[b]Athanasius Morning [/b] Rank: Commodore, Second Royal Expeditionary Taskforce, Commander of Naval Squadron [i]Epsilon[/i] Physical Description: Tall, slim, human male with sharp features. Extremely pale and slightly sickly looking from too much time spent in artificial gravity and sunlight. His right eye has been replaced with a bulky augmentic targeting module. Close cropped black hair, impeccable deep blue uniform with several medals displayed prominently. Personality: Cool, professional, haughty, disdainful of bravado, incompetence, non-humans, army personnel, and radical politics. [hider=IC Sample] Commodore Morning sat slouched in the Command Throne, eye closed, complex navigational calculations flitting between his mind and the ship's Semi-Sentience. High Command had wanted his battlegroup in the Maalik System within the week, Valyrian Standard Time, and the taskforce was ahead of schedule. The sub-space lateral tide was with them, thankfully, and with the exception of a grav-pool around the Hannor Crescent that had needed careful bypassing, the journey had been free of any major obstacles. So far, so good. Morning concluded his calculations, finding the taskforce's speed, course setting, and projected arrival time to his satisfaction. He sent a terse data-blurt through his neuro-uplink to the other ships under his command and their captains, commending their efficiency. A chime dinged softly in his ear. The strategic briefing in five. The Commodore opened his flesh eye. It took a moment for it to adapt to the dim of the bridge, and his augmentic optic whirred and clicked as it adjusted in sympathy with his biological sight. The [i]Lord Ashfallow[/i]'s long, arch-ceilinged bridge was busy but quiet. Commodore Morning ran a tight ship, and did not allow noise levels on his bridge to exceed an indecorous level unless there was an emergency. Even in combat command staff were expected control their volumes, like the professionals they were. War was no place for bloodthirsty braggadocio and showmanship, in the Commodore's opinion. Calm, orderly deliberation followed by decisive action, that was how to fight and win. Righteous fury may make the heart flutter, but it cost lives and more often than not, victory. The [i]Ashfallow[/i]'s Semi-Sentience signaled its agreement with Morning's musings with a pleasurable neuro-pulse. A delightful beast, this ship. The Commodore had commanded three different vessels over the course of his time in His Grace's navy, and worked as a staff officer on four more. Each ship's Semi-Sentience had acquired a different flavor over the long centuries of their service, each had an almost-personality formed by patchworks of impressions and echoes from the many minds that had entered them. Some ships were blustery and uncooperative, others irritatingly submissive, a few were quirky to the point of insanity...but the [i]Lord Ashfallow[/i] was a professional. Cool, detached, terse, prompt. Very much like the Commodore himself. Morning severed his link to the Semi-Sentience, ignoring the usual aching twinge of disconnection, and stood up. He straightened his uniform- the deep royal blue of His Grace's Navy, heavily starched and embroidered with silver tracery- and walked briskly down the bridge towards the briefing station. [/hider] Ship Name: [i]Lord Ashfallow[/i] Ship Type: Demnevanni Class Carrier Cruiser Semi-Sentience Profile: Thanks to a career mostly relegated to anti-pirate actions and system defense, the [i]Ashfallow[/i] is a ship in almost pristine condition, and its AI remains largely impersonal and uncorrupted. It has, however, developed a slight tendency for impatience with deviations from Naval protocol, and its great age combined with a relative lack of heavy combat experience has made it both rigid and unimaginative. It is a reliable and efficient Semi-Sentience, but one that relies heavily on its captain for creativity and improvisation, two features not generally associated with the highly competent but conservative Commodore Morning. Ship Details/History: - population 40,000 - primary weapons: the [i]Ashfallow[/i] is armed with a suite of forward torpedo launchers as well as medium-to-close range solid ordinance and laser weaponry capable of engaging cruiser and capital class ships. Like all Demnevanni Class carriers, the Ashfallow is a carrier designed to hold its own in a close range brawl. - marine contingent: The Ashfallow has a large contingent of human marines and boarding craft outfitted for offensive actions. Commodore Morning does not tolerate xenos or mercenaries on his ship, and refuses to make use of G'Mok marines. - strikecraft contingent: The Ashfallow is outfitted with a full compliment of strikecraft designed to provide a large taskforce with a sizeable fighter screen and bomber compliment. [b]Konrad von Ravenstein[/b] Rank: Grand Duke of Lynz, Protector of Far Valyrius, Supreme Commander of the Second Royal Expeditionary Forces Alias: The Butcher of Vornheln, the Red Duke Physical Description: A man of slightly below average height, broadly built, heavyset but not fat. Strong facial features, with a thick mustache. The Duke has startlingly bright green eyes. He generally wears a white military tunic bisected by a red sash, and wears a single medal on his chest, the silver sunburst of the [i]Order of Alexiana[/i], the highest military decoration in the Kingdom given to army commanders, awarded after his victory at Odros during the Arian Jihad. Personality: The Grand Duke is a famously quiet man, preferring to give orders through trusted underlings. It is not uncommon for entire strategy briefings to be held in his presence without him saying a single word. His patience and capacity for stillness and inactivity are as legendary as his ruthlessness. He is not a great orator and tends to inspire fear and respect rather than love and devotion in those under his command. He almost never publicly loses his facade of icy, quiet calm. The Grand Duke is known to be a heavy drinker, but is otherwise not much given to luxury or self indulgence, though he is a passionate hunter. Unusually for a man of his upbringing and station, the Duke is quite tolerant of xenos (the old joke in the army is that the Duke [i]doesn't[/i] care for the lives of [i]all[/i] soldiers equally) and is known for seeking out the advice of his Gn'Mok Legion commanders with special attention. His relationship with the Navy is mixed- few in the highly conservative naval hierarchy appreciate the Grand Duke's often brutally pragmatic, unorthodox and 'dishonorable' methods of warfare and many senior naval personnel raise an eyebrow at his strained relationship with the Royal House, but his willingness to listen to the advice of his subordinates, his tolerance of failure and support independent initiative in subordinates, and the fact that he is one of the few Valyrian commanders actively feared by astrogothic chieftains has earned him a certain level of respect. Personal History: WIP IC Sample: WIP Second Expeditionary Force Command Staff: Rear Admiral Gerhardt von Gimzbrundfildgeschutzen: The Grand Duke's primary naval liaison. A short, tubby man of sour complexion and disposition. A talented logistics expert with a personal life marred by a series of homosexual scandals, who owes his current position entirely to the Grand Duke, to whom he is unswervingly loyal. Count Aldamaar Cezare: The Grand Duke's chief of staff. Handsome and charismatic, Cezare is a famous womanizer and alcoholic. A competent chief of staff, he is one of the few friends the Grand Duke can be said to have, and it is he through whom the Grand Duke does most of his talking. Some joke that Cezare is the mouth and the Grand Duke the mind. Captain Ulthosour Crakehall: A ponderous, cadaverous officer, Captain Crakehall commands the Grand Duke's flagship, the [i]VRS Arrogance[/i]. Addicted to his neuro-feedback provided by the ship's AI, Crakehall rarely leaves his Command Throne on the bridge. Ship Name: [i]Arrogance[/i] Ship Type: TBD Semi-Sentience Profile: TBD Ship Details/History: - population - primary weapons: - strikecraft contingent: