show rather extreme levels of charity to people in need. He tends to do things on a whim and out of the blue, most of his decision making process boils down to the experience gained doing something rather then the out come of it.

Training & Experience | A long and sortied history of flying from a young age, years of experience hunting bounties in for the Federation and even for some smaller local forces.

Random Facts | Can play cello, cook, and is an avid reader of the newspaper. When not on assignment he can usually be found listening to classical music and practicing with his instrument. He usually gives one word replies, though he is known to wax poetic when the mood strikes him. He has a set of boxing gloves and is a competent hand-to-hand fighter as well. Can out-smoke and out-drink most people. He doesn't have a formal education in piloting, instead having a sort of ad-hoc level of knowledge from his time under Dingo.

Theme song
​

 

[Kyrenka]

Claude Allaway
Callsign: Gnat

• Craft, Specs, and Expertise
• Background
• Personality
• Appearance
• Misc.

• 
  Personal affects & Gear: Glock 19
  Craft & Specs: Accipiter with STDM, MGP, and URMB
  Expertise: Air Combat Maneuvering (ACM) and Dogfighting
  Training & Experience: UKA's Junior Training Program for young military prospects as well as some practical training from Rose Company
  
• 
  Origin/Nationality: United Kerneuropa Alliance
  Background:
  Peace, it seemed like, was a luxury for those living under the Federation's control. Those that wanted out from their thumb either stayed and rebelled or fled. While the UKA and others weren't thrown into chaos as badly as the Federation was, ripple effects of their failed war with Cascadia were felt worldwide. Federation trade dwindled as Cascadia quickly took its place as an economic superpower, other countries took sides as rebellion became more and more common in the Federation's territories, and many nearby countries began offering safe havens for refugees of both the lasting ecological damage the Ring of Fire caused as well as those fleeing the conflicts that would erupt.
  
  Being born in UKA territory, life was very peaceful compared to most. While Claude may not have had parents, he hadn't led a tragic life. The country was enjoying its new prosperous trade with Cascadia, so the orphanages of the country were not dilapidated nor hurting for money. He was fed, he received an education, and he wasn't abused. The only problem was that adulthood was approaching quickly and he had no money to support himself; a common situation for most orphans. That was why he had first started looking at the military. With things still tense with the West African Concordat, there was always a desire for young blood.
  
  Training started early so kids could get a taste of what they were getting themselves into and the military could start cultivating young talent as early as possible. By 13, he was eligible for "Junior Training". It was framed like a afterschool activity during the school year and a sleep away camp during the off months. They started out with regular exercise, military education, and simple shooting activities. As they got older, the ones who lasted were allowed to start learning more specialized things, so Claude went with the air force. That's when their instructors broke out the fun stuff. Training simulators, various weapons training, hand to hand combat...
  
  By 16, Claude and his peers were essentially on the fast track for the military. That's when...odd...things began to happen.
  
  "I'm telling you," his cohort, Jean, bragged, "Women love military men. This one broad at the pub last night was practically interrogating me! Kept asking what I could do and was all over me." The others ribbed him mercilessly after he later admitted that the date ended when she excused herself for the bathroom and never returned. "But I'm telling you! Once we're officially in we'll be drowning in birds!"
  
  "It was so creepy," Mary said once she was back from visiting her gram. "I mean, I know they're harmless, but this man just wouldn't let it go." One of the others suggested that maybe the guy was just lonely and Mary shook her head. "There's loneliness and there was this. For fuck's sake, he kept following me around so much that the nurses thought I was his granddaughter!" She sighed as someone asked what an old man in hospice could possibly do to hurt her. "I just...I'm allowed to feel creeped out yeah?"
  
  It wasn't often, it wasn't even common. Maybe once or twice a year someone would talk about an encounter with a stranger who was potentially a little too interested in their program and their lives, but it was forgotten quickly as training and more important things took over their lives. But, those encounters his peers had and their stories came back into Claude's mind as the young mother he was helping smiled a little too sweetly at him. "You know, my Johnny is just keen on being a grand military man, aren't you lad?" The baby in her arms gurgled unintelligibly as Claude loaded her groceries into her car. "I mean, not just anyone can make it as one, you know? There's all sorts of requirements and tests..." Her eyes stared at him expectantly, but Claude didn't offer much more than an agreeing grunt. "You must be one of the sort that are just the cream of the crop, aren't you? I mean, boy of your age and still in the Junior Program! I bet there's a general or something that's got their eye on you, eh?"
  
  He finally got the last bag in before glancing her way. "Is this...some kind of test?" She cocked her head but didn't respond. "It has to be. I don't think the others noticed, but I did. Are you trying to see which one of us leaks the details of our training? Trying to see how trustworthy we are?"
  
  The baby fussed and she took a moment to get him settled again before turning her attention back to Claude. He shuddered. The bright smile remained on her face but her voice was much too cold. "Well, I'm glad someone finally caught on." Before Claude could even open his mouth she answered, "No, this isn't a test from your instructors. Think of this as an...interview of sorts."
  
  "Interview for what?"
  
  Her smiled widened a little as she shuffled the baby into one arm and used the other to pat him on the shoulder. "Smart boy like you will know soon enough." With that, she loaded her baby into the car and left. He tried visiting that same store more times than he could count, but he never saw that woman again.
  
  It was when he was 17 that it finally happened. Graduation was fast approaching and his instructors were getting eager. Jean had already signed on, having been a year older, as well as others. As soon as his formal education ended, he would be given a pen and paper to sign and whisked away to the military for "special" training. Mary's graduation was happening a month before his, so while preparations were occurring for her sign on his instructors were distracted. That was probably why Claude found himself once again, facing a stranger who was staring too intently at him. This time though, he was alone on a hiking trail trying to get some fun in before his life revolved around nothing but training.
  
  "I hope you know we don't usually do things this way." Claude didn't respond. After a moment of silence, the man continued, "Claude Allaway, 17, no family or any real personal connections," the teen could feel himself slowly stiffen and get colder as the man continued, "Nothing of worldly value and no real motivation or goals." The man, a normal hiker that nobody would look twice at, stared expectantly. 'How' was a stupid question. It didn't matter how this man came to know these things, what mattered was 'why'.
  
  "What do you want?"
  
  The man waited a beat. "What do you want?"
  
  Claude narrowed his eyes. "I asked first."
  
  Once again there was a pause before the man finally said, "We want you."
  
  He didn't need to elaborate. Claude wasn't a prideful person, but he knew his worth. He only hesitated for a moment before asking, "What can you offer me?"
  
  It didn't take long for Rose Company to offer him a deal he couldn't refuse. Rather than wait, Rose Company whisked Claude to Cascadia ASAP, where he finished his formal education and began working for them. Even though he was too young in some people's opinions, his skill spoke for itself.
  
  "He's such a pain in the ass!" Somebody vented to his temporary trainer. "You can't even land a hit on the fucking little gnat!"
  
  Annoying and hard to hit, Claude Allaway, callsign Gnat, earned himself a place in the Rose Company.
  
  
• 
  Despite his young age Claude can be a bit of an "old man". He's at best a bit grumpy and at worst snappy and cynical. He's not an angry person though, quite the opposite actually. He's usually pretty level-headed even in dangerous situations. Nobody has really seen him "lose it" yet, but there's always tomorrow.
  
  His flying style matches his collectedness. He does his best to avoid unnecessary risks and isn't afraid of acknowledging his limits and backing off when the situation calls for it. However, when he knows he can handle something he will push to prove himself during those times.
  
  Even though he tries hard to be mature and seen as a fully fledged member of the team, he can be a bit childish sometimes. He hates when this is pointed out or when anyone "babies" him and can get easily riled up about it. To him, he's an adult that has worked hard to be here and deserves to be treated as such.
  
  While he has had a hard time connecting with people and currently doesn't have any deep personal connections, he isn't heartless. He took this job for its money and its benefits, but that doesn't mean he would jump ship for the next best thing. He feels some loyalty to his teammates and Rose Company.
  
• 
  Age: 20
  Build: Wiry
  Height: 5'8"
  Marks & Piercings: Old ear piercings that are no longer used
  
  
• 
  
  • Hates being called "Kid" "Rookie" etc.
  • Strong sweet tooth
  • Enjoys gardening a lot
  Theme Song:
  
  

 

[Mineczka]

Eka Mentari
"Echo"

Age | Twenty-Six

Build | 161cm || ~5'3" with a lithe, though toned frame.

Marks & Piercings | On her left shoulder, a simple lotus flower blooms

Personal affects & Gear | Eka is seldom seen without her Shawl, as a gift from her mother, however she keeps several things stashed in her F/C-15, including a Medical kit, a Spectre M4 (With three magazines) for emergencies, and a flare gun.

Craft & Specs | Eka flies the F/C-15, with a MGP, SAA, and UGBS-3 equipped, though does change her equipment depending on mission at hand.

Expertise| Dogfighting, CAS, Arial Acrobatics, and High G-Maneuvers. Eka flies like she belongs in an air circus.

Origin/Nationality | Oceania, Indonesia to be specific.

Background | Born on one of the many islands in Oceania, Eka's early life was spent gazing to the skies as she listened to the waves, wishing to fly along the clouds, planes and flying had always interested her, as Eka would spend many days looking over the drafts of her Uncle's work, asking questions and learning all she could while she could. Taking up classes, Eka began to learn to fly helicopters first, and at the age of sixteen, began her work as a civilian rescue pilot. Yet, her eyes remained high, as if the wide blue skies pulled her ever closer...

Enrolling in the Oceanian Defense force, Eka took her time learning the many helicopters that were within, pushing the machines she flew to the brink, earning many accolades as she'd manage the seemingly impossible, fighting a jet, in a helicopter during training drills. This caught the eye of several officers of the flight academy, and after months of offers, Eka finally joined the academy.

Learning a jet was different to Eka, who was so acquainted with what she had flown for four years.. Remaining on the ground for quite some time, her knowledge of Aeronautical engineering gave her some use, in fixing and maintaining planes, though soon enough, she began to take to the skies... Where she began to excel through her own means, as she mimicked the maneuvers of others, earning her callsign, "Echo" in the process.

However, her time in the flight academy disillusioned Eka, who left shortly after graduation, fearing the rapid militarization of her home. Finding herself in Cascadia, where she was given an offer she couldn't refuse, joining Rose Squadron.

Personality | Cheery and chipper, Eka's often wearing a confident smile across her face, It's not uncommon for her to be the talkative one in the room, bringing smiles where she can. The first into the fray, Eka's commonly mistaken for an adrenaline junkie, with an open death wish hell bent on destruction, but, the opposite is true, every maneuver is calculated, every rush thought over. More often than not, she's the first to engage the enemy, being the decoy that they set their eyes on, while letting her fellows clean up the rabble, and if push comes to shove, Eka is more than confident she can handle herself and escape. Though she understands what made her earn the other monikers of "Hornet" or "Idiot" from her fellows.

Training & Experience | Raised by a aeronautical engineer, Eka is quite knowledgeable of aircraft. Otherwise, she has passed many flight exams, even graduating as one of the tops of the class in Oceania's Flight Academy.

Random Facts | Eka enjoys playing her harp, and spends a lot of times watching dramas. She is also trained as a medic from her days as a rescue pilot. It's not abnormal to find her in the hangar working on her aircraft, or to have painted her wingtips gold. Eka is also a decent cook, though her food has been regarded to have the same heat as the Exclusion Zones. When not working on her plane, she's often sewing.

Theme song

 

[Pilgrim59]

• .
• .
• .
• .

• CALLSIGN: SALMON

  PROFILE

  Full Name

  Saoirse Aoife Moriarty

  M.O.S

  WSO (Weapon System Officer)

  D.O.B

  June 6, 415 AC (25)

  Gender

  Female

  Height

  5 ft. 7 in. (169 cm)

  Physical

  Blue eyes, brown hair, pale complexion, ectomorphic build.

  Affiliation

  Wildcard Squadron, Rose Company; Wraith Squadron, UKAAF (prior)

  Birthplace

  Albion, United Kerneuropa Alliance
• DOSSIER

  PERSONALITY

  An oddball of the bunch, Salmon is gifted with a reactive personality that is akin to that of a missile alert. Utilizing her aloof demeanor and carefree attitude, Salmon is known among those that flies with her as either a brave or foolish soul. Energetic and frank to a fault, Salmon is an earnest Wizzo that is not afraid to voice her thought despite what others might think. Though her sparking attitude has taken a backseat ever since she sealed her contract with Rose Company. Unbeknownst to many, her adventurous zeal conceals a certain desire of redemption.

  ORIGINS

  An eccentric WSO from the far reach of the United Kerneuropa Alliance, Saoirse Moriarty is known as an effective operative with years of experience. The catch, however, was the abysmal survivability rate that followed her. By sheer bad luck, or divine contempt for the Albionese flight officer, Moriarty managed to somehow remain in the UKAAF for many years before her voluntary discharge. Following the destruction of the UKAAF's Wraith Squadron, rumors spread like wildfire and none would dare to fly with her. Since the ordeal, the officer earned the nickname "Salmon" for her profound record of survivability, while her pilots often bought the farm. As one the survivors of Wraith Squadron put it: "She attracts missiles like fresh salmon in a packed restaurant." Struggling to remain grounded within the civilian world, Moriarty sought out the private sector's demands for those handy with aerospace expertise. Driven by promises of adventure and perhaps a sense of purpose, she packed her things and left Europa for Cascadia. She eventually found work and immediately signed her name without second thoughts - ending up in the service of Rose Company. Unbeknownst to the fresh salmon out of their familiar waters, however, she would have the privilege to fly with a mad pilot that really tested her own mettle like never before.

  PERSONAL EFFECTS

  Salmon only ever cherished one particular duffel bag of hers that contained a collection of books from before the Calamity - ranging from educational pieces to trashy romance novels.
  
  Like her callsign suggests, she can easily be identified by her bright yellow flight jacket.

  LT. S. MORIARTY
• PATIENCE

  EMMA SAYLOR

  -

  Relationship

  Co-Pilot

  Affiliation

  Wildcard Squadron, Rose Company

  Notes

  Of all the pilots that she had flown with, Patience seems to have a profound effect on Salmon. Particularly their unrelenting method of bleeding their own WSO when engaged in a dogfight. Often times, Salmon would find her own face pressed against the window from the high-G maneuvers that she would pack extra padding for her helmet to prevent herself from receiving any further brain damage.
• COMBAT DATA

  EXPERTISE

  While far from an elite flight officer, Salmon can at least discern friendlies from foes by her cognitive memory capacity and manual notes during engagements - which have proved to be advantageous when IFF system fails.
  
  

  TRAINING & EXPERIENCE

  Trained with numerous aircrafts fielded by the United Kerneuropa Alliance Air Force, Salmon is well-versed with most integrated weapon system and tracking procedures. Having survived various encounters with low-survivability, Salmon is most effective when guiding air-to-ground ordnance. Her only weakness is her pilot's complete disregard for a steady approach.
  
  Having received adequate infantry weapons training in the UKAAF, she can handle and operate most smallarms with ease.
  
  On the ground, Salmon is a resourceful mechanic, often spending time tinkering with equipment and innovating bizarre improvised devices for ground and air combat. She once managed to disable the speed governor on an SK.25U, which aided its short climb when taking off from a damaged airfield.

  TRIVIA

  - Salmon loves potatoes. Baked, fried, or mashed.
  - She possesses a certain northern Albion dialect that would seem otherwise impossible to comprehend when spoken in her native language - often times used when cursing.
  - Has a certain obsession with gloves, claiming that it makes her feel "...seated like a bairne in fresh nappies!" - whatever that means.

  HANDY WIZARD

Coded by: @Ambiloquous

 

[PanoramicDemon]

Seana Kozlov
"Valkyrie"


Age | 27
Build | Height 6’1”, built only slightly more on the bulky muscular side, but still has a thin feminine frame about her
Marks & Piercings | Due to the fact she is never caught without a long sleeve on, you may never realize it, but the girl is fully covered up, some tattoos have meaning, others were just to fill in space. Here ears double pierced, and one medusa lip piercing as well – scars litter her body here and there, those most are covered very well by the ink she currently has.
Personal affects & Gear | A basic copper zippo, and a simple butterfly knife she tends to fidget with
Craft & Specs | MG-29

Expertise| Dogfighting
Origin/Nationality | Nationality unknown, suspected United Kerneuropa, possibly Muscos/Siberium Periphery due to a very slight accent she seems to have – her complexion is fair, black hair, and features that are sharp and angular. If anything, she refuses to speak on where she possibly came from, and leaves everyone to their assumptions.

Background | Seana is known by many only by her callsign ‘Valkyrie’ , little is known about her other than she flew strictly as a solo mercenary against the federation. She would show up on missions randomly to assist Sicario as well as being called upon by other rag tag Cascadian mercenary groups here and there. She was good at that – showing up, and then vanishing before the dust even got a chance to settle. She has done nothing but remain a ghost since The Calamity – not that she hasn’t been called upon by groups, or invited to formally join others, some presume her dead, others that she was a coward. Formally, she has kept what happened to her that day off the record.
Personality | Stoic, Introverted, and for the most part will not speak unless spoken to, not much is known about her or her ‘true’ personality since most mercenaries speak of her as a myth of a human due to her lack of interaction with groups outside of airspace.

Experience | Unknown - She refuses to disclose where or how she acquired her skills for flying and dogfights

Random Facts |
Seana has taken great care to keep her past, her past – not due to repercussions of anyone finding anything out, but because to her ‘Don’t mean shit to me it shouldn’t mean shit to anyone else’
She has a very slight Russian Accent
Seana is known for showing up early mission to assist, however once she determines a group is no longer in need of her aid, she’s quick to leave.

 

[Lost Echo]

Myra Wyman
Chip, as in “Get that chip off your shoulder and you’d be a better pilot.”
​

Age | 22

Build | Thin and lanky 6’5” just under the maximum height requirement

Marks & Piercings | Bat’s wing tattoo down her shoulder, rarely seen

Personal affects & Gear | Batman the Animated Series,

Craft & Specs | F/C-16

Expertise | Night flying?

Origin/Nationality | Presidia

Background | Her parents were part of the Cascadian Partisans who evacuated the city. She saw the power of aircraft and believes that only another airplane can counteract it.

Personality | Stoic, her boiling anger has calmed in recent years, but she still harbors a hatred of the Federation

Training & Experience | Learned to fly by joining various mercenary groups. Would switch out, looking for more and more action--wanting to be prepared for when the Federation attacks again.

Random Facts | Rarely talks

 

[Tayner]

William McBryde
"Icarus"

Age | 27

Build | 6’0”, average build

Marks & Piercings | A tattoo of a pair of ace playing cards on the inside of his left forearm, hearts and spades.

Personal affects & Gear | A pair of old aviator sunglasses, a Glock 22, a couple of postcards from his travels, and his old Kerneuropan squadron’s patch.

Craft & Specs | F/F-18, loadout is mission dependant

Expertise | Jack of all trades

Origin/Nationality | Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kerneuropa Alliance.



Background | William was born into a normal life, he had a loving mother and father to raise him up and he had average marks in his early education. His first job at 16 was as a cashier at a small fast food joint right outside one of the RAF’s air bases. He’d always had an interest in flying, and maybe it was his subconscious that pushed him to be somewhere where he could meet airmen and see jets take off all day. He decided to push himself, he wanted to be one of the best.

He applied for and was accepted into the Kerneuropa Air Force Academy, and for four years poured himself into his studies and training. He graduated twelveth in his class, out of about 1,200. Being on the flight track and in the top 10% afforded him the opportunity to choose what type of aircraft he’d train on, and he chose the fighter pilot track. The next two years were hard for him, but he succeeded in his goal and earned his golden wings at the age of 24.

William would go on to serve in an Albion based squadron, and initially thrilled to be a full fledged aviator, the excitement wore off after a few years of nothing more than training. He would resign from the Air Force and enlist with Rose Company in search of action. He’d meet his new WSO, Jeff Moreau, and would serve with Rose Company ever since.

Personality | Will is as easygoing as they come, and is known to have a sense of humor, however when on the job he is capable of switching gears to a more serious demeanor.

Training & Experience | William has received top-knotch training from his country’s military, however due to circumstance has very little actual combat experience.

Random Facts | Will has a slight Scottish accent, however it becomes more pronounced when he becomes stressed.
He keeps a guitar with his personal gear, but never actually learned how to play.
Every aircraft he flies he paints a pair of ace playing cards onto

Theme song


Jeff Moreau
"Lucky"

Age | 32

Build | 5’10”, lean build

Marks & Piercings | N/A

Personal affects & Gear | A zippo lighter and pack of cigarettes, a set of keys, and a Cascadian Flag.

Craft & Specs | F/F-18 (WSO)

Expertise| WSO

Origin/Nationality | Cascadian

Background | Jeff was born and raised in a rural town in eastern Cascadia. He was an average kid, didn’t do too great in school, so he needed financial aid for a higher education. He enlisted in the Cascadian National Guard as a combat engineer in order to make use of their scholarships they promised to veterans. However, just as he was about to finish his enlistment, war broke out. Jeff found himself with the Cascadian Independence Force, and saw combat in most of the ground theater.

Somehow surviving the war unharmed, he would finally separate from the Guard. He would use his scholarship to pay for multiple mechanic certifications and work as a mechanic for many mercenary companies, bouncing around for a while before joining with the newly formed Rose Company on one condition, that they’d train him as a WSO. He'd spent enough time fixing aircraft, he finally felt like it was time to ride one.

Personality | Jeff maintains a distance from most people, but those that get to know him regard him as a respectful and kind person.

Training & Experience | Jeff has seen ground combat, the insides of most fighter jet’s engines, and has received in house training to be a WSO/

Random Facts | He doesn’t like to talk about his time fighting in the First Cascadian Conflict.
His preferred drink is rum and coke
He owns a black muscle car that he fixed up himself, although he had to leave it in his hometown in eastern Cascadia when he joined up with Rose Company​