Infestation (Starcraft RP)

Started by Rachubka, August 02, 2010, 07:35:21 PM

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Rachubka

[Begin Transmission]

This is colony Code 0917, Jer-Kara. Emergency distress call. There’s something attacking the colony! An alien life form. If there is anyone out there, please send help quick! Evacuation is the only way we can survive. Without help, we- [static  & weapon fire] No! Please! I –Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Hissssssssssss...


[End Transmission]

The image faded to green then to black. It flashed the date in the bottom right corner of the screen several times. ‘February 16th, 2499’. Finally, the image disappeared completely into the projector sitting on an elegant wooden desk.

“Play it again,” a stern, veteran voice muttered from a chair behind the wooden fixture. As soon as he asked, the image popped up again and the desperate call for help replayed. He chewed on the unlit cigar in his mouth, wondering exactly what all of this meant for him. Did the colony discover something underneath the surface? If so, would it be worth bringing into light? Or maybe, just maybe, it was something beyond Terrans.

The door to the older man’s office slid open, a young man walking in soon after. He approached the desk in stride, taking a moment to recognize the distress call, and then pulling out his lighter to give his commander what he thought to be a well needed spark to bring the end of the cigar to life. The young man in an officer uniform waited for the tell-tale puff of smoke to escape his superior’s lips before speaking.

“It’s a fairly new colony,” the young man started, moving into place in front of the elder’s desk, standing at attention as soon as he did so. “Are they even worth trying to protect now? It’s been a few hours, at least...”

“You should know that colonists’... curiosity is rather infectious,” the older man replied. His tone seemed to let on that he knew more than he was suggesting, though his face gave no clue. The smoke emanating from his cigar and mouth didn’t help anyone read him. He rubbed the scruff of his salt and pepper beard, thinking about his next few words carefully.  “It was really only a matter of time until this sort of thing happened. We need to send people down there to clean up whatever it is’.”

“Typical,” the young officer started, relaxing his hands at his sides to give himself some reprieve. If he really thought that the older man cared, it wouldn’t have tried his luck. “They couldn’t leave it alone... but who’s to say that those that we send down won’t cause just as much trouble for us?” The young man’s uniform suggested officer, with the stripes and medals to go a step further and suggest a general or commander. The emblem stitched beside his name was clear enough in stating his allegiance to the Kel-Morian Combine. His elder, however, was dressed far more relaxed, albeit, elaborate and important.

“How else?” The old man smirked, his cigar somehow hanging from his mouth despite that. He looked over his shoulder just as the transmission stopped for the fifth time, an entire person had literally materialized before their eyes.

The young officer stumbled for a few seconds, reaching into the holster at his hip for his rather archaic looking pistol. He managed to point it at the newcomer, but it already had its sights on him.

“Relax.  She’s with us. She’ll be making sure that your crack team of soldiers don’t get too... curious.” He smiled again, though this one was less clever than the first. His right hand moved from his lap and onto the back of the woman’s left thigh, climbing all the way to her defined bottom and giving it a not-so-gentle smack.

“I... I see. Your taste for theatrics hasn’t let off in the slightest.” The officer coughed into a leather clad hand before placing it back at his side again. His other hand soon joined the first as soon as the pistol was put away. “A bodyguard and a playmate. I can only wish to be where you are in the years to come. “

As he remarked about her, he took notice of just what made up this person. Though this was no ordinary person. Wearing a tight jumpsuit with key crystal blue plating in important areas, this figure was decidedly female. Busty breasts covered by the plating with a small button over the center of the chest, armored her pelvis and private regions as well as her thighs, calves, forearms and biceps. Her eyes were covered by alternate coloured lens set of goggles, one red, and the other blue. Holding a standard issue ghost canister rifle with a few modifications. It seemed to be fitted to better suit close combat, with rapid fire capabilities and a shorter barrel to allow for easier movement in tight spaces, and a longer clip for more ammunition in a row. She had deep brown hair that looked entirely natural and would probably reach down to her shoulder blades if let loose. It was kept out of her way in part due to her goggles, the other thanks the hair tie that kept it into a spiky ponytail. The officer swallowed once after his rather shallow assessment. She lowered her weapon at the same time.

“I’ll be sure to get you your team. Sit tight.” He turned on his heel and left the room through the sliding door that he had come in from.

“He’s not lying; he’ll work diligently to get you the best operatives that there is to offer.” The ghost set down her on the desk, noting the way the older man was looking at her. He was just about to ask her the question she had just answered. The older man’s expression changed quickly, eliciting a sigh from the brunette. She nimbly removed her goggles and slid underneath the desk in a single movement.

“Then... what is it that you’ll do if one of them strays?” Though he asks this in the clearest of tones, he has a dirty grin on his face as he leans into his chair a bit. The ghost’s gloved fingers move to undo the front of his pants.

“I’ll kill them,” she says before beginning the very deed that coursed through the older man’s thoughts for the last few minutes. He groaned slowly, the sounds mixing with those that were coming from underneath the desk.

“I knew there were many reasons why I keep you around...”




The long awaited Starcraft RP has arrived! All general rules of RPing apply (No godmoding, etc.). On top of those, I cannot have anyone in this RP actively participate as Protoss or Zerg. It just won’t make any sense. Also, naturally I just wrote in ‘that’ bit to reel in some people, but this RP is not focused solely on the act. I welcome it, surely, but considering the cast that has showed interest in the interest probe, this is going to primarily be an RP more along the lines of... well, RP that doesn’t revolve around sex. Any plot devices that you would like to include in the RP should be addressed to me first! Last, but not least, I cannot have more than one ghost in the RP. Why? Because that would definitely sidetrack the role that I have for the character above. Not to mention that given the opportunity, this RP would probably have six ghosts in it.

Not really a rule, but I am expecting quite a few RPers that are more than willing to write in detail! Any applications that come into this thread that aren’t up to snuff, I’m not going to be afraid to scrap ‘em. As mentioned in the interest probe, there is going to be rankings to characters and they will be heeded.  No one will be above captain, of course.

Uh... that’s about it. I’ll let people yell at me in this thread to clear things up.

OOC Thread!
IC Thread!

[u][b]Character Template[/b][/u]

[b]Name & Rank:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Class:[/b] (Marine, Firebat, Medic, Marauder (for variety's sake), Goliath pilot, Wraith pilot, Dropship pilot (only 1 sorry, first come first serve), Siege tank pilot (Write up two profiles for this, as it probably takes two people to man a siege tank), Vulture pilot, SCV pilot. Anything else, bring to my attention!)

[b]Equipment:[/b] (Standard issue weapons for the given class, plus any side items he/she may have)

[b]Physical Description:[/b] (What they look like, armour not included, since...)

[b]Vehicle / Armour Description:[/b] (Special details / decals, the like)

[b]Personality:[/b]

[b]Bio:[/b]

Rachubka

#1
Character Template

Name & Rank: Jenna Hartfield (Ghost No. 19842)
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Class: Ghost

Equipment: A heavily modified canister rifle, firing smaller rounds and having a much longer clip and a silenced barrel much shorter than usual, made for closer encounters. Can be used as a sniper rifle with a laser scope add-on and sniper rounds. A P220, accompanied with a suppressor. Several clips of ammunition line her belt. Rifle can magnetically stick to her back thanks to her suit, while her pistol does the same on her thigh.

Physical Description: Mid-back length brown hair, often worn in a spiked ponytail. Her skin colour a healthy biege tan, but that's as much as anyone can tell from her face. Her Hostile Environment Suit prevents anyone from making any other assumptions. Curvy and busty in an almost goddess like figure, carved by angels, she seems rather detached from what goes on around her. A true professional. Rather, a programmed one.

Vehicle / Armour Description: The pale blue jumpsuit squeezing her features and a metallic navy blue coloured plating in key areas, though it only covers things like her thighs, calves, her forearms, and chest. The jumpsuit rides up her backside some, but doesn't reveal anything important as plating covers what her undersuit wouldn't. It seems to be designed for aesthetic reasons, to accentuate her body as much as it is for tactical reasons. Her goggles are kept at the top of her head if they are not in use. They also serve as a communications device. Each eye of her goggles are different colours, one red, the other green.

Personality: Rather aloof and distant. Makes conversation if it is directed at her, but makes no effort to socialize. Never disobeys an order from a higher rank, no matter what it is.

Bio: Her history is unknown to her and even though it is not in the Kel-Morian's MO to restrict their ghosts, Jenna has no recollection of her past; a number of inhibitors are keeping her powers, emotions, and thoughts in check. Those that do know anything about the ghost operative is sworn to secrecy. She wouldn't know where to look for these people, even if she wanted to.

Aiden

#2
Character Template





























Name & Rank: Brock "Brox" Vulcan, Assistant Overseer(Kel-Morian Military)
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Class:  Firebat

Equipment:
CMC-230 XF, Protype "Firebat" combat suit
Perdition Flamethrower, Dual mounted flame throwers mounted on each arm. Plasma tanks strapped to back to keep maximum ammo.
Double bandoleer of "Hell Fire" grenades- Incinerate on contact and spreads in a nice large radius.
Two large, thick jagged stilettos (nearly 2ft long) can be latched onto his armored plated fist to go hand to hand if he runs out of Grenades and Napalm.

Physical Description:
Brox is a giant of a man, standing at 6'6 and about 250 pounds of muscle and inked skin. He lived most of his early life as a miner, digging ore and vespene gas out of the various fringe worlds and meteors for the Kel-Morian Cause, which led him to his rather intimidating physique.

Vehicle / Armour Description: (Special details / decals, the like)
"Kiss the Chef" - Etched in black across his waist of his armor.
Personality:
Brox is a man of action, with deep hatred against the confederacy. He was among the first to sign up during the guild wars and holds many accomplishments as one of the first to man the "Firebat" suit. He feels at home in the flames, watching his enemy burn. The gasses from the plasma has roughed over his voice over the years giving him a deeper, rougher (nearly draconian) tone. In the heat of combat, the combination of gasses and "Stim" makes him a frightening man who does not stop until his tanks run empty and all that stand before and behind him are enveloped in flame.

Bio:
Brox was born and raised a miner since they day he could walk, he is proficient in all machinery that digs from pickax to laser drills. At the age of twelve his father taught him the ways of smelting ore and refining the precious vespene that kept their family wealthy and hard at work. When the confederacy's greed came knocking, the Kel-Morian answered with violence. He was no older than 15 when the confederacy began the war by attacking their claim on Onuru Sigma, his father died in that surprise attack and he swore vengeance by enlisting the moment he got off the rescue vessel.

He served the next four years fighting confederacy and when the war was over, he had to accept Confederacy rule but no true Kel-Morian actually ever submitted to the backwater hicks. Now serving in their Kel-Morian branch of the Confedracy armies, he is one more "accidental incineration" of a confederacy officer away from an entire re-socialization.

Rachubka

Oh yeah... good eye, Mr. Aiden. Forgot about those guys being all backwards in their rankings.

Skystomp

#4

Name: Robert "2 Gun" DiCarlo

Rank: Mercenary Clan Marine Raider, no 'official' rank, but considered to be equal to a Second Lieutenant.

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Class: Marine, Special Weapons unit

Equipment: C-14 "Impaler" Gauss Rifle, twin modified Heavy C-10 "Wasp" Gauss Pistols, C-24 "Swarm" Heavy Gauss rifle (think squad machine gun, or rotary gun and you'll be close to what I'm thinking of)

Physical Description: Robert is an average looking man, a little rough around the edges, but with clean skin, clean back hair pulled back into a mid-back pony tail and skin that's about normal for a spacer dealing with hard radiation from an early age. His eyes however are an off shade of muddy blue, almost a trademark of his clan. Heavy Italian blood giving them the dark hair and easily tanned complections, but one and all, have blue eyes of one shade or another. On his left shoulder he bears the burned brand of his Clan, a fanged skull with a singe unblinking eye, the symbol of Clan Vangard. Around his right arm is a tattoo of coiled thorned ivy that has yet to be colored in. It's a work in progress.

Armour Description: CMC-401, clan modified armor. This armor has been painted blue/gray with red shoulder and arm markings. Affectionatly called the Dawn Guard by Clan members. The modification comes from a Clan IFF transponder that IDs Clan units from other Terran forces and a retractable shoulder spotlight that stores behind the right shoulder. Other changes are purely cosmetic.

Personality: Robert is a easy going young man, especially for one that boils down to a Mercenary working a contract. His first loyalty is to his Clan, his second is to his friends and comrades. Given that most of those are also from his Clan it's one and the same. He will gladly give you the shirt off his back or a helping hand up regardless if you're resoc marine or a green recruit. To him all marines are the same until they prove themselves other wise. He beleive that actions speak louder then words and those that complain the most don't really have what it takes to be a Terran Marine, regardless of their faction. He can be as loud and as foul as any Marine you can to meantion, but on a mission he's all business, but he will crack a joke if he thinks it's appropriate. Outside of mission and during down time he'll crack a joke about anything and everything and make light of even the direst situation he's been in. He's been known to pitch in and do dirty grunt work with the mechanics in the bowels of ships, he may not have training, but every helping hand is a hand that will keep a ship running.

Bio: Robert was born into the roving gypsie miners that would in the future become the Devil Dogs mercenary company. From a young age he was taught, fleese the stupid to make them think, respect the brave for they are few, don't tread on the poor for they have little but their thoughts and honor and that the rich and powerful always have something to give. During the Guild Wars the clans took up arms and sold their services to the highest bidders, one week raiding vespine gas mines for one guild, the next staging a raid on a rival guild to kidnap scientists and technicians. They were very good at what they did and very honorable. This caused some friction with the various Guilds until they realized one important thing. While they would work for who ever could afford the price, that didn't mean they would spill all the information they had from previous employers. The Clans had their honor and would never give that information away. However that didn't mean they didn't use that information when they raided a Guild who had a weakness in say the left side electonic fences that would admit a force without tripping a single alarm.

The Clans are considered to be Specialists in Generalities, each being trained well enough to do a variety of tasks and their armors reflected that. Each suit having a host of tools built into the gauntlets to allow a wide variety of missions to be taken by a single squad. As a whole they distrust the entire Ghost program seeing it as a mental abomination at best and mental rape of young children at the worst. Each of the Clans has their own way of training gifted youngsters, but, in general each Clan teaches the Gifted to respect their powers, to use them wisely and to very abuse them least the Confederacy get their claws into them. That's not to say that there haven't been a number of incidents from Clan trained Gifted who have abused their powers, but the Clans are quick to police themselves of these trouble makers. The Clans look after their own. Good, and Bad. However the distrust of any 'offical' Confederacy Gifted is evident in their stiff, yet formal and polite demeanor. That's not to say a Ghost can't earn a Clansmen's trust, but it will never be given freely without proof of loyalty and friendship. However, once given, you can count on a Clansman to watch your back through thick, thin and to hell and back.

Robert himself is a second generation Marine Gunner totting around a modified C-24 "Swarm" gauss cannon. The C-24 was a Clan invention that was the next logical step in marine weapondry. One that the Confederation did not share. Given the lack of heavy vehicles it came down to the Marines to be able to carry around their own heavy weapons. This in turn insipred the Confederation to create the Marauder class of Marine.

Early on Robert knew he was destined to be a Marine, he had the hand eye cordination and the reflex speed to handle himself in almost any situation. It was during a simulation run he got the nick name 2-gun when he was given the ultimate Marine test. Fire 2 heavy pistols at once and plug the targets. He did much to the surprise of the Sargent who thought it was a fluke and made him do it two more times before he beleived what his eyes were seeing. Robert understands, however, that two pistol fighting is not a game and should only be used when the situation calls for it and has only had cause to use it once in combat when security forces were converging on his squad from more then one dirrection and the Swarm rifle wasn't going to be enough.
The only way you fail, is by not trying.
Linkara "I read it and I wish I hadn't!"

Aiden


Crovonovin

Character Template


Name & Rank: Elisabeth Bronski (Assistant Overseer)
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Class: Marine

Equipment:

  • C-14 Impaler
  • C-150 Ronin (Sidearm)
  • CMC-300 Powered Combat Suit
  • BE3 Grenades

Physical Description:
Elisabeth isn't one to put much stock in personal appearance--though many would-be admirers can attest to her savage sort of beauty--preferring to focus her efforts on more practical pursuits, such as ensuring that her body is in top physical condition.  She maintains that any marine worth their weight in armor should endeavor to turn their body into a weapon as lethal as their ordinance, a weapon that the Kel-Morian Military can use as they see fit.

Though not hardly devoid of curves, Elisabeth does her best to accentuate her fiercely athletic frame, frequently binding her breasts and exposing her well-defined torso in non-combat situations.  Knowing all too well that the Marines are by and large a male-centric organization, she constantly pushes herself both physically and mentally so that she may remain every bit as useful as a male soldier.

Vehicle / Armour Description:
Her Combat Armor bears no decals or unofficial markings, as befits someone with such a blunt and practical personality.  However, the interior of the suit is laden with a great deal of scratches from a heavy blade: tally marks, presumably signifying every personal kill throughout her career thus far.

Personality:
Elisabeth has adopted a very fatalistic approach to her life as a Marine.  Though she does not seek death as an End, she accepts it as an inevitability and shows no marked degree of fear in situations that may end with lethal consequences.  Her devotion to her government, to her planet, and to her Unit borders on the fanatical, and she makes no effort to hide the fact that she considers herself to be nothing more than a tool for those with power.  In spite of this, she seems to get absolutely no pleasure from killing or combat.  Her only desire is to protect and to safeguard the people of Moria, particularly her surviving family members.

Bio: (WIP)

Born of the union between an engineer and a miner, Elisabeth grew up in a harsh yet loving environment that prized familial ties above all else.  The definition of family was a loose one in her household, referring to anyone that she could trust and form an unbreakable bond with, regardless of actual blood relations.  It was a tie that went deeper than mere love or affection.  Family was something she would give her life to preserve, no matter what the circumstances.  As patriotic as she was, Elisabeth could not bring herself to put all of her faith in a military that she was not a part of, joining at the age of 18 so that she might be able to shield that which she held dear from any potential threats.

Rachubka

Whoa! Shihong came out of nowhere. Glad you're around, though!

Crovonovin

Like a Lurker I lie in wait, biding my time until just the right moment...then sneak out of nowhere and strike!

Er, post!

kingOFcalifornication

#9


Character Template

Name & Rank: Sergei Fedorov - Assistant Overseer
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Class: Marine

Equipment: Modified variant of the C-14 AC gauss rifle. Addition of retractable bayonet and extended clip. Standard C-7 pistol sidearm.

Physical Description: A bear of a man by any standards. Bodily, the man is built in an impressively solid manner and fairly chiseled, standing at roughly six foot, three inches tall. He sports a head of disheveled, medium length brown hair and a pair of steel colored eyes. Various scars occupy most of his left cheek. His facial features are typically relaxed and confident.

Vehicle / Armour Description: Standard set of CMC-400 power armor, adorned with countless scrapes, scratches, and the occasional missing chunk. The only unique factor to his armor is it's beige color and the addition of a large pauldron covering his left shoulder.

Personality: Sergei typically maintains a fairly nonchalant demeanor. Despite his physical attributes and profession, he is a mild-mannered individual. That is, when disregarding his occasional and legendary temper. He is fiercely loyal and prone to heroics. However, Sergei is not fanatical. A high level intelligence has both allowed him to survive and excel in his position. The majority of his actions are influenced by his very philosophical outlook.

Bio: His origins trace back to Tarsonis. The details of his birth are shady, though it is sure to have occurred somewhere in the seedy underbelly of the planet's vast urban networks. At some point, whether it be intentional or an act of a supreme being, Sergei was transported from a doomed orphanage to the planet Moria. Here, he thrived in a mining family for multiple years until opportunity came to him in the form of military service. The man quickly became a career Marine in order to satisfy his desire for knowledge, power, and slaughter. Naturally, he excelled at his duties through a combination of dedication, talent, and luck.

Writersblockade

#10
Definitely a WIP, since I haven’t played SC2, and it’s a loooong time since I got any SC1 in me. I will probably need a few cues from everyone to kinda make sure I’m keeping with the style of the game, so to speak.
Character Template

Name & Rank: Maddox
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Class: Marine

Equipment: C-14 Rifle “Mary Jane”, Suit-modded retractable bayonet blades attached to his forearms (big thanks for kOc. Retractable was the word I was looking for!)

Physical Description:
Just pushing 6 feet, and 205 pounds. His face generally displays an indication of rage, but as that look barely leaves his face, most people just assume he was born that way.

Vehicle / Armour Description: CMC-300 Combat Suit (Stim pack equipped). Battle scarred, with a small insignia of an LK on his left shoulder. The LK is accompanied by a silhouette of a woman bending over.

Personality: A very “matter-of-fact” type of guy, without being Captain Obvious. He has been psyche-profiled as being highly team oriented, to a fault. This has led him into multiple situations where unauthorized actions were taken by himself, to the perceived detriment of the mission. Not much of a conversationalist, he would only bother wasting breath on those who have seen death up close and personal. Another red-flag on his profile shows a higher-than-normal need for survival. Another potentially detrimental trait to missions that calls for sacrifice. 

Bio: As a member of the Confederate forces, Maddox saw his first round of combat on the losing side of a battle as a mere diversion. Fighting alongside men he had barely gotten to know, and watching them die off one by one. He continued to fall back alongside a ragged group of survivors before they were surrounded. The order was simple, surrender or die. The others sounded off on their ignorant threat to “kill them all” before promptly being gunned down by Maddox. Their false bravado went against the truth as he saw it, and he absolutely refused to die in such an empty conflict.

The unit that had finally surrounded them were mercenaries. Their Commander, a man who fashioned himself as simply “The Captain” immediately brought him in as a prisoner for questioning. To put it plainly, his ensuing torture was slow and painful. After confirming that he knew nothing of the real reason for their diversionary attack, he was scheduled to be executed. An order rearranged by The Captain himself on the day of the execution. His choice, again, was very simple. Join or Die. As a member of the Lady Killers, his tenacity in battle for both himself and those under him, was well respected. They worked for whoever had the credits, and for some time life was as good as it got for a guy like him.

All that would change with a decision that ended with a Terran officer killed, and Maddox placed on the chopping block to appease the hands that fed the LKs. Left to rot in a military prison, his struggle for survival only left him more battle-tested. All that was left, after four years in, was the constant itch of getting back in his suit. The traumatic dreams of stim-accelerated battles were the escape of his present reality. When the Terran officer came to see him, he already knew what his answer was. He could give a fuck what the mission entailed, as long as he got to go home again.
Story Lottery Profile
Here’s my O/Os!

I don't know who this Muse person is, but if it explains away the voices in my head, then I'm all for it!

JerichoMyers

#11
Name & Rank:Richard Undercroft/ First class Goliath pilot
Age:23
Gender:Male
Class: Goliath Pilot
Equipment: Flash bang grenades, standardized military assault rifle,

Physical Description:

Vehicle / Armour Description:

Personality:Richard is a unique character among the crack team. Through all those burly men and woman, there is a coward. Tough and cocky behind the suit, firing on hells creation, he would sooner leave his comrades to die than attempt a suicide mission. He's behind heroic's and with his slacker attitude and sarcasm, it's a wonder how he made it so far.

Bio: About three years ago, Richard was drafted into a militia during a massive anarchist riot. The city was in chaos and thousands were literately dieing by the hour. Military presence had faded away during the heated firing lines, wearing all authority was promptly murdered by these anarchistic ruffians. Serving with several militia factions in battling these malicious rebels, they came upon the military facility. Using these vehicles to combat and ultimately defeat the rebels, though this only meant immediate drafting. When the coming fleet arrived, they replenished the militia's needs along with added training camps, were the newly founded pilots would hone their skills. During these times, Richard combated multiple times in the goliath suit, but not outside.
It soon came time for actual military involvement. Requested by superiors among the militia control, Richard was now a military standard pilot. Though nothing special among his ranks, his skills were recognized in combat against ex-marines. Though rugged and rough around the edges, proving himself with unflinching bravery behind his suit gave him the nickname "Shallow courage". Ever since then, he's held that name with great pride, putting much initiative to keep that title. His superiors on the other hand frown upon him, desperately seeking to create a solid soldier. Training him amongst marines, they were suppose to transfer him to the marine unit.... until he stole military equipment. Fighting raiders on the Planet Braxis, Richard retreated. Outnumbered and out gunned by superior forces, many followed behind. Passing fleets killed all stragglers leaving Richard inside his Goliath for many days and nights. Presumed dead when Terrain recovered him, they soon brought him back to consciousness. It became clear that those were galactic raiders who raided Braxis's small military outpost.
Uncertain about his military future, there wasn't much time to debate where he was going. Being hand picked for vehicle support on a new mission to investigate a lost colony, Richard hesitates at this mission. He'll be going in without a giant metal walker with and only grunts. Preparing for what might be his final mission, Richard has sudden;y found religion, well any god is good enough for him.

Acid Lips

Character Template

Name & Rank: Jessica Kazura
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Class: Medic

Equipment: Standard Issued medivac suit. Handgun sidearm, first aid kit built inside her suit.

Physical Description:

Vehicle / Armour Description: She has altered her suit to have a built in first aid kit in case of emergency. She is always seen making alterations to her suit to better handle any situation.

Personality:She is a very caring girl. She cares a lot for the physical well being of any person but also their minds. She is a great listener and is always around when you need her. She is never afraid to be the therapist of a crew sort to speak and hear their problems.

Bio:

She is a old brat of the Terran army. Her parents both were infantry in the war. She grew in the war and saw what they did to her parents mentally and physically. She decided not to go route of battle but instead she would go through the other route, she trained to become herself a medic for the Terran army. Her parents were very proud of her and told her that was a very respectable position to study and not a lot of people study it because her own life would be in the hands of others, but at the same time their lives is on her hands. Even during her break from her studies she dedicated herself to study medicine, not only physical medicine but mental as well.

Her parents being always in battle always worried her, she was afraid of what someday she knew would come. One day she received news that her parents died in combat, the reason was that the medic got captured and while them decided to go ahead with the mission, her parents decided to go help the medic, they got the medic out but got themselves killed while she ran away that action ensured the mission success .

Jessica was devastated when she heard the news but she knew the day would come. She dedicated herself to study more and more. Making alterations to her suite to better ensure the survival of whatever group she would be placed in. Going on a couple of missions they were always won because in part for her medical skills. She has became a preferred medic to go in missions since she does not get in the middle of the fight like other medics, she stand behind and heal while they fight, she knows how to position herself in every situation to get the most advantage on her abilities. She is not only a excellent medic but she has a very analytical mind and knows about science because of her studies, stuff that would prove very valuable in some missions.

Out of all her advantage, her only weakness is combat. She cannot fire a gun even to save her life, she depends on others to fight for her since in her mind, if she keep them alive they would keep her alive as well. Due to her parents death she decided to not be a rules Nazi. If the time would come that by not obeying a mission would ensure something better to happen she will take the opportunity and bring her ideas to the group.

Rachubka

Yay! Lotso interest! There are still one or two from the interest probe that I'll wait up for.

Also! I know that the ranking system is a little goofy because the Kel-Morian's have like... 4 rankings. At this point, I think there are about 3-4 Assistant Overseers which I suppose I could pick from to be the Squad Leader, but would rather not if someone is more than willing to step up! Soooo, I would like a short essay as to why you should be running the show!

Otherwise, I'll just pick based on who I think is neat. :)

JerichoMyers

"Oh baby, you're looking fine tonight." Fitting new ammo chains int his custom Goliath, Richard was quietly in the hanger making slight additions to the 'Escape Artist'. Rolling on the trolley under large mechanical feet, two other mechanic's joined him in upgrading for more devious reasons. Stepping into Richard's private hanger, guns of all assortments hung along the walls, illegal skulls of victims were nailed in his trophy, mostly because he's never earned actual trophies in his exploits. "Nice little hanger you got here?" Dressed in Brigadier General officers uniform, Richard and his mechanics stood completely still, stunned with surprise. Speaking his sly yet gruff tone, the general wave two his index and middle finger away, inviting Richard over. "I'd like to have a word, kid." He gulped, fearing the outcome of this conversation. Hesitant to take his first step forward it became obvious there was no other choice. Following behind, Richard began first. "General Sir, this is my own private hanger that--" Without a second thought, his sentence was cut-off with a strict older tone of voice. "I don't care the reason's, you're in possession of illegal Terran military property." Richard raised his finger, digging deep inside his deceptive mind for an excuse but none came to mind. "I'll overlook this little mess of yours if you perform a task of grave importance." Smirking deviously, looking down at the short man named Richard. Starring up, clueless in appearance he accepted without question, knowing he would regret either route. "I figured you would be aboard." Reaching inside his coat pocket drawing out several papers, they slapped into Richard's chest. Loosing his breath briefly, the general began leaving waving good bye but not giving him a second look.
"Yo, are we good to go." Richard waved his mechanics back to work while reading over his instructions. It seems a colony went quite. Reading the little details provided, it became clear about his role. The general needed eyes and ears, some one to become the narc among the investigation squad. Already having second thoughts about this mysterious mission, it seemed inevitable at this point. Registered for lift off to aid as their pilot and vehicle support, he could only sigh in regret. Still reading, his slightly high pitched voice yelled out. "Put the Goliath back together, we're field testing it."

He's not going to be running the show, just being a spy among the squad for his superiors. He'll be reporting any findings and following orders from his higher ups, and will most likely turn against his squad if given the orders. Yea, that means a goliath will letting loose on everyone, if it does come to that point. So he isn't running the show but one of the pawns.

Ptolemy

Character Template

Name & Rank: Matthew "Racetrack" Lee -Lt. of the Colonial Fleet
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Class: APOD-33 dropship pilot.

Equipment: Flight suit, a single action revolver with some modifications (Mostly ornamental), a pair of aviator glasses and a small personal, officer issue datapad for pilot administrative and technical work.

Physical Description:

6'2, slightly muscular.

Vehicle / Armour Description:

Note: The above picture only gives a general description of the form of the dropship, not the color and such.

Racetrack's dropship, callsign S6-22 "Vera", looked very similar to an unmodified APOD-33, but it had some major differences. For example, to decrease the possibility of radar detection or visual detection, the ship has been been painted in a matte very dark blue color, with only the white letters and numerals of the callsign, which are painted on the starboard side of the dropship, and some additional markings around the bay door and some other important areas of the ship. On the bow of the ship there was a special IR strobe, along with a laser marker. The ship has also flares, countermeasures and ECM protection. Some of the areas of the ship that are prone to reflecting radar signals have been covered by a nano-carbon alloy that absorbs it as much as he can (Makes a significant difference, but doesn't make it invisible, just hard to see to other Terran ships and planes).

If entering the dropship by the bay doors, one would immediately notice the multiple rows of seats. About 16 people could be seated in the seats alone, with about up to 20 if the some space austerity measures were used. Unlike small craft made for assault or recon, his ship did not have a ECMO seat. His main control panel had several high-tech panels above it, as well his pitch, yaw and thrust controls. If he isn't wearing it, a pilot's helmet was frequently left on a small hanger just right of the yoke. There were some first aid supplies among the ship, as well as extra standard Terran ammunition, just in case, along with some additional survival supplies. Close to the main pilot seat lay a small locker that held his civilian and dress clothes, along with some creature comforts. Deep inside the locker, though, was a foldable carbine rifle, just in case the S has really HTF.

Personality:  Lots of bravado and confidence, as is of expected of a hot-shot pilot. Though, that is only a protective shell he keeps around him. Emotional issues quite quickly make him a serious and easily anger able man. Obeys military protocol, but his a very strict sense of right and wrong along with a moral code, which may interfere with what his superiors sometimes think a proper officer should have, but his talents have always proven to be an excellent card to play when faced with disciplinary action (Of course, he's gotten publically whipped in front of his squadron two times now, but that's another story altogether. ) and he always has done his job in the end regardless of the strength of his protests.

Bio:

He was was born in Tarsonis to a professor of linguistics and a government bureaucrat, none of them having any history of military service due to their well-off upbringing, Matthew was an unlikely candidate for Officer Candidate School. Most of the candidates came from one of the Tarsonian Old Families who have an obligation to serve as an officer, family military history or some sense of patriotic duty to the Confederacy, Racetrack only really, really liked flying spacecraft. Not the big lumbering cruisers and battleships (He would much rather do pencil pushing on ground than be a deck officer), he liked the smaller ones. Fighters, bombers, EW ships, dropships, recon ships.. much more beautiful and agile than the lumbering beasts his comrades in engineering would mentally pleasure themselves thinking about. Ever since he saw a flight show aboard a spaceship in some sort of ceremony he does not remember he does not remember, he has wanted to be a pilot.

While he studying in an undergraduate program, he had already applied for candidate school and committed himself to being an officer in the Navy. When he got his degree and applied as an officer in the Navy, he was accepted. He went through flight school. He was in very good physical shape and a gifted learner, but it became obvious in his sim and real flight training that he just didn't have the feel for flying a fighter. Disappointed, he tried to get to another spot as a combat pilot in CAS craft, but was denied that pleasure, as well. The fact wasn't that he was a bad pilot overall. He was an excellent one, but he simpily did not have a feel for combat. His technical know-how, speed-docking and atmospheric entry/landing tests were simpily excellent. His wish to be a combat pilot was not furfilled, but he did become a dropship pilot.

He soon developed a reputation for being a fucking crazy when under attack, but in the end, he always got the chalk assigned to him on the ground. He was even assigned to special squadron for special operations for a few months, which has put him in some rather extreme situations.


*******

Aboard the Space Station Baton Rouge, Tarsonis system, Koprulu Sector

There was a brown, wooden door at the left end of a short corridor that cut off from a rather long corridor. Upon it was an icon of a homo sapiens sapeiens male specimen. The background of the icon was matte blank, but the figure of the man was white. Contrast came handy for people with some disabilities, but seeing as this was a military deck of the station (Which greatly reduced the chance of people with some colourblindless to be here in the first place) and there were big red letters which read "FOR OFFICERS ONLY" (Which further made the contrast useless, seeing as there was no chance someone with a colorblind condition would be an officer. These are just the random daily thoughts that came through the thoughts of Colonel Grant as he came up to the bathroom it was RED

Contrast

"Fuck this stupid shit..", quickly passed through the neurons in his brain.

it was RED

He banged on the wooden door two times. Harder then he should of (His knuckles were a bit bruised afterwards), but he was already annoyed. Why? Looking for some fucking hotshot pilot all around the station due to some fucking hardcore commander, with his sly mustache, telling him this needs to be delivered immediately, wasn't exactly what the Colonel had in mind on what exactly he would do today. He opened the door and walked inside,  two soldiers by his side. The bathroom was squakey clean. Cheap, white ceramic everywhere, but at least it was clean. Metal sinks, metal-framed mirrors, metal-fucking bathroom stalls. Silence. "Louuuuteeenahnt Leeee, I no y'ere fuckin' in here and I ain't go not fuckin' time to waste.". He hated these pilots. Sociopaths, all of them! Couldn't get a proper leadership position, because they were too hardcore. Fucking chemically imbalanced fucks..

Shit, not that psychotic asshole again. Hated by his men, angry drunk, outbursts. What's not to like? The XO isn't doing his job if he's not hated, but if the CO is hated by his men, you know he's doing something wrong. After zipping up his pants, and raising one finger to his lips, he steps out of the bathroom stall and comes up to his superior officer. He stands at attention, and salutes the Colonel, a salute which is not returned. The gray-haired, balding, beady-eyed blue blood sure was an arrogant idiot. Racetrack normally wasn't the guy to support mutiny, but this guy is going to get murdered sooner or later unless he isn't put in some cushy staff job by one of his friends in the Good 'Ol Boy network of Old Families, which got him the his prestigious position anyway. You smell the expensive bourbon drunk in excess just by being a few close to him. "I wos ashskeed to give you theees", he said in his exaggerated High Tarsonian accent, while handing Racetrack a folder. "I'va been lookin' all over for 'ya. Some hotshot wants you doing a job for him of somesorts. Fuckin' read it.", he said, as he started walking away. His two escorts shrugged at Matthew. He winked back at them. They were having a bad day escorting the fucking the God-Admiral of the Colonial Fleet there. He opened the folder, and looked inside as the door to the bathroom closed.

He was intrigued by some of the things he read. A mysterious transmission, black-ops mission, specialized team of operatives.. This is going to be one hell of a ride, he could tell. Soon, the doors of the bathroom stall he was in before slightly creaked and he looked back at the very cute brunette that came out. Green, big eyes. A nice smile with perky lips that was covered by a slightly smudged rose lipstick. Unlike Racetrack, who was in his duty uniform, she was in her dressblues. Apparently, she was getting a commendation and she was looking for it, except maybe the fact that the the top buttons of her blouse were opened, showing her black lace brassiere along with some of her décolletage. She looked like she was in her early 30's. She kept on looking at him while holding on to the door, "Wow. That sounds big.", she said, while tilting her head. Racetrack glanced back at her, and said, "Yeah, it is big.", he said, as he closed the folder and walked towards her.

He kept his gaze on her, and she her look was a lustful one as well, "Well, Lieutenant,", she said, as she poked his rank insignia on the uniform, "for the good of the Colonial Fleet, I think you do need a morale booster, seeing as this is a very, very important mission.". She winked at him, and said, "Strictly professional.". Matthew grinned at her, and said "Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander", as he moved his hand towards her lace brassiere and picked the extruding nipple. He was dragged in to the stall, and it closed with a loud bang.





Rachubka

Gah. Reading over my OP again, I found SO many mistakes! I really need to learn to proofread beyond just those silly read lines. At least I'm only missing words entirely, or spelling words correctly that I don't even want in my sentences!

Okay... so this RP suddenly got much bigger than I thought. Most excellent! I'm going to now actually read everyone's contributions and figure out what needs to be edited if it doesn't quite fit into what I'm looking for. Everyone looks incredibly promising, though! I doubt I'll have to give anyone a slap on the wrist.

Acid Lips

I was going to ask if yo needed another ghost when I made the medic but since you were not online I made the medic. Do you need a ghost? I can sure play two chars if you want to.

Crovonovin

I think Rachubka made it clear that she'll be playing the only Ghost.  One of the discussions towards the top of the old Starcraft thread went on at length about some of the issues with having multiple Ghosts assigned to a single unit, which can be read here.

That, and I think we really will be needing a medic!

Acid Lips

Is okay then, don't worryy about it I was just asking I will play the medic fine ^^

Ptolemy

So, wait, I don't get it. Does this take place before SC1 or prior to SC2? If it's the latter, I'l have to make significant changes to my characters bio.

Aiden

This is happening prior the very first events of Sc1, when the terrans first discover the zerg.

Ptolemy

Quote from: Aiden on August 03, 2010, 06:05:44 PM
This is happening prior the very first events of Sc1, when the terrans first discover the zerg.

;D Excellent.

Rachubka

Quote from: Rachubka on August 03, 2010, 05:19:31 PM
Gah. Reading over my OP again, I found SO many mistakes! I really need to learn to proofread beyond just those silly read lines. At least I'm only missing words entirely, or spelling words correctly that I don't even want in my sentences!

Okay... so this RP suddenly got much bigger than I thought. Most excellent! I'm going to now actually read everyone's contributions and figure out what needs to be edited if it doesn't quite fit into what I'm looking for. Everyone looks incredibly promising, though! I doubt I'll have to give anyone a slap on the wrist.

Ironic.

Anyway, yes! Read through the apps and just have a few notes that I'd like to shine a little light on.

Yes, this is a Kel-Morian funded 'excursion', of sorts. What this means is that there is room for some of the members of this squad to be mercs. Those in the Confederacy can also be in this little squad, but their ties to them have to be incredibly shallow for the member to be considered in this mission. Even then, those that are a part of the Kel-Morian military will really, really not like you.

As a reminder, pilots are just that: pilots. You're not going to be the greatest of assets if you are without your vehicle. As much of a great shot you are with a rifle, you'll be in a jumpsuit that will likely cause trouble for you. That's not to say anyone in this RP has made a super soldier by any means, but just to let you know should, as Ptolemy said, the S really HTF.

Now, there are considerably more females than when I first started this idea. Not to say there's anything wrong with man-loving, but I'm going to assume that the odds of the deed occurring of been upped considerably. I haven't made the profile in such a way that would promote that, so I ask that you respect each other as RPers and be sure where you draw your lines should anyone decide to go at it.

Okay, so naturally, you've all probably figured out that this RP is going to be rather freeform. Any MAJOR conflicts I will have occur in my own posts, but if someone feels that it is necessary to throw in a surprise encounter or something, that's okay. When these major events occur, I'll leave it to everyone to make it exciting with their own levels of writing and detail. I just don't want anyone to have something 'serious' happen to someone else's character without either their permission, or just out of the blue! This is all standard stuff, though! Everyone knows better. Right? RIGHT!?

That's my last little rant until I can think of something! I tend to start writing these notes about something important, write about other things first to fluff up these important notes, and then forget what I wanted to write in the first place. Sooo, feel free to yell at me if you have any concerns!

ALSO!!! I'll probably have this thing jumping sometime tomorrow.  Maybe not, though. I'd rather everyone be comfortable with the setting and their characters before moving on. Would be awful if someone came into the RP talking about Mengsk and his dastardly coup while everyone else is like "Har har, that's ridiculous. It's never going to happen. That's like having an unlikely alliance with multiple alien races. Geez."

Skystomp

*pushes the pet Zergling back around the corner* Har Har... aliens... right... heh...
The only way you fail, is by not trying.
Linkara "I read it and I wish I hadn't!"