454 replies to this topic

[Orcinus]

[[Are Damon, Nomad, and I at a completely different facility?]]

[Grafvitnir]

[[Yes, we've been split up for a while now, but at some point soon we should bump into one another again. It seems to have been established that short-range military comms can penetrate the jammer, so maybe we should encounter one another on the radio once Lina and are are in our mechs and meet at Thom's mechbay. Then we'll head out of town to GW's mysterious 'cache' and figure out a way to clean up this mess. ( :
Oh, and for those of you wondering, I'll explain IC as well, but Sisgurd is speaking Old Norse. Look up Jarnfolk in the battletech wiki for background. So far he's said "incompetent snakes", "father", and "cowardly he-goat".]]

Edited by Grafvitnir, 02 March 2012 - 05:55 PM.

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[For simplicity's sake I'd say we're all (minus d-bag Azman of course.) converging on the same depot. But if I'm following everything correctly, your stomping around in your (Grand?) Dragon, and the other two are dodging AC rounds from a Rommel. No idea whatever happened to Sloth.]]

[[OH, OH, Can I be the He-Goat!?!?! Can I, Can I, please! I think it's time for a new call sign!!! ]]

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 02 March 2012 - 05:58 PM.

[Listless Nomad]

[[We're not at the Kungs Arme depot, but we're not far away. Orc is nearby to us - so if you are heading back - be advised that the streets between you and the depot are a mess. There is at least one additional mech (unidentified thus far) between you and the depot. Damon and I are on station and will be in our mechs shortly. Once we are saddled up, we will get on comms and link back up with the rest of the group. ]]

[Listless Nomad]

Damon Howe, on 01 March 2012 - 10:25 AM, said:

Taking one last look out either side, Damon sprinted across to the office building, thankfully finding no enemies, since he quickly ran out of breath halfway across and only jogged the last 20 meters to the office building entrance. Struggling to lift the shotgun, which had become increasingly heavy, Damon signaled his partner to do the same. It seemed he was just as worn out, as James practically collapsed after the last 10 meters to the building.

Wanting to catch his breath but knowing they were sitting ducks in the open, Damon readied to enter the (hopefully) abandoned office building and collect his gear.

James slumped against the wall of the building, clutching his assault rifle against his chest while he tried to regain his breath. Steadying himself, he began to outline their plan.

"Theres....theres only two of us. So let's try to do this cleanly. You said your stuff was on the third floor right?"

Raven nodded an affirmative.

"Right, so I'm going to open this door quietly and then we are going to go in. We aren't going to clear the building, no sweeping each floor. Let's do this surgically. Do you remember the floorplan?"

Raven briefly outlined where the stairs were located and indicated his readiness to go. With one last breath, James readied his rifle in his right hand, and slowly pushed open the door with his left. The main lobby was deserted, and had become a wasteland. Papers and files littered the floor of the lobby. Computers were overturned on desks and there was evidence weapons had been fired.

"No bodies or blood" James whispered to Raven.

As they quietly moved to the stairwell and began to ascend the stairs, the building was eerily quiet. The muffled sounds of gunfire and explosions could still be heard from the city, but nothing in the building made a sound.

The two men stepped onto the third floor, and began to cautiously move down the hallway, toward where Raven had said his bag was kept. This floor was a mess as well, with personal belongings and paper scattered everywhere. Raven and James looked at one another, seeing all of the stuff strewn about, and began moving down the hall. When they reached the room where Raven's bag was supposedly stored, it was the only door on the floor that remained closed. It was there that they found their first evidence of death. A large pool of blood outside of the door turned into drag marks to the next room, where they found a dead merc. He had been shot in the chest, and had obviously been in distress when he died. The locked door was splintered and cracked with numerous holes. Someone had fired through the door at whatever lay within. Cautiously, James tried the door handle while Raven covered the hallway. A woman's scream greeted the first jiggle of the handle.

Kicking the door in, James found a young woman, huddling inside of the room, clutching a spent slugthrower pistol. James immediately lowered his rifle and reached down to comfort the terrified woman.

"I - I heard..shooting downstairs, and a lot of yelling. They were screaming about codes or something. I don't know." The woman began crying softly. "I ran to hide in here, I was the only one working on this floor today. After a while, the yelling stopped, and someone came up here. I could hear him overturning furniture and going through the bunkrooms. When I heard him try to get in - I just used my papa's gun. I heard a loud thump then some dragging. There was moaning for a while but then it stopped. Oh God did I kill someone?!"

The woman looked terrified and began crying harder. With no time to lose, James handed the woman his flechette pistol.

"Stay here and lock the door again, if anyone else comes up here speaking anything unfamiliar - you use this" james pointed to the pistol "just like you used your papa's gun."

Closing the door behind him, James slung his assault rifle and crouched next to the window so he could see the mechbays. Raven crouched beside him rummaging through his bag.

"Lucky that girl picked your room to hide in eh Raven?" Raven nodded and began gathering his gear.

James saw four bodies lying on the tarmac below. All wore the distinctive jumpsuits of Robinson Ranger techs.

Edited by Listless Nomad, 02 March 2012 - 07:09 PM.

[Lina Thoren]

[[This one's a bit rushed; apologies if Imiss something. May go back and revise slightly.]]

Thom Frankfurt, on 02 March 2012 - 11:33 AM, said:

"Same thing's kinda happened to me's and my old unit... Oh don't give me dat look, we didn't shoot any civies or anything like dat. We's just robbed a couple of banks and some jewelry stores. Good clean fun, you know."

Lina made a mental note to forget Thom said that before anyone debriefed her. It would be great if that got out: rogue merc unit brought to heel....with aid from member of another rogue merc unit. Oh joy--

Suddenly, the world around them exploded into harsh white light. "Inte igen!" Lina hissed, blinded for the second time in less than an hour.

Grafvitnir, on 01 March 2012 - 09:18 PM, said:

"Grafvitnir! Gud that it is you! I think it were more skreyja gargan come to stain my floors with blood!" he gestured toward the shredded bodies of three Dalians, stacked like cordwood as his seat, and continued in broken English, "I thing they decide old Sisgurd not worth a trouble! For now. Come inside! How fares your faðir, and who are these new friends?" He looked pointedly at the group, expecting a response.

"Angenämt, Herr Sisgurd. Hauptmann Lina Thoren, AFFC advisor." Politeness was a good policy, especially when the person you were peaking to had a weapon that could mow all of them down. Still, she had a few questions about his (familiar, yet slightly off) dialect, and his mention of Jarnfolk...but it could wait.

"And the plan seems solid enough," she added, before turning back to Sisgurd. "Would yo u mind our borrowing a few of those Dalian's weapons, though."

Edited by Lina Thoren, 03 March 2012 - 05:56 PM.

[Damon Howe]

Listless Nomad, on 02 March 2012 - 07:08 PM, said:

James slumped against the wall of the building, clutching his assault rifle against his chest while he tried to regain his breath. Steadying himself, he began to outline their plan.

"Theres....theres only two of us. So let's try to do this cleanly. You said your stuff was on the third floor right?"

Raven nodded an affirmative.

"Right, so I'm going to open this door quietly and then we are going to go in. We aren't going to clear the building, no sweeping each floor. Let's do this surgically. Do you remember the floorplan?"

Raven briefly outlined where the stairs were located and indicated his readiness to go. With one last breath, James readied his rifle in his right hand, and slowly pushed open the door with his left. The main lobby was deserted, and had become a wasteland. Papers and files littered the floor of the lobby. Computers were overturned on desks and there was evidence weapons had been fired.

"No bodies or blood" James whispered to Raven.

As they quietly moved to the stairwell and began to ascend the stairs, the building was eerily quiet. The muffled sounds of gunfire and explosions could still be heard from the city, but nothing in the building made a sound.

The two men stepped onto the third floor, and began to cautiously move down the hallway, toward where Raven had said his bag was kept. This floor was a mess as well, with personal belongings and paper scattered everywhere. Raven and James looked at one another, seeing all of the stuff strewn about, and began moving down the hall. When they reached the room where Raven's bag was supposedly stored, it was the only door on the floor that remained closed. It was there that they found their first evidence of death. A large pool of blood outside of the door turned into drag marks to the next room, where they found a dead merc. He had been shot in the chest, and had obviously been in distress when he died. The locked door was splintered and cracked with numerous holes. Someone had fired through the door at whatever lay within. Cautiously, James tried the door handle while Raven covered the hallway. A woman's scream greeted the first jiggle of the handle.

Kicking the door in, James found a young woman, huddling inside of the room, clutching a spent slugthrower pistol. James immediately lowered his rifle and reached down to comfort the terrified woman.

"I - I heard..shooting downstairs, and a lot of yelling. They were screaming about codes or something. I don't know." The woman began crying softly. "I ran to hide in here, I was the only one working on this floor today. After a while, the yelling stopped, and someone came up here. I could hear him overturning furniture and going through the bunkrooms. When I heard him try to get in - I just used my papa's gun. I heard a loud thump then some dragging. There was moaning for a while but then it stopped. Oh God did I kill someone?!"

The woman looked terrified and began crying harder. With no time to lose, James handed the woman his flechette pistol.

"Stay here and lock the door again, if anyone else comes up here speaking anything unfamiliar - you use this" james pointed to the pistol "just like you used your papa's gun."

Closing the door behind him, James slung his assault rifle and crouched next to the window so he could see the mechbays. Raven crouched beside him rummaging through his bag.

"Lucky that girl picked your room to hide in eh Raven?" Raven nodded and began gathering his gear.

James saw four bodies lying on the tarmac below. All wore the distinctive jumpsuits of Robinson Ranger techs.

Damon picked his way through his bag. It was all there, fortunately, and he eagerly began shedding clothing, fortunately James chose to face back towards the stairwell while he did so.

"Uhh....umm...thank you...but...who are you guys?" Came the quiet voice from behind the door. Figuring there was no better times for formalities, Damon introduced himself first. "My name is Damon Howe, callsign Raven. I'm a mechwarrior with the Skjaldborg Mercenary Unit, a Korpral. I'm here mainly on a recon mission, but now its to protect as many people as possible like you." James turned, intrigued, and introduced himself as well. "My name is James Soderlund, callsign Nomad. I'm Captain of the 1st Robinson's Rangers Merc Unit."

"Wow...I'm not sure I've heard of the other one, but I've heard stories of the Skjaldborg...thank you very much." "You're welcome. Now just stay in that closet for now, it really is the safest place for you, no joke." "Mmhmm, okay."

Getting back to his looting of his bag, James redressed in his mechwarrior outfit, coolant vest on his body and class B Skjaldborg mechwarrior clothes underneath, for the first time officially affiliating him with a unit. Stowing his original clothes, which now were dirty, smelled like all kinds of war, and probably torn in some places back in his bag. Quickly uploading the datapad from earlier to his computer, Damon finished securing his personal items and slung his bag over his shoulder. It would be a bit cramped in his mech cockpit, but he could strap it down above and behind his seat. Sensing James' impatience, Damon tapped him on his shoulder to indicate he was ready.

"We're leaving now, take care."

"You too."

As they made their way silently downstairs and out of the building they made sure to keep using handsignals only. Rather than risk an alarm tripping while exiting out the back, James and Damon exited from the front. The explosions and gunfire seemed close, too close, but for whatever reason they weren't aimed at them. "Lets move fast."

The two rounded the building in a hurry, hiding in the shadows while scanning the vast open compound for enemies. It was then that he noticed the four techs laying, probably dead, in the direction towards the first mechbay, where they were headed.

"Yours?" Damon asked quietly, to which James solemnly nodded.

[[kinda rushed, didn't really read what else was written...hopefully I didn't miss much or anything important. Housesitting and have all-day lifeguard training. kicking my @ss...]]

[Grafvitnir]

Sisgurd turned his gaze toward Lina, "Velkomin, Hauptmann Thorin! Take all the weaponry you need! I have a few grenades and jarnfolk pistols here somewhere, such as Graaf here carries. They are finely crafted, and extremely accurate! You would be more than welcome to take a sword, axe or spear as well if it suits you, I have been trying to keep the old crafts alive in my new home." He starts bustling around, collecting the various weapons scattered around his shop.
Meanwhile, Graaf moves to the other room, changing out of his dirtied travelling clothes and into his piloting gear, a Northwind-style utilitarian kilt, black baselayer t-shirt and cooling vest. When he emerges, he holds under his arm his father's old Neurohelmet, an outdated light gray ceramic model, with a full-face HUD visor, tartan flashes and nordic runes of luck, strength, and protection painted on it.

Edited by Grafvitnir, 03 March 2012 - 01:02 AM.

[Sloth901]

"Nathan stood and listened as Graff and Lina as they spoke to the man in an unfamiliar language and as Thom and Draco started to wear Dallian uniforms, Nathan just sat in the corner thinking. If the dropship was under attack then it probably wouldnt last long. and he had lost contact with Lugz and the techs when he left the rooftops. He needed to get back to them. If he stuck around here to long it may be to late.

Nathan stepped foward from the shadowy corner into the flood lights. "Try and save both hovercrafts, after we have Lina's mech I have to go and help the rest of the Vulkaneers."he began to look angry " I will not lose any to this scum." He kicked the dead Mercinary and picked up his assault rifle. " I will not be wearing that uniform. If the diversion fails I will distract them enough for you to sneak in." He checked the magazine and shouldered the weapon. The spare magazines filled up his pockets and he walked towards the door. He turned to Drac "If you need me to distract them, contact me on channel 7" he gestured towards the radio "Its the Channel my merc unit is using. Ill radio you when im in position."

Edited by Sloth901, 03 March 2012 - 04:43 AM.

[Nor Azman]

[[Welcome OffC3nter!

Grafvitnir, on 27 February 2012 - 10:19 PM, said:

[[Hell yes! There are probably a few mechwarriors running about in the same situation we've found ourselves in. Just introduce yourself and start with where your character's gotten to at this point, I'm sure we'll come across a good point for your character to run into us!]]

You are welcome to join man. The Windborne Raven is shaping out good because of the good players joining in. Just throw your hat man and see where it hangs.

*looks at Damon* Sorry Damon. Am not a Snow Raven. Just a Browncoat aiming to misbehave. *eats his can of beans*

*looks at Thom* Well Azman is not that far a d-bag. *pats azman on the back* Just a little misunderstood, trumatized childhood and all. *azman goes sulking at a corner playing with his toy dinosaurs* See thom what you've done.

Ps. the following post is rather long. Really couldnt sleep last night so went typing. Rambled for a bit Im afraid. I hope noone minds. Mostly pading of azman's background]]


Azman stood still, tilting his head a little and simply taking a moment to gaze at the downed Vulcan battlemech, believing in the pleasure of pausing to appreciate those little moments. The Vulcan seemed to be sitting on the street, leaning against the side of a building, as if resting, as everyone should from time to time. It looked to have been shot up, its right arm visibly missing but otherwise in one piece. Azman dropped his mask and smiled genuinely, bowing deeply at the resting giant.

Azman had always adhered to the kuritan belief that within every battlemech resides a unique kami or god-spirit. It was always best to be humble towards something greater then yourself, as he remained bowed for a good second or two. Azman then solemly approached the Vulcan and placed his small hand (comparatively) to the giant’s feet, looking up at the giant’s silent face.

“Under the standard norms of warfare,” Azman intoned, “And all the conventions of the Inner Sphere, I, Azman, claim you as salvage.” Azman waited for a moment, then let go his hand. The wind was blowing. The pact had been made.

With a boyish grin Azman quickly scampered up the Vulcan, like some sort of browncoat raccoon, looking for the hatch to the cockpit.

“You know, I once met a fellow, callsign Vulcan Raven,” Azman began, trying to strike up a conversation with the Vulcan battlemech. “Ran with a group called Fox Hound back at Moses. Maybe you heard of him? No?” Azman looked for footholds and grips as he climbed steadily upwards, “Big man. Carried a big gatling gun. Was done in by a guy named Snake…Ah.” Azman had reached the open hatch to the mech’s cockpit. The cockpit was empty. Whoever the Vulcan’s pilot was had already fled.

Azman squeezed inside. Finders’ keepers’. Azman frowned however when he noticed the computers had been locked down.

‘Password’ the console screen flashed, demanding.

Azman flexed his fingers, summoning all his hacking skills, and typed,

‘Password’

….Accepted…

‘Code Verification’ the console screen challenged.

Again Azman took a deep breath and typed,

‘1234’

…Accepted…

…….

Reactor: Online.
Sensors: Online.
Weapons: Online.
All Systems: Nominal.

……

Azman clapped in glee. He was sometimes amazed at his own computer skills. Azman quickly scanned all readouts of the mech. The Vulcan had been damaged. Its right arm was gone along with its Firestorm Flamethrower customarily associated with it. Its right knee actuator seemed really busted. But otherwise, some damage here and there, the Vulcan was still functioning. Most important its AC2 Armstrong Autocannon and its Randell Medium Laser to the Vulcan’s right and left torso were operational. As well as its Sperry Browning Heavy Machine Gun to the Vulcan’s left arm.

Azman smiled. Shiny.

Out of habit, Azman searched the inner pockets of his brown coat and placed a toy dinosaur at the control console. Azman smiled. Now that the cockpit seemed more homely, comes the difficult part.

Azman took the neurohelmet in hand. A neurohelmet was the biofeed to a battlemech, providing the giant machine a sense of balance and stability. A neurohelmet was set to a pilot’s unique alpha brain wave pattern. Any change of pilot would require a technician some hours to celebrate the mech’s neurohelmet accordingly. Azman didn’t have a techie at hand, nor did he have hours to sit idly in a hot combat zone. Azman looked at the neurohelmet, like a cliff diver looking down before a dangerous plunge.

…As if you really want to live…

Azman spit and plunged the neurohelmet unto his head…

Azman knew he was screaming…but did it really matter… as he passed out to a place where all screamings were....


“What do we do Azman?” Liu Bei asked, fear in his eyes. Fear was in everyone’s eyes, Azman knew, even his. Sun Quan had no answer. Even brash and aggressive Tsao Tsao seemed subdued. Little Ivonava, Quiet Ivonava, always at the back, with red tussled hair, and freckles on her face looked to Azman, her eyes asking for answers. How old was she? 12 maybe. Azman looked at everyone. They were all children. Children in uniform maybe but still children. Child-Soldiers of House Liao. Proud and true. Born to protect their world from invaders. And No Return was theirs. By birth and by tradition. They were all part of the ‘Raccoon Brigade’. The CCAF unit for the ‘little tigers’ of the local militia. Their job was scouting and scavenging and other light infantry duties. The Raccoon Brigade did their duty with pride – to defend their planet, to defend their world. Azman did a head count of everyone gathered. 13 heads. This was whats left of the Raccoon Brigade now. All were looking to him. Azman was the oldest. He would be 17 soon. He had survived many skirmishes before. He can protect them all.

The raid happened so fast. In the very early hours. There was confusion and fighting. Azman found himself still alive at morning. He was there at the edge of the jungle, camouflaged, hiding, when dawn broke and the company of No Return’s CCAF militia battlemechs broke the jungle’s edge to meet the enemy. Crazy and jubilant, Azman jumped out from hiding to cheer and celebrate. In lances of three, 12 battlemechs in all, they seemed to Azman like giant champions in House Liao’s colours, going forth to meet the House Davion invaders. Azman in boyish glee cheered till his voice was hoarse as mech battle broke infront of him. Now the tide will turn! Now we will win!

Very quickly however the cheering died in his throat. Azman’s champions of No Return were losing. They were being swept aside one by one by superior firepower. Azman was dumbfounded. Too quickly, all too quickly, the last of No Return’s garrison militia battlemech fell in a firey heap. Azman stood still, alone…

That was in the morning. Now they were what’s left. Azman knew the Reccon Brigade, or whats left of it, was completely cut off and surrounded. Even if they could somehow escape, all of them would be quickly arrested by the CCAF, court martialled for desertion and promptly executed by firing squad. There was no way out. “When in desperate situation, you must fight” echoed a line in an ancient military text all House Liao soldiers had to memorize by heart. Azman look to all his comrades, sincerely in the eye, all of whom looking back, waiting, expecting.

“I am tired of running. We will fight. This land is ours. Our cause is just. God is on our side.” Then Azman smiled a sheepish smile, trying to lighten the mood, “Don’t worry,” Azman smiled, “We are just too pretty for God to let us die.”

Everyone smiled, Liu Bei, Sun Quan, Tsao Tsao, even Little Ivonava with her red tussled hair and freckles on her face. The belief that was shining in their eyes. Azman will always remember that…

Azman face was determined as was everyone's. Resolved. “Fix bayonets,” He asked his comrades, and they followed. No more words Azman signalled to move. The remnants of the Recoon Brigade, child-soldiers of House Liao, went forth to repel House Davion professional regulars.

…I can protect everyone…


Azman came to, mucus running down his nose and mouth. He had passed out. Hopefully not too long. “Sorry about that Vera,” Azman apologized to his new mech-partner, wiping his face clean. Out of habit, Azman pushed all lingering bad memories back to that place where all screamings were.

“Okay girl. Let’s get up.” Azman set the controls, willing the Vulcan to get on its feet. Azman had to admit to himself, he was not the best pilot there was in the Inner Sphere. Training in mech piloting takes years of dedication, usually starting from young. Azman had only adhoc pilot training, only when he had left the service of the Houses to scarp a living in the frontier border worlds of the Periphery, some years back. Still Azman was a decent enough a pilot to... The Vulcan was upright though a little shaky on its feet. The Vulcan’s right knee actuator flashing all sorts of warning in the control console. Ignore. Ignore.

“Okay girl. Just one step at a time.” Azman cooed his new friend. Azman grimaced, feeling the Vulcan’s pain as each time weight was put on its right knee. Azman knew Vera won’t be running any battlemech marathon anytime soon, but she can still move. “That’s a good girl.”

Azman checked the IFF read picked up by mech’s sensors.

“Friends and Foes,” Azman mused as he and the Vulcan hobbled down the street with browncoat mischief in mind.

Edited by Nor Azman, 03 March 2012 - 07:25 AM.

[Nor Azman]

[[OOC: Since everyone is getting on their battlemechs and riding to battle. Here's an old anthem to battle from back in the day (woah has it been that long?) to set the mood. Hope you all enjoy. From the immortals - Manowar. The Power Of Thy Sword



...Let us drink to the battles we lived and we fought...]]

[Listless Nomad]

[[how about you were captured and are being held in the base graaf and the rest are about to invade? They can stumble across you and liberate you. Then you are a part of the group and can saddle up in a mech. They were trying to beat the start up code out of you or something.Ps, Damon and I are at a different compound so don't think you missed your chance by my post below]]

Damon Howe, on 02 March 2012 - 08:07 PM, said:

The two rounded the building in a hurry, hiding in the shadows while scanning the vast open compound for enemies. It was then that he noticed the four techs laying, probably dead, in the direction towards the first mechbay, where they were headed.

"Yours?" Damon asked quietly, to which James solemnly nodded.

With Damon covering him, James gently tried the handle of one of the side doors to the mech bay, and surprisingly found it open. James gulped and slowly cracked the door, fully expecting to be cut down by rifle fire at any moment. The mechbay was indeed occupied, with mercenary techs climbing all over some mechs in the bay, disassembling for parts the ones they couldn't get the codes to. James waved Damon in and they took cover behind some crates near the door and watched the activity. A few feet away stood James' Centurion - thankfully as of yet untouched by the scavengers. Resplendently painted in the parade colors of the Robinson Rangers, it appeared they couldn't decide if they wanted to risk stealing from a House aligned unit, so they contented themselves with working on the lesser known merc company mechs first. Looking up at his mech, James nodded as Damon pointed out his Jenner a little further down the bay. It wasn't too far, but would be difficult to get to without a distraction. James squatted down and whispered his plan to Damon over the din of the techs cannibalizing mechs.

"Alright buddy, I'm gonna sneak up into my mech, get her purring and then raise holy hell. When they go crazy, make a break for your mech and join me in the yard outside." James closed his eyes at the thought of his unarmed techs outside. "Before those ******** murdered my men, they sent me a communique telling me my mech was ready to roll. I think it's time they be avenged. Still, let's try to be a little discreet - tightband communications only. Stay in visual contact at all times and stay on TacCom 4.We won't be on the same IFF so watch your fire if we get separated."

James shook Damon's hand and got up to run to his mech.

"It's been real buddy - see you on the other side."

Slinging his assault rifle, James crouched quietly amongst the shadows, until he was concealed by his mech's feet. It never failed to awe him, each time he looked up, as if an ant, toward his mech's cockpit. As quietly as he could, he began ascending the metal gantry stairs towards his mech's cockpit. Arriving at the top without incident, James entered his mech's cockpit and dogged down the hatch behind him. He stowed the rifle in an equipment locker, and removed his now empty thigh holster. James then sat down in the command chair of his mech and looked out of the front viewport at the mech hanger. James could see Damon below, crouched and waiting for his distraction.

With calm and measured precision, James began connecting the leads to his cooling vest, hoping that the combat on the way to the hanger hadn't damaged it. Once he was connected, he placed the neurohelmet on, feeling it rest on his padded shoulders. Flipping a switch, James activated the mech's computer and punched in his personal passcode. He then waited for the automated authentication sequence to begin.

The monotone voice of the computer played in his speakers. "Two Capellans walk into a Bar"

"And the bar explodes" James replied with a small smile.

"Voice print confirmed."

With a slight rumble under his feet, James felt the fusion reactor coming alive. With a deep breath, he flipped the main ignition switch. The rumbling increased, and he felt a rush of warm air swirl around him. The merc techs outside began to notice a live mech, and began shouting and pointing.

"You can't do a damn thing to stop me now!" James yelled at his viewport. His hands flew over the consoles, flipping switches and ensuring everything was in order. James smiled as he saw things were green across the board. His techs had done their jobs before they were gunned down. Now it was time to get even.

The computer spoke once more:

Reactor: Online.
Sensors: Online.
Weapons: Online.
All Systems: Nominal.


Gripping the dual joysticks, James' smile grew wider as his arms moved up to ready positions, and the techs outside of his viewport began scattering. Seeing them run, just as his own techs must have, began filling James with a kind of murderous rage. He flipped on his external speakers.

"Don't run! Let's be friends!"

With that he squeezed the triggers on his joysticks and fired his medium lasers. The twin beams pumped kilojoules of energy into the ferrocrete floor, tracing parallel beams in the material until meeting a group of fleeing mercs, and incinerating them. James pressed on his foot pedals and stalked his mech out the the hangerbay. From his new vantage, he could see the whole city was burning, as well as the lighting and thunder of battles still ongoing in the city streets. Firing his lasers indiscriminately, James hoped that he would draw enough attention to himself to allow Damon a shot at making it to his Jenner.

The techs and mercs had scattered across the open area in front of the mech hanger, desperately trying to make it back to the safety of the ruined buildings and streets of the city. James spotted one merc furiously yelling into a radio and vaporized him with a laser.

"I hope to God you made it Damon" James whispered to himself as he spotted a dust cloud moving towards the mechbays.

[[PS my mech
]]

Edited by Listless Nomad, 03 March 2012 - 01:09 PM.

[Listless Nomad]

[[nice job Offcenter. That worked out well and now we can weave you in. Welcome to the group. Should have you inside a mech in a couple posts Thanks for the kind words earlier by the way]]

[Orcinus]

Alright. Should be just ahead.

As the Grand Dragon closed on the mechbays, it became apparent that someone else had--

Listless Nomad, on 03 March 2012 - 12:07 PM, said:

"Don't run! Let's be friends!"

What the--?

Just ahead was a Centurion, firing medium lasers at people on the ground scattering and scampering for cover. It was bright red with black and white accents, bearing an insignia of the--

1st Robinson Rangers.

He recalled meeting some techs from the Rangers earlier this morning. They had seemed to be a friendly enough bunch, even inviting him to lunch, though his commitments had led him to decline. His attention turned back to the medium 'mech.

I imagine that those mercs haven't gotten to that 'mech yet unless--

Something caught his eye. The Grand Dragon stopped and looked down slightly. Among the corpses strewn along the ground were four bodies--the 1st Robinson Rangers techs from earlier this morning.

...what is this?

By this time, the Centurion had stopped firing and turned towards the 60-ton newcomer, weapons bared and ready to go.
The Grand Dragon turned to the 50-ton shield-bearer in kind.

You didn't...

[[

]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

Listless Nomad, on 03 March 2012 - 12:07 PM, said:

[["Two Capellans walk into a Bar"

"And the bar explodes" James replied with a small smile.

"Voice print confirmed."

[[Not funny.]]


Thom chanced upon his reflection on some mirrior that seemed randomly mounted on the shop's wall. He grimaced at what he saw. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him from what seemed like some strangers face, several minor cuts and scratches mared his face and he had bags under his eyes. And his hair, unkept and in disarray. He turned away from the mirrior, and took up one of the dead merc's caps, he turned it over in his hands and looked it over.

"One size fits most."

He quoted the tag, he chuckled and stuffed his hair up under his cap. He checked his reflection again and other than ths shedded front of the uniform and looking like he just got done going off on a bender, he looked almost like any of the Dalian's he saw earlier. Hefting up the assault rifle he went over to see if the rest of the group was ready to go.

The Oldman and Lina were carrying on and on in gibberish, Nate was skulking in a darkened corner, and Draco was dressed up like a clown as well. Graff was dressed up in his mechwarrior gear. Thom impatiently waited stamping one foot then the other.

"Hey Yo!!! We's gonna do dis or what? I's ain't got all night."

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 03 March 2012 - 05:36 PM.

[Damon Howe]

Damon had to hand it to James...he got the job done. With the techs scattering around the room and the mercs either finding cover or getting massacred, Damon had no trouble reaching his Jenner. As he clampered out onto the gantry, he noticed his mech cockpit open. ...Dont...please...

And sure enough, there was someone shouting inside.

"Da**it password...password...umm, s**t, I don't know! Sakura! Cherry Blossoms!"

Oh....

Damon had experience in electronic warfare...between the Skjaldborg and Wolf's Dragoons, a lot or experience. Needless to say, his mech's onboard computer wasn't the easiest nut in the world to crack.

And it wasn't forgiving if you failed either.

The man suddenly screamed in pain, flailing as he undoubtedly attempted to throw off his neurohelmet. Damon simply sat back, observed his surroundings for any danger, and waited a few seconds for the man's screams to cease. By now James' Centurion moved out of the mechhanger, and eager to catch up Damon ditched the shotgun and pulled out his own helmet. Damon winced as he saw the twitching remains of the merc who thought he could BS his way through a computer hack. Too bad for him, his mech was programmed to scramble anyone's brain who failed the password five times in five minutes.

Tossing the body out the side, Damon quickly closed the hatch and secured his cargo, datapad still in his pocket.

"Voice Activation Password." Came the feminine reply.

"A Snow Raven wastes nothing. It works in harmony with other beasts and is the perfect companion."

"Voice Activation Confirmed."

"Thank you Amai Sakura, it's a pleasure as always."

The merc did have one thing right. The name of his mech was clearly displayed on his left arm, along with the characteristic young, red-haired female in a schoolgirl uniform that made his lance so well known throughout the Skjaldborg.

After hearing shooting outside, Damon rushed the startup, hoping that his partner wasn't having too much fun without him.

"Reactor, online."
"Sensors, online."
"Weapons systems, online."
"ECM, online."
"All systems, nominal."

Not bothering to waste time, damon throttled the mech forward, surprising all the personnel stil in the hanger that another mech had powered up in their midst. Ignoring their small arms fire and racing out of the hanger, Damon came out in the middle of a now three-way standoff.

The Centurion was squared off against a Grand Dragon, which was across the street but approaching the depot. Both had seemingly become distracted by the nearby mercs, who had started to organize a resistance, and it seemed that neither had fired a shot at the other yet. Just as he was placing his sights on the mech, he recognized the paintjob as Skjaldborg as well.

Now confused and very curious, as he wasn't expecting another Skjaldborg unit for at least a week. Quickly establishing laser communications with both mechs, Damon spoke into his mike.

"This is Damon Howe, Korpral of the Skjaldborg Mercenary Unit. I am piloting the Jenner Amai Sakura. Centurion and Grand Dragon pilots, please respond and confirm status, over."

[[The last part can be changed around if you guys want. Really tired, did the best I could with it. Also, Skjaldborg has a confirmation code so make up one Orc. Nomad you report your name and unit, and I guess provide info confirming you are who you say you are. Then we can start kicking some major...buttocks.]]

Edited by Damon Howe, 03 March 2012 - 08:03 PM.

[Grafvitnir]

[[Hectic day today, but I should be writing a longish post sometime tonight. Anyone who wants to converse with Sisgurd or discuss our plan more should post IC or OOC soonish, otherwise I'll be mounting up and it'll be time for some good old-fashioned action!]]

[[Update: Ironhawk has just done a beautiful custom interpretation of Graaf's 'Mech!Many, many thanks are due to him!]]

Edited by Grafvitnir, 03 March 2012 - 08:18 PM.

[Orcinus]

[[
Speaking of repaints, Damon's Jenner, for those who are curious.

]]

[Thom Frankfurt]

[[Lol I love the girl painted on the Jenner. Oh you guys and your mechs that are for sure in the game.]]

[[Oh and @ Azman, it's always good to find a fellow ManOwaR fan. Hail and Kill]]

Edited by Thom Frankfurt, 03 March 2012 - 09:51 PM.

[Damon Howe]

Orcinus, on 03 March 2012 - 09:03 PM, said:

[[
Speaking of repaints, Damon's Jenner, for those who are curious.

]]

[[


LOVE the Jenner Orc!!! Thanks a ton for making it!]]