454 replies to this topic

[Grafvitnir]

The setting is 3049, some time before the start of MW:O.
Start by introducing your character, include a name, physical description, background, affiliation, notable equipment, and 'Mech (if applicable). All are welcome.
Denote OOC (Out of Character) text with double square brackets: [[ ]]
If you have any questions about the setting (eg: How far are we from the coast? What's the name of this bartender?) just ask me OOC, I'll try to leave a speedy response.
Avoid large-scale violence for now, let's all get along and get introduced, but I promise you the **** will hit the fan soon enough.
Please, no god-modding.

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Planet: Vekfaren
Affiliation: Free Raselhague Republic
Star Type (Recharge Time): F4V (179 Hours)
Rotational Period: 32 Hours
Position in System: 2
Time to Jump Point: 8.48 Days
Number of Satellites: 2 (Huginn, Muninn)
Surface Gravity: 0.97
Equatorial Temperature: 27°C
Surface Water: 83%
HPG Class Type: B
Population (Approximate): 473,000,000
Socio-Industrial Levels / USIIR: C-C-B-D-B
Planetary Capital: Hebridan
Main Spaceport: Rundvik

The planet's strong axial tilt results in dramatic storms and extreme seasons; one bearing long, cold nights, and the other, seemingly endless days when the men, women and children can be seen working in the fields to bring in the year's harvest as the plants take advantage of the sunlight. The poles contain great chaotic ice flows which break apart and refreeze with each season, while the equatorial regions are dominated by coastal temperate rainforests that take advantage of the storms that cross from the daylit hemisphere across the equator.

--------------------------------

Rundvik is a city of war.
During the succession wars Vekfaren's location made it a convenient stopover for armies travelling between the Draconis Combine and the Lyrian Alliance, and with the soldiers came trade.
Now the fields, forests, and hills surrounding Rundvik are dotted with landing sites for dropships of all shapes and sizes. The outskirts contain the local smithies, where craftsman produce fine weapons and armour, as well as hiring out their services as welders, electricians and armorers to visiting companies. The interior of the city is a maze of shops, market stalls, inns, and houses of ill repute, where a mercenary can find anything from fresh fish and produce for his men to a hand-crafted holographic sight for his rifle.
The local architecture is an eclectic mix of traditional Vekfer thatched buildings, constructed from the planet's strong, dark timber, many sporting weatherbeaten solar panels atop them, and more modern prefabricated buildings containing 'Mechbays and KungsArme resupply depots.
Since the end of the Ronin Wars the planet has become quiet, but is still known in certain circles as a pleasent haven for Mercenaries in the otherwise less-than-cordial FRR.

On this morning, however, the small city is bustling with soldiers and the 'Mechbays are full. A mercenary company calling themselves the Delian Guard are passing through town, and it is hard to avoid seeing their standard, a serpent wrapped around a star at the equator, set against a blood-red background.

The Windborne Raven, perhaps the oldest pub in Rundvik, is slowly filling up in the slow late-summer morning. Newcomers can be easily spotted, bleary-eyed and unadapted to this planet's long, dark nights.

--------------------------------

Character: Grafvitnir Holmlunsson (Graaf to his friends)
Born: Vekfaren, 2028 (21 years old)
5'10" Brown hair, green eyes.
Trimmed beard and slicked-back hair. Athletic build.
Wears a loden coat over thick, utilitarian wool pants and a white tunic with a black military vest.
Carries a vibrosword (Nordic hand-and-a-half style) and a large laspistol with a carved wooden handle and folding wire stock.
Member of the FRR KungsArme on leave, and a recent graduate of Northwind Military Academy.

'Mech: Dragon

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Grafvitnir arrived at the Windborne Raven as the sun's light was still pouring across the wooded landscape. It had been a long journey - all day and all night by horseback - from his father's farm to the southeast, but he was eager to see the refitting of his Dragon complete, so he'd pushed on through Vekfaren's cold night. The 'Mech had belonged to his father, Davgrim, who'd left the Northwind Highlanders many years before to return to his homeland of Rasalhague and fight for its independance. The Ronin Wars cost Davgrim both his legs, but not his pride, so he retired with his wife to this quiet planet - a favorite stop during his Highlander days - to start a farm, (he was a big, beared man, bounding across his fields on metal legs), repair his 'Mech, and to raise his son to carry on his ideal of the honorable 'Mechwarrior.
The strange upbringing had left Graaf an idealist, and a brave young man, although perhaps a bit naive of the complexities of the Inner Sphere.
This Dragon was his birthright, as well as the duty to defend Free Rasalhague against its would-be oppressors. Now at last, he had graduated from Northwind and won a commission with the KungsArme. Having returned to his homeworld on leave to help bring in the summer harvest, he was now preparing to leave in just a few days to take his first military assignment.

But for now there was nothing to do but to put out his meerschaum pipe, take his coat off, go in and have a drink.

Edited by Grafvitnir, 23 February 2012 - 08:25 PM.

[Lina Thoren]

[[More or less a slightly-modified version of the character bio on my profile. Hope this works.]]

Name: Lina Thoren
Rank: Hauptmann (Captain)
Title: Grafina von Dundalk
Callsign: Banshee
Battlemech: DV-7D Dervish
Date & Place of Birth: 5/24/3004, Tamar City, Tamar, Lyran Commonwealth
Current Residence: Dundalk, Alexandria, Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

Physical Description:
154 cm, 56 kg (roughly 5'1", 123 lbs.), stocky, curvy build (owing to Tamar's 1.2x Terran gravity); dark reddish-brown skin; brown eyes; bleached blond hair (worn in traditional Lyran Mechwarrior style). Mixed Swedish (via Rasalhaguian refugees on her father's side) and Guyanese descent; it shows in her accent. When not in AFFC uniform, she usually wears the latest fashions form Tharkad/Terra/New Avalon (depending on her mood). She customarily carries a nickel-plated, snub-nosed revolver with integral laser sight (firing the ancient .357 Magnum round) as a sidearm, with a vibroblade and a mini-stunstick (usually concealed up one sleeve); if she's taking her 'Mech into combat or otherwise expecting trouble, she'll add a blazer pistol (carried in a thigh holster) as well.

History:
A shameless sybarite born to minor Tamar nobility, Lina sought a Mechwarrior's commission against the wishes of her family. She got into the Nagelring on Tharkad only through the personal intercession of Duke Selwin Kelswa, was forced to repeat her second year, and (eventually) graduated with dismal grades. Considered unfit for combat, she was initially assigned to the TharHes BattleMech factory on Tharkad as an acceptance trials pilot, in the hope that she would grow tired of the busy-work and resign. Instead, she used her charisma, connections, and an innate talent for intrigue to secure a BattleMech, a small landhold on the planet Alexandria to replace the one she was now unlikely to inherit from her parents, and a combat posting--one that, in hindsight, she was not at all prepared for--making several powerful enemies in the process.

She likely would have evolved into yet another shining example of Lyran military incompetence, were it not for one of the many friendships she made during this time. Margaret Aten, the common-born orphan-turned-Duchess of Skye, took Lina under her wing, and secured for her an assignment to the Fourth Skye Rangers under then-First Leutnant Moira Bruce, confident that Bruce (a hard-edged Skyeswoman and a minor noble herself) would whip Lina into shape.

Their first assignment (officially as part of a parade unit sent to Terra in advance of the wedding between Melissa Steiner and Hanse Davion, while ferreting out and eliminating potential threats to the royal couple on the side) helped as well. While many of the details about that assignment remain classified (OOC: Translation: the campaign's still in progress), it allowed Lina to utilize her existing strengths while both easing into combat (the unit was involved in gunplay on several occasions while on Terra) and acquiring sorely-needed experience at her "day job." By the time they rejoined their parent unit for the start of Operation Götterdammerung, Lina was a respectable pilot of "Incorrigible" (as she'd named her DV-6M Dervish) and a talented strategist. She'd also caused a minor scandal by getting into a relationship with Sergeant Major Kevin Resk, a common-born Davion NCO attached to the Fourth (who she would eventually marry.)

She stayed with the Fourth Skye through the War of 3039, apart from a brief stint in the Kelswa House Guard during the Ronin War that saw her assigned as liaison to one of the mercenary units Duke Kelswa had hired for security on the recaptured Tamar Pact worlds. Caught between her heritage and her loyalty to her Duke when she learned that the mercs were tasked with destabilizing the nascent Free Rasalhauge Republic, she made a hard decision, publicly feigning obedience with her Duke's orders while secretly tipping off the LIC and MIMIR, the FRR's intelligence service. Afterward, the Duke "loaned" Lina's services to his daughter, Morasha Kelswa; with Morasha's marriage to Duke Ryan Steiner of Porrima, this meant that Lina was now working part-time for the Free Skye movement whether she liked it or not.

She lost her beloved Dervish on Kessel during the War of '39, and between her party-girl reputation (which, to this day, she has never been able to completely shake), Duke Ryan and the LIC both trying to make her a full-time spy, and the newly-combined Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth (AFFC) making an effort to weed out so-called "Social Generals," it appeared her days as a Mechwarrior might be finished. In desperation, she took on the only assignment available: a posting to the newly-raised Alexandria Skye March Militia.

Still, she continued to fee guilty about the role she'd played (albeit inadvertently) in the attempt to retake the FRR worlds, and eventually put in for a brief stint as a AFFC military advisor, in an effort to redeem herself...

----------------

"...Milady?"

"....Lemme 'lone..." Even half-asleep, Hauptmann Lina Thoren sounded irritated. Still, the steward was persistent.

"Milady, you insisted we wake you before we made planetfall, so that you could announce your arrival to the planetary garrison commander," he reminded her. "If you still wish to do so, now's the time, we'll be beginning de-orbiting procedures shortly."

Lina sighed--and thought she hoped the steward didn't notice, shuddered slightly as well. She remembered all too well what happened the last time she was in the Republic....and though MIMIR had determined that her actions had been "as correct as circumstances permitted" she couldn't imagine many of the Rasalhaugians would be happy to see her if word got out.

Still, she felt she had to do this--if not for them, then for herself.

She slid over to her stateroom's computer console, and began recording a new message. "God dag, Överste," she began, relishing the rare opportunity to use her native tongue. "Hauptmann Lina Thoren, on assignment from the Adcisory Command of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth, reporting as ordered. I have your instructions; however, none of them make any mention of how or where I am to secure my BattleMech upon arrival. Please Advise." **SEND**

Message sent, Lina settled into her room's padded chair, strapping in for reentry.

---------------

Two hours later, a hauler was carrying Lina's Dervish off to a garrison MechBay. The Överste had been advised of her arrival, but it was still several hours before they were due to meet, meaning Lina was on her own. After consulting with some of the Mechbay techs (who, in her experience, always seemed to know best where to get drunk after their shifts), she slowly made her way to the Windborn Raven, idly wondering what on such a peaceful-looking rock did for fun.

Edited by Lina Thoren, 24 February 2012 - 12:16 PM.

[Grafvitnir]

[[I've updated my response since I saw your edit. This planet doesn't have much in the way of garrisoning forces, back-story wise it's better if you're just passing through on your way to Rasalhague itself. Finish the conversation with the Overste if you'd like, we'll see what happens in the bar later.]]

"God dag, Hauptmann" replied the Overste, "I regret to inform you that the starport here is little more than a sty for the mercenaries and their ilk, there are hardly fit accommodations for a woman of your breeding. I can have a room booked for you aboard the ferry Westwind if you'd prefer, to leave after our meeting. She can have you to Hebridan in most of a day. The garrison here is mainly symbolic, to keep the mercenaries accounted for, but they can provide you with a much more civilized experience in the capital until your JumpShip is recharged."
"As for your 'Mech" he continued, "I have taken the liberty of reserving a bay for it here in Rundvik. If there is any work you'd like done, I think you'll find the craftsmen here are worthy of our pride."

Edited by Grafvitnir, 23 February 2012 - 09:36 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Character: Thom Frankfurt
Born Warlock, St. Ives Compact, 3028 Age 21 years old
6'2'' Tall and lanky, with fair skin and gray eyes a long mohawk that he never puts up only lets it hand down to his shoulders.

Wears black paramilitary cargopants with a heavily studded black leather jacket. Vintige heavy metal band T-shirts and combat boots.
Carries an nakjama laser pistol, a poly carbon knife and a set of brass knuckles.
New Avalon Military Academy dropout due to grades and 'conflicting views' with his professors and fellow students. Since dropping out has ran with a couple of unsuccessful merc outfits.

Current affiliation, none.

Mech: BJ-3 Blackjack
Callsign: Bad Luck
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CLANG!

Thom woke with a start, nearly falling out of his cot.

"What-the?!"

Slowly his sences came to him pushing back the alcohol induced blackness that overcame him earlier. As his sences came back to him dispelling the grogginess, he remembered where he was, Vekfaren. He was in Rundvik on the planet Vekfaren in the FRR. And his mech was getting repaired. It must have been a tool or an armor plate that fell and caused all the racket. Yes, that had to be ithe thought to himself, and the other noises must have been his Markus at work.

"Vekfaren." He muttered the word like a curse. He wondered if that was Swedenesse for Hell. Like he blamed it for all his problems. He knew it wasn't the planets fault that his unit got shot up on Pacifica, or that his Uncle died in the fight, or his unit disbanded due to pressure from the MRBC. It wasn't the planet's fault, he kept telling himself that.

Giving up on sleep, Thom rubbed his temples and wondered why he ever left Warlock in the first place as he rolled off the cot he had stuffed into the corner of the office.

The office, that was a joke. It was nothing more than a tiny storage room built into the corner of a mech garage. The building was nice sized though, able to hold up to a lance of mechs, but so far his luck had been holding hand he hadn't have to share it with anyone.

He dressed wondering if there was any hope of getting that circut module for his mech in town today. If there was one thing nice he could say about local town, Rundvik, it was that you could find just about anything.

Music was blaring as he opened the door and stormed across the grease and coolant stained ferrocrete. He was wanting to check on the progress of his mech, and he was pleased to see that his tech got the left arm reattached sometime during the 'night.' He smiled seeing the discarded armor plate laying on the ground at his mechs feet and apprached scruntinzing the work that was done with a critical eye. He caught sight of his Tech welding on a fresh armor plate on the left arm .

"Markus."
No answer.
"Yo Markus!!"
Still no answer.
"Oh to Hell with it."

Casting a glare his cousin/tech's way he walked off to the main door and onward to town. He needed a beer, and he knew a place that had Timburki Dark on tap.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 25 March 2012 - 06:08 PM.

[Grafvitnir]

[[I hate to keep making OOC corrections, but 27°C at the equator means Vekfaren is substantially cooler than earth. Temperate rainforest means Seattle-type biome. Other than that the post is great.]]

Graaf settled with a sigh into his favorite chair at a broad, round table by the bar, nursing a pint of Timburki and attempting to keep his mind off the near future.
Three days, he thought, then I'll board the dropship and head to the periphery.
In these days, relatively peaceful for the FRR, his expectation was to head off to fight ever-present pirates and raiders towards the outer edge of the inner sphere.
Even if it isn't a great war like my father fought, there can be no greater glory for a warrior then to protect the innocent.
His father's teachings reminded him of the importance of this assignment, but his blood longed for a great war in which he could prove his worthiness.

The door swung open, distracting him from his thoughts. A small group of strangers entered. Most were the dirty, overalled mechanics ever present near the town center, but among them were three mercs in Dalian Guard uniform, a woman, too clean to be a merc, with dark skin and the short hair of a Lyran Mechwarrior; and finally a tall mowhawked young man.

Graaf smiled and raised his stein in silent greeting to his fellow Mechwarriors.

Edited by Grafvitnir, 23 February 2012 - 11:10 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Sorry about that, I kinda skimmed through the info on the planet saw the words 'rain forest' and 'seemingly endless days' and thought it'd be hot. Oh and thanks, but I kinda edited it to make more sence. Hope it's not that horrible.]]

Upon seeing the greeting he nods a salute in return to the man with the pint. Damn that looked good. He hastened on over to the bar.

"Hey yo barkeep, give me a pint of the black stuff!"

He grinns as the man fills his order then turns to check out the place and all the ladies, err...people within.

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 24 February 2012 - 01:04 AM.

[guardian wolf]

[[I think I'll get in on this, though this will be a deviation from my main character's storyline, though what the hell, maybe I can get it into it.]]
Name: Draconis Wolf
Affiliation: Wolf's Dragoons
Physical Profile: 6'7'', muscular, but not overly so. Has the look of a seasoned warrior, and his head is in a short buzz cut. Has small stubble around his face. Has the Wolf's Dragoons logo tattooed on his right arm, and his lance insig, on his left, which is a black shield with a blood red wolf's head, trimmed in gold.
Carries a laser pistol, that he wears on a hip holster. He also knows how to use a blade, and his Battlemech is a Warhammer, named Wolf's Fang. He came here to get a little R&R, before his next op which was for an unknown contractor.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Draco walled outside in the cold. For some reason, he loved the atmosphere, and when he retired, heh, if, he retired, he swore he was going to build a house right here. He shook his coat, and started to run across the small runway. He was halfway across when he heard an Aerospace fighter go screaming through the air behind him, and he watched as Phiro's modified Centurion fighter went flying past him. Draco kept running, and decided to head to locale, a place called The Windbourne Raven, for a small meal.

Edited by guardian wolf, 24 February 2012 - 10:06 AM.

[Nor Azman]

[[Hihi. I hope I am not too late]]

Character name: Azman

Born: 3020, No Return, Capellan Confederation

Description: Tall and skinny, with "little meat on him". 6'1 height, brown skin, black eyes, with "Eww, your hair feels like straw, do you ever use shampoo?" short black hair. Wears a well-worn large brown coat over nondescript shirt and pants. Usually straps a Periphery frontier rifle on his shoulder, a relic six-shooter revolver (with own made bullets) on a side holster and a wakizashi long dagger at his belt. Does have some grenades in his pockets. Wears a notched up pair of glasses and a sheepish smile ever on his face.

Current affiliation: Browncoats Mercenaries

Current Mech: A beat-up COM 2D Commando

Callsign: Reptile

Background: [[Please read my profile-about me. Warning: Long though]]


//--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------//


Azman scratched his rear end as he entered the Windborne Raven. It was a bad sign. It was always a bad sign. Azman had the itch, not just at the bottom end of his body but also in the back of his mind ever since the mercenary stepped on Vekfaren. The itch usually meant he should stop and reconsider all this, instead of walking alone into an unknown bar.

The times when he didnt pay mind to his itches...

It was a simple contract. Simple contracts usually seemed to be. Old Serenity was snug and safe back at Port Krin. (As safe as Port Krin can be that is) The Browncoats were having some down time, which usually meant trying to get as much repairs done to equipment, vehicles, mechs and oh don't forget Old Serenity, by means honest and not quite so; as the mercenary outfit started to plan, plot and possibly scheme their next contract or job. So Azman thought it was a good time as any to do some side jobs on the side. Earn some money. And a mercenary always needed to earn some money...

So a simple contract led Azman to the planet Vekfaren in the Free Raselhague Republic (FRR). Azman was honestly all for FRR independence. (Anything that stick it to the Great Houses was always a good thing) But the FRR wasnt exactly known to be all smiles and welcoming to mercs in general.

"Well, better then having DCMS soldiers shouting "Death to Mercenaries!!!" in your ear everytime." Azman mused abstractedly.

The times when he didnt pay mind to his itches...

Azman's old CCAF training pushed its way to the fore.

Where is the enemy?
The enemy is always near.
Where is the threat?
The threat is always near.
Enemies and threats are always near.
They're always near...
always near...
always near...

Azman pushed his CCAF paranoia conditioning back, back and scanned his surroundings.

"Koh soo nie", he muttered in corrupted periphery dialect.

There were certainly some characters in Windborne Raven that would (and probably could) look you back in the eye if you look at them straight. Azman drew his brown coat close and looked straight... at the bartender. Look straight. Walk straight. No need for unneeded trouble.

"Simple contract", Azman reminded himself.

"Good barkeep sir, may I have a glass of milk please", as Azman sat by the bar.

Edited by Nor Azman, 08 March 2012 - 09:00 AM.

[Grafvitnir]

Graaf eyed the newcomers as they entered, including a late arrivals - a giant of a man, who upon removing his coat revealed tattoos of the Wolf's Dragoons, as well as a thin mercenary wearing a brown leather coat - and beckoned them over as their drinks arrived.

"Come, sit my friends. - Alvfinnur, their drink are on me!" he shouted to the barman, "Today is a celebration. Here's to new beginnings, journeys undertaken, and glory earned!
Tell me, what brings you all to Rundvik this morning?"

The three Dalian Guard mercs glanced over, then left for their own table in the corner.

Edited by Grafvitnir, 24 February 2012 - 11:20 AM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

Thom's ears perked up at the mention of drinks being on someone. And he quickly looked to confirm that the free drinks included his own. And seeing that it indeed did he quickly turned to the bartender.

The man was currently busy filling the newcomers orders, but this gave Thom a chance to sort out his thoughts. This looked like a good chance to make some contacts on this rock. The guy at the table seemed friendly enough, the guy was paying for his booze so he figured he should atleast go over and chat with the guy. He sized up the others that was in his immediate area, some bleach blonde milf, who judging from the way her hair was cut a mechwarrior or a mechwarrior wantabe, but didn't dress the part. He took note of the vagabond who looked like he had a nasty case of the hemeroids, and then spotted the uprooted mountain of a man, Wolf's Dragoons, ehh, good unit. Maybe he could try to get in with them. It didn't look like they were gonna disband anytime soon.

"Alv...fin..nur."

He butchered the man's name, but he atleast tried to pronounce it. The least he could do was be friendly, and besides, you never want to anger your bartender.

"Double shot of Blacklabel."

As the man went about getting all the newcomers drinks, Thom absentmindedly fished through his pockets and pulled out a couple of crumpled C bills which he sat atop the counter.

Taking up his pint and shot he headed on over to the table with the friendly guy picking up everyones tab.

"Sup man? I'm here getting my mech patched up, some fools tried turning it into Swiss Cheese last month. Been slowly patching it together since then. After that I don't know, of to Outreach or Galeta or maybe even Solaris if I can get the cash to put my ride there."

"Oh yeah, thanks for the drinks."

He holds the shot glass up for a second in salute to his host then quickly downs it and slams the empty glass on the table.

"Now to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 24 February 2012 - 01:13 PM.

[Listless Nomad]

Character: James Söderlund
Callsign: Nomad
Born: Robinson, 3027 (22 years old)
6'2" Brown hair, Hazel eyes.
Clean shaven with close cropped hair
Wearing olive drab BDU pants, brown leather combat boots, tank top and cooling vest, and Robinson Regimental leather overcoat unbuttoned.
Carries only a flechette pistol in a thigh holster strapped to his leg.
Captain in the 1st Battalion, Company B, of the 1st Robinsion Rangers (Battalion Executive Officer)

'Mech: Centurion

Background: Detached from his unit during a lull in the Draconis March, he was traveling through the FRR, liaising with various KungsArme Regiments over anti Kurita tactics and coordination. Something of a personal initiative, Söderlund had a feeling that this prolonged period of peace was not to last, and the more friends he could count throughout the Inner Sphere, the better he felt. Born of a Rasalhagueian mother and a Federated Suns father, Söderlund was something of a mutt. After the death of his father in the war of 3039, in action against the Capellans, he changed his last name back to that of his mother’s maiden name and joined the Robinson Rangers. Like all members of the Rangers, he has a severe dislike of Kuritans, but saves a special place in his heart for hatred of the Capellans. Since that time, he has found himself well liked by the other members of the unit and was promoted quickly.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Söderlund wearily pressed his hand against the door to the nondescript bar he'd just located. Still wearing his cooling vest, but with his overcoat on to keep out the slight chill, he didn't strike the particularly presentable image he'd have preferred upon entering the bar.

“The Colonel probably wouldn’t approve of his officers winning hearts and minds dressed like this” Söderlund muttered to himself.

With a sigh he pushed the door open and let himself step into the warmth within. The bar was already fairly full, and he could spot a few military unit badges amongst the crowd. Mostly unnoticed by the crowd within, and seeing the bar fairly full, James moved to the back of the bar, found a booth and slid in heavily. His heavy travel routine, as well as having had to help the techs relocate his mech to the mechbay after touchdown had completely wiped his energy. Not wanting to reenter the dropship to change, he had walked directly from the mech bay to the nearest place that appeared to serve alcohol. He motioned to a passing waitress. When she replied in Swedenese, he allowed exasperation to show on his face. Despite a Rasalhaguian mother, he had never picked up on the language, and found that to be somewhat of a disadvantage during his travels.

“A…Beer please? Really anything will do…”

The waitress smiled knowingly, said something James could not understand and walked away, heading for the bar. Whatever it was, he hoped it was palatable.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 24 February 2012 - 01:59 PM.

[Damon Howe]

[[Being used to build current RP of my character...we'll see how it turns out.]]

Name: Damon Howe
Affiliation(s): Skjaldborg Merc Unit; formerly Wolf's Dragoon's Black Widow Company
Rank: Korpral
Callsign: 'Raven'
'Mech: Jenner; Custom Mod x2 LL
DoB/PoB: March 14th, 2028 Planet Misery, DC
Current Residence: Unknown; Free Rasalhague Republic Space

---

Description:
At 5'9", Damon isn't very impressive in his height or physic. He has an average muscular build and high endurance, which with his flexibility makes him more suited for running or sprinting than fist-fighting. Damon has brown hair that is often kept short, but longer than the typical mechwarrior (roughly .5 inch long). He is often clean-shaven, but can and occasionally does grow a very impressive beard. Damon is often seen in loose, baggy clothes which conceal the weapons he always keeps on his person and his black mechwarrior suit that he almost always wears underneath.
Personality:
Damon tends to prefer being alone, and never really trusts anyone, including comrades. He blends into a crowd with ease, and is more likely to observe a situation than get himself involved. However, he has been known by his friends to be a very fun, trustworthy and reliable person. Most never see this side of him though.
Damon is an average fighter, preferring to use takedowns and pressurepoint jabs to end fights quickly. He can take a hit, but prefers to dodge.

---

Damon entered the bar, ironically named 'Windbourne Raven", and immediately noticing all of the new faces he wished he hadn't. Damon had dropped on this planet weeks ago, sent by the Skjaldborg to do a little light recon, hoping to give the young mechwarrior more experience with his dual-mission role in the unit's prestigious "Dragon Slayers" Company. However, after only 3 weeks of observation, information gathering, and the "occasional" pint of mead, Damon was ready to be off of this god-forsaken planet and onto his next assignment with the unit. From the different holo's that had come in over the past week regarding "Lance names" and "Lance motto's" and other bouts of insanity, Damon felt he was missing out on quite a bit of fun.

Not bothering to pause or gain attention by turning around and walking out, Damon walked right up to the bar itself, grabbing an open stool near the end.

"Give me the usual pint," he said gruffly to the bartender, pulling down the black hoodie to look the man in the eyes. Hiding your face in these parts meant you were up to something, and while that was true, he didn't want the whole bar knowing that.

Especially since it looked like there were some pretty juicy targets sitting around at the other tables.

[Sloth901]

[[any mistakes i appologise, i am very tired]]

Name: Nathan Annison
Affiliation(s): Vulkaneers Merc unit, Davion
Rank: Sergeant
Callsign: Stoner 2
'Mech: Marauder: Custom Varient 2 Large Lasers, 1 AC10
DoB/PoB: 3020 Bonette
Current Residence: Vulkaneers base Barcelona

Description: White, 5ft 11" Nathan was an average height and waist line. He wears a leather jacket with the Vulkaneer logo on the left breast pocket, on the shoulder was his rank and lance. It wasnt official uniform but he requested this jacket be custom made for when hes not working. Hes proud to be a member of the Vulkaneers ever since he fought with them to liberate Bonette. He is often seen talking to his lance mates, most of all to his lance commander Will Andor.

Brief history
Nathan joined the Vulkaneers in 3039 to explore the inner shpere, the same year he joined the combine invaded his home plannet of Bonette. Fighting a Gurrila style war he managed to survive where other trainee Vulkaneers hadnt. Him, Will Andor and the Sheridan brothers (Ben and Tom) formed the Vulkaneers second lance. He served in several battles under his friend Will and in 10 years the lance did not suffer a single loss. However that changed. In early 3049 Will returned to Barcelona on garrison duty and Nathan was given command of second lance. A new recruit by the name of Logan 'Lugz' Goodrum joined second lance to fill the 4th space

As part of their contract they were asked to patrol planets in the Periphery, during one of these patrols the Vulkaneers where ambushed
there lance consisted of a Warhammer a Marauder a Panther and a Wolfhound, A fith mech a Victor piloted by Laura Dodds (the Vulkaneers only female mechwarrior at this point) was in reserve.

The ambush took the lance by suprise.Logans Warhammer was the 1st to go down after a presision hit from a Laser to his Gyro. That was the 1st they knew of their attackers. The 3 remaining mechs took cover as the Victor made its way foward to the frontline. When it arrived Logans Ejection pod was recovered though he was severly injured. As they retreated back to the dropship lasers rang out Coreing Tom Sheridans Wolfhound and the resulting explossion incinerating Bens Panther KIA'ing both instantly. The 2 remaining mechs turned to fight this enemy when a lone mech emerged through the smoke of the burning light mechs, Nathans targeting computor flickering between Catapult and Marauder, it was a mech he'd never seen before. As he aimed at the target an LRM bararge pounded into him and the Victor Damageing the his targeting computor and destroying the knee acculator on the Victor. Immobilised Laura called for Nathan to retreat to the dropship whilst she held him off. Reluctantly Nathan retreated with Logan and escaped the battlefield. The last they saw of Laura was a LRM hitting the cockpit directly reducing it to a plile of shrapnel and moulten slag.


Nathan stepped off the dropship relieved to be on a populated plannet as this was the first since the incident in the Periphery. Logan was recovering in his quarters and Nathan needed to report to the commander Paul Andor, but first he needed a drink. He headed for the first one he could find 'The Windbourne Raven' Nathan entered the bar and took a seat in a booth. He looked around at the patrons to see what kind of crowd he was in, he new they were in FRR space but had to much on his mind to remember the name of the planet. Looking around he could see people of all diferent origins, Steiner, Liao, FRR, Davion. He didnt need to see the Dragoon to realise this was a merc bar, He ordered a drink from a passing waitress and continued to observe the crowd, however something kept drawing him to the Dragoon, He felt he had seen him somewhere before but where...

Edited by Sloth901, 26 February 2012 - 03:00 PM.

[Lina Thoren]

[[OOC: Noted, and thanks. ]]

Shortly before she reached the door of the tavern, Lina's phone beeped as the Överste's reply came back. With an effort, she suppressed a smile as she listened: while she knew it was well-intentioned, it also suggested that the garrison commander probably didn't know just what she'd been up to these past few years. Still, she had a few hours to see Rundvik for herself: if it was truly as bad as the man suggested, she could always take him up on the offer of better accommodations after the meeting.

"Much obliged, sir," she replied, "though I do not wish to impose." Wouldn't do for her to come off as snobbish, especially considering she was on a diplomatic mission of sorts. "And given that your lads' and ladies' reps precede them, I would appreciate it if they could give my machine a once-over. I look forward to our meeting, sir. Hauptmann Thoren, out."

Actually, there would be little if anything wrong with the 'Mech; it was a brand new DV-7D, fresh off the assembly line and loaned to her by the Advisory Command for this mission. Still, the Achernar Battlemechs' sales rep on Tharkad who'd signed it over to her had "let slip" that a few sales of the updated Dervish to the FRR might help get Lina's own name moved up the waiting list for the -7D (she was still waiting for a permanent replacement for the older -6M variant she'd lost on Kessel in '39). Letting the repair crews drool over it--and tell others about what they saw--seemed like a good first step. Besides, training was supposed to be part of her duties, and even though her posting would take her elsewhere, she figured letting the local techs get some experience with the recovered Star League technology (assuming they hadn't seen it before) wouldn't hurt a bit.

Message sent, she made her way into the bar, along wih a decently-sized crowd of others, mercs, and Mechwarriors for the most part, judging from their dress and swagger. That, and the familiar scene that greeted her as she entered, confirmed the techs' information. A tall young man, smoking pipe on the bar beside him, raised his glass in salute to them as they entered; she smiled and nodded to him in response. Whether or not she fully looked the part, Lina was at home here. Even more at home as they young man offered to cover their tabs: though no longer hurting for money, she'd yet to meet a free drink she didn't like.

"A pint of the local draft, sir," she said to the bartender, indicating that she would take it at the young man's table, then moved over to join him, just in time to hear an even taller young man with a mohawk ask to what he owed the pleasure.

"My thanks, sir," Lina added, "though courtesy demands I ask the same question." She nodded in greeting. "Hauptmann Thoren, AFFC Advisory Command. A pleasure to meet you, sir...?"

EDIT: Minor tweak for word use.

Edited by Lina Thoren, 24 February 2012 - 05:59 PM.

[Grafvitnir]

"Kavellrist Grafvitnir Holmlundsson at your service, and the pleasure is mine. Call me Graaf if like. I am celebrating the end of an era, and the beginning of another. Northwind Academy is behind me, and the KungsArme ahead! The dropship will leave in three days, and this may be the last I see of my home in quite some time."

He turns to Thom, "I am sorry to hear about your 'Mech. I have many old friends among the mechanics here, I can arrange reduced rates for you if there is still much work to be done. Solaris sounds to be a glorious place for a warrior to prove his worth; I hope to test myself there one day as well. Perhaps we will meet in the arena!
Vekfaren is not much of a hiring hall, but keeps your ears open and your wits about you and work will come."

"Hauptmann Thoren, it is an honor to drink with a Lyran officer. As the child of a Tyr warrior, I owe you my thanks for your nation's sponsorship during our struggles. Perhaps one day the lords of your realm will show the same graciousness to my mother's homeland in Skye! What brings you to Rasalhague?"

Edited by Grafvitnir, 24 February 2012 - 09:30 PM.

[Damon Howe]

Damon took some time to glance around the bar as more patrons filed in. He first noticed the Wolf's Dragoons warrior sitting at a table nearby, obvious by the proudly worn tattoo on his arm. Damon still kept tabs and passed information often to the Dragoons on the various status' of the units he came in contact with. While he still held a lot of pride for his old unit though, honor and safety for his current employers in the Skjaldborg saw that none of the information was too valuable. That made him curious as to the reason why this Dragoon, whom he did not recognize, was in FRR territory when it was well known most of the Dragoon forces were in Marik space. Still, after consideration Damon decided to ignore it. If the Dragoon warrior wanted to exchange pleasantries, he would on his own.

Turning to get a better view of the rest of the bar, Damon took note of several characters gathered at a table on the other side of the bar. There was the man who had been offering free drinks since he arrived and smoking happily on his pipe. It was obvious by his dress and sidearms that he was a member of the KungsArme, the most pristigious unit in the FRR these days. Their history in the Ronin Wars made the unit famous, as did many of its warriors.

With him now sat a young woman, Federated Commonwealth by the looks of it, but her overall appearance breathed of Lyran. Living in the FRR, you saw enough Lyrans to easily pick them off in a crowd. She looked to be pretty high ranking too, as her posture gave off an air of superiority...not that it was a bad thing, because she looked like she could back it up.

Several other characters caught Damon's attention, but for now he focused on that table. They seemed to be the most interesting bunch in the bar, at least for now.

[Nor Azman]

Azman blinked as he took the first sips of his glass of milk.

"Come, sit my friends. - Alvfinnur, their drink are on me!" shouted a with a man with a trimmed beard on him. "Today is a celebration. Here's to new beginnings, journeys undertaken, and glory earned!

"Free?" Azman asked.

The bartender nodded.

"Thank you good sir." Azman said to the bartender and left, walking towards the man who was buying a round for everyone. He noticed some in the Windborne Raven doing the same.

Buying drinks for people gets you real liked real fast. Azman could not help noticing a large man with a Wolf Dragoon's insignia tattoo in the small group that was slowly gathering. By the 'verse, is there anywhere where they are not prowling about? Well at least we have a blonde. Azman noticed the woman who was much appreciatively fashionably dressed in the group. Mechwarriors, all of them, by the sniff of it.

Azman noticed a group of three uniformed men, with that serpent wrapped around a star insignia he's been noticing about town, taking a table. Dalian Guard, if Azman remembered someone had mentioned.

Azman scratched his rear end and casually looked for a back exit.

"Domo, domo. Thank you for the drink sir," Azman hailed the trimmed bearded man, the orderer of drinks. "Hajime. My name is Azman. A traveller from parts to parts. Doing some small trading an' that. Pleased to meet you all."

Azman smiled. Had he known he would going to be social today, he would have brushed his teeth.

"So what are we drinking to? Unification Day?"

[Listless Nomad]

The waitress brought back a large pint of something black and frothy. James took a sip and let the warmth of the alcohol burn down his throat, and let his eyes close for a moment. He smiled at the waitress, and began reaching for some C-Bills he had in his pants pocket, but the waitress waved him off. Clutching her serving tray to her chest, she smiled back, nodded towards a heavily dressed man sitting at a crowded table, and disappeared back into the bar.

Invigorated by the drink, James leaned forward and began surveying the room. It quickly became apparent that the majority of people in the bar were mercenaries. This surprised James given the FRR’s stereotypical attitude towards mercs. This planet was a little different than most, and so James dismissed the notion and began to survey the patrons of the bar more closely. Most of the locals he dismissed as mechanics or techs, from the amount of grease and coolant splashed on their clothes. Taking another sip, he began to size up the large group of people clustering around the seated man who had bought him a drink.

“Quite the little star league they have going on over there. Let’s see they have a couple mercs, a Lyran, a freakin Dragoon, and a….Capellan.” James could feel the anger within him start to boil, but quickly noticed his nondescript clothes.

“He’s not CCAF, and he could be from St. Ives I suppose.” James mumbled to himself quietly. He began to calm down, but felt himself slipping into a sour mood. He briefly contemplated remaining at the booth enjoying his drink, but decided it would be unwise to scorn someone shelling out for free drinks. With one last gulp of his drink, James pushed himself up from the table and headed for the bar. He’d buy himself another drink and then see what all the hospitality was about.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 24 February 2012 - 09:18 PM.

[Damon Howe]

Damon caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a mechwarrior about his age get up from his table and approach the bar, leaving an empty glass on the table. As he took a seat not far from Damon, he couldn't help but notice the two were alike in some ways: young, impatient, and suspicious of everything around them.

With half a nod to his drink and the other to the mechwarrior, Damon took an extra-long swing of mead. The good stuff filled his mouth with the taste of the backcountry mead halls and the burn of chaos that came with those halls. How surprising his first visit to one turned out, he reminisced.

With the party not dying down, James kept a silent watch, waiting for the "fog" to open in the room a bit.

[Grafvitnir]

[[My earlier placeholder has been edited, for those in the conversation. And great Firefly references by the way, please excuse the fact that they go straight over Graaf's head.]]

Graaf looked up and raised his mug to greet the newcomer,
"Hej, Azman! I am Kavellrist Grafvitnir. Come, join us. I don't know of any unification day around here, but today we celebrate any cause you bring us! I am leaving my home to take commission in the KungsArme!
I trust you have many stories of your travels? Share them with us, and Alvfinnur will continue sharing the mead and ale."