Arsenal Member
- Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Arsenal
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 56 (0.01 / day)
- VMs: 0
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Username history
- Arsenal 10 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
It's always the first few days after the in-character thread is started that we get the fast, overwhelming posting, then an RP will typically slow down to a normal pace after that. I'm in agreement with everyone else; for an RP with this many people in it we may need a system to limit posting a bit. I've never done a posting order before, but it is definitely something that I'm willing to try. Still, one thing that bothers me is what Byrum sort of mentioned: all it would take to deadlock the entire RP and prevent everyone else from participating is for one player to not post when their turn comes around.
Didn't expect the OOC so soon, but I'll have my bio up by this evening.
EDIT: Actually, got it done quicker than I thought, here's my own bio.
Also, quick question, what kind of money is used in Omeria?
Name: Serkan Stahlwurm
Age/Race/Gender: 35-year-old, half-elven male
Profession: Mercenary
Appearance:
Armor/Clothing: Serkan wears a suit of lightweight, grey-colored, leather armor with embedded steel plates. He additionally possesses a closed-face helmet which completely covers his head.
Weaponry: Serkan carries a single-edged saber that has been stripped of its cross guard, with a handle wrapped in cord.
Other Items: Serkan carries a satchel with him, which in it contains a small sum of money, a piece of firesteel, a sharpening stone, a tin of hardtack, a bundle of dried pork, and a canteen of water.
Skills/Traits: Agile, quick-thinking, observant, resourceful, proficient with single-edged swords
Powers/Abilities: Serkan is able to channel magic through his sword in order to increase cutting power of the blade. He also can use another technique where by slashing his sword he may throw cutting waves of magic from the sword's edge.
Personality/Morality: Serkan is a somber, even-tempered man who manages to keep calm and collected regardless of the situation. Serkan often conducts himself in an impersonal, almost businesslike manner, though at times he can at times come off as insistent, if not outright rude. While the way he speaks may not show it, he does care for the well-being of others, and acts based on beliefs that he should conduct himself in an ethical and moral manner.
History: Serkan was born in a peculiar, small forest village in an autumn 35 years ago, born to an elven father and a human mother. This little forest village had a tradition, where every decade the young boys and girls would be brought together and tested. Those who displayed exemplary talent and strength were selected to undergo training to become a part of the village guard; within the village's local culture, being chosen was considered among one of the highest honors.
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Serkan, however, never quite had the same strength or natural gifts and talents that his peers had. When it came of time for him to be tested among the other children, Serkan was passed over in favor of many people who were once his friends. Yet, rather than allow himself to remain dejected, it was as if a spark was lit within him. Serkan was inspired to better himself; he took up a sword and began to teach himself how to handle one, strengthening and learning over the years. His father noticed the sudden resolve displayed by his son, and offered to help him, teaching him what little he knew about magic. By the time Serkan was about twenty years of age, he had begun to develop his own unique fighting style, blending magic seamlessly into the art of swordplay. His raw, unrefined talent eventually gained the attention of the village guard, and they offered him a chance at recruitment into their ranks, but by now Serkan no longer desired to be a member. Now Serkan had dreams of travel, of exploration; Serkan desired a chance to see the world, and to that end he left his home village to join a mercenary's guild.
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There amongst the ranks of the guild, Serkan found himself assigned to work alongside Ferran, a master swordsman and longtime member of the guild. Ferran had been given the task of training the new recruit. The two worked well together, and became fast friends over the course of a few assignments doled out to them by the guild. They worked together for over a decade, before tragedy would forever seperate the two. About three years ago Ferran and several of the guild's other masters were hired to take part in a special assignment to escort researchers into Valuun Keep. Before parting ways, Ferran gave Serkan his sword, a gesture that Serkan did not yet know meant Ferran suspected he knew what fate would befall him. Like many others before, Ferran vanished without a trace into the maw of Valuun Keep, not a single member of the guild or research team returned. Serkan took the loss of his friend especially hard, and retired from mercenary work.
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Yet, Serkan has heard rumors that men and women are gathering for another venture into the keep. With a chance to find what exactly happened to his master and friend, Serkan has taken the sword of his master and now ventures to join them...
EDIT: Actually, got it done quicker than I thought, here's my own bio.
Also, quick question, what kind of money is used in Omeria?
Name: Serkan Stahlwurm
Age/Race/Gender: 35-year-old, half-elven male
Profession: Mercenary
Appearance:
Armor/Clothing: Serkan wears a suit of lightweight, grey-colored, leather armor with embedded steel plates. He additionally possesses a closed-face helmet which completely covers his head.
Weaponry: Serkan carries a single-edged saber that has been stripped of its cross guard, with a handle wrapped in cord.
Other Items: Serkan carries a satchel with him, which in it contains a small sum of money, a piece of firesteel, a sharpening stone, a tin of hardtack, a bundle of dried pork, and a canteen of water.
Skills/Traits: Agile, quick-thinking, observant, resourceful, proficient with single-edged swords
Powers/Abilities: Serkan is able to channel magic through his sword in order to increase cutting power of the blade. He also can use another technique where by slashing his sword he may throw cutting waves of magic from the sword's edge.
Personality/Morality: Serkan is a somber, even-tempered man who manages to keep calm and collected regardless of the situation. Serkan often conducts himself in an impersonal, almost businesslike manner, though at times he can at times come off as insistent, if not outright rude. While the way he speaks may not show it, he does care for the well-being of others, and acts based on beliefs that he should conduct himself in an ethical and moral manner.
History: Serkan was born in a peculiar, small forest village in an autumn 35 years ago, born to an elven father and a human mother. This little forest village had a tradition, where every decade the young boys and girls would be brought together and tested. Those who displayed exemplary talent and strength were selected to undergo training to become a part of the village guard; within the village's local culture, being chosen was considered among one of the highest honors.
-
Serkan, however, never quite had the same strength or natural gifts and talents that his peers had. When it came of time for him to be tested among the other children, Serkan was passed over in favor of many people who were once his friends. Yet, rather than allow himself to remain dejected, it was as if a spark was lit within him. Serkan was inspired to better himself; he took up a sword and began to teach himself how to handle one, strengthening and learning over the years. His father noticed the sudden resolve displayed by his son, and offered to help him, teaching him what little he knew about magic. By the time Serkan was about twenty years of age, he had begun to develop his own unique fighting style, blending magic seamlessly into the art of swordplay. His raw, unrefined talent eventually gained the attention of the village guard, and they offered him a chance at recruitment into their ranks, but by now Serkan no longer desired to be a member. Now Serkan had dreams of travel, of exploration; Serkan desired a chance to see the world, and to that end he left his home village to join a mercenary's guild.
-
There amongst the ranks of the guild, Serkan found himself assigned to work alongside Ferran, a master swordsman and longtime member of the guild. Ferran had been given the task of training the new recruit. The two worked well together, and became fast friends over the course of a few assignments doled out to them by the guild. They worked together for over a decade, before tragedy would forever seperate the two. About three years ago Ferran and several of the guild's other masters were hired to take part in a special assignment to escort researchers into Valuun Keep. Before parting ways, Ferran gave Serkan his sword, a gesture that Serkan did not yet know meant Ferran suspected he knew what fate would befall him. Like many others before, Ferran vanished without a trace into the maw of Valuun Keep, not a single member of the guild or research team returned. Serkan took the loss of his friend especially hard, and retired from mercenary work.
-
Yet, Serkan has heard rumors that men and women are gathering for another venture into the keep. With a chance to find what exactly happened to his master and friend, Serkan has taken the sword of his master and now ventures to join them...
Count me in too, this sounds like it would be fun.
Cyrus watched Xia walk off after thanking them, and bidding them goodbye. Cyrus sighed, turning to look to Kiara, "Hey, I need to thank you too. You've saved me more than a couple times. I hope to get to see you again, take care."
Cyrus walked away, but his heart sank. He'd only known the two for a day, but there was a certain camraderie that came from working together in a life or death situation. He walked through the nighttime streets, which at this point were only illuminated by the flickering light of fire dancing on mounted torces, and by the ever-present glow from the moon and stars above. He still managed to find his way, his presence on the empty, late-night streets announced by the sound of the wooden broomstick tapping against the paved cobble of the town streets, a hollow echo that bounced along the walls that lined the way. It took a while, but Cyrus eventually found the post office, a plain, wood-panelled building with an oak door. The glass pane on the door showed the inside of the office was dark and unlit, not a single light stirred inside the office.
Cyrus took a chance and started knocking, but the knocking soon turned to desperate banging. Eventually, through the distorted pane Cyrus could see a candlelight appear in the hall, carried by a man clearly not pleased to have been roused from sleep. The man scowled through the glass at Cyrus, hesitating before opening the door, "Do you have any idea what hour it is?"
"Please, sir, this is an emergency," Cyrus took the letter out from his pocket, he had yet to seal it, "Read this, it will explain everything."
The man's scowl softened when he saw the sincerity, the fear and panic in Cyrus's eyes. He finally motioned for Cyrus to enter, bringing him to seat at a table just inside the office. He used the candle to light a lamp hanging from the ceiling, and took a moment to read the letter. He blinked a couple times, before setting the parchment down, "Boy, is this true?"
"Yes, I need to get this message to Daniel Carnet, immediately," Cyrus interlocked his fingers, "What is your fastest service?"
The postmaster nodded, "I can make a special delivery, it'll take only a night's ride for my messenger to get this letter delivered."
Without further question, Cyrus dropped his postage onto the table, a handful of gold coins, "Wake your messenger immediately, please."
"Very well," The postmaster returned to the counter, withdrawing a stick of sealing wax and a stamp. Using the candle, the postmaster melted the wax onto the letter's edge, the red beeswax hardening quickly after the master stamped it shut. He stood up and moved to blow out the lamp.
Cyrus smiled and raised from his seat, "Thank you."
"If even half of what is in this letter is true, boy, we may be headed for grave times," the postmaster excused himself to walk out back, allowing Cyrus to escuse himself.
Cyrus walked away, but his heart sank. He'd only known the two for a day, but there was a certain camraderie that came from working together in a life or death situation. He walked through the nighttime streets, which at this point were only illuminated by the flickering light of fire dancing on mounted torces, and by the ever-present glow from the moon and stars above. He still managed to find his way, his presence on the empty, late-night streets announced by the sound of the wooden broomstick tapping against the paved cobble of the town streets, a hollow echo that bounced along the walls that lined the way. It took a while, but Cyrus eventually found the post office, a plain, wood-panelled building with an oak door. The glass pane on the door showed the inside of the office was dark and unlit, not a single light stirred inside the office.
Cyrus took a chance and started knocking, but the knocking soon turned to desperate banging. Eventually, through the distorted pane Cyrus could see a candlelight appear in the hall, carried by a man clearly not pleased to have been roused from sleep. The man scowled through the glass at Cyrus, hesitating before opening the door, "Do you have any idea what hour it is?"
"Please, sir, this is an emergency," Cyrus took the letter out from his pocket, he had yet to seal it, "Read this, it will explain everything."
The man's scowl softened when he saw the sincerity, the fear and panic in Cyrus's eyes. He finally motioned for Cyrus to enter, bringing him to seat at a table just inside the office. He used the candle to light a lamp hanging from the ceiling, and took a moment to read the letter. He blinked a couple times, before setting the parchment down, "Boy, is this true?"
"Yes, I need to get this message to Daniel Carnet, immediately," Cyrus interlocked his fingers, "What is your fastest service?"
The postmaster nodded, "I can make a special delivery, it'll take only a night's ride for my messenger to get this letter delivered."
Without further question, Cyrus dropped his postage onto the table, a handful of gold coins, "Wake your messenger immediately, please."
"Very well," The postmaster returned to the counter, withdrawing a stick of sealing wax and a stamp. Using the candle, the postmaster melted the wax onto the letter's edge, the red beeswax hardening quickly after the master stamped it shut. He stood up and moved to blow out the lamp.
Cyrus smiled and raised from his seat, "Thank you."
"If even half of what is in this letter is true, boy, we may be headed for grave times," the postmaster excused himself to walk out back, allowing Cyrus to escuse himself.
So, uh, Arrayah hasn't been active for over 2 weeks, should we just move on Lucius?
Should we give their characters out? I know they've been gone longer than a week but I've seen people come back from longer disappearances.
"Time already," Taylor hummed, she snapped her book shut and picked up her belongings, returning to her CVF. Climbing up the thigh of her frame and into the cockpit of her frame. The torso of the frame was so narrow that the traditional seat of most CVFs just wouldn't fit in the design, she instead had to strap herself into a vertical harness. With the harness secure, she locked the canopy shut and started the frame, the machine letting out a metallic groan as it lumbered into an upright position. Taylor moved the Jackal into formation with the rest of her team.
By the time the group had arrived, it appeared that they had been mere moments too late. The enemy frames had already reached the bait.
"Damn, they already got through," Taylor radioed back, "We still have the element of surprise on our side. At the very least we need to get clear of the pass ourselves, this isn't an ideal place to start the fight."
With the enemy just ahead, Taylor tapped on the console to arm her weapon's railcannon. The screen suddenly presented a password prompt. Taylor typed out on a keyboard tucked into the console to her right, entering: VELOCITAS_ERADICO.
The HUD immediately responded, text scrolling over the screen.
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
RAILCANNON SAFETY DISENGAGED
POWER SUPPLY CONFIRMED
PLASMA ARMATURE ACTIVE
ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL
CAUTION - WEAPON IS LIVE
LOADING BALLISTIC CONFIGURATION...
CONFIG FILE LOADED
PROJECTILE TYPE: TUNGSTEN PENETRATOR
PROJECTILE MASS: 15 KG
MUZZLE VELOCITY: 1700 M/S
The railcannon mounted on the Jackal-5's back suddenly shifted downwards, unlocking from the backpack. The frame reached down and behind itself to grasp the weapon's carry handle, maneuvering the hefty weapon in front of the frame. The long barrel folded out from under the receiver, locking firmly against the reveiver with a dull clack. Finally, the frame reached behind itself to draw a single, tungsten slug from the magazine attached to the backpack. Racking the weapon's large, sturdy bolt backwards, the Jackal slid the slug into the weapon's chamber, locking the bolt shut after.
By the time the group had arrived, it appeared that they had been mere moments too late. The enemy frames had already reached the bait.
"Damn, they already got through," Taylor radioed back, "We still have the element of surprise on our side. At the very least we need to get clear of the pass ourselves, this isn't an ideal place to start the fight."
With the enemy just ahead, Taylor tapped on the console to arm her weapon's railcannon. The screen suddenly presented a password prompt. Taylor typed out on a keyboard tucked into the console to her right, entering: VELOCITAS_ERADICO.
The HUD immediately responded, text scrolling over the screen.
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
RAILCANNON SAFETY DISENGAGED
POWER SUPPLY CONFIRMED
PLASMA ARMATURE ACTIVE
ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL
CAUTION - WEAPON IS LIVE
LOADING BALLISTIC CONFIGURATION...
CONFIG FILE LOADED
PROJECTILE TYPE: TUNGSTEN PENETRATOR
PROJECTILE MASS: 15 KG
MUZZLE VELOCITY: 1700 M/S
The railcannon mounted on the Jackal-5's back suddenly shifted downwards, unlocking from the backpack. The frame reached down and behind itself to grasp the weapon's carry handle, maneuvering the hefty weapon in front of the frame. The long barrel folded out from under the receiver, locking firmly against the reveiver with a dull clack. Finally, the frame reached behind itself to draw a single, tungsten slug from the magazine attached to the backpack. Racking the weapon's large, sturdy bolt backwards, the Jackal slid the slug into the weapon's chamber, locking the bolt shut after.
Hmm, I've never thought about what song would best represent me but if I had to think, it would be Dreaming, by BT. I really enjoy this song, I've always loved it ever since I first heard it. It's just the right mix of calm melody and upbeat tempo, at least for my tastes anyway.
My bad, I've done that before. Let me go ahead and edit that then.
"Hmm," Taylor moved closer to the table. Upon Ryder's comment she took a quick, cursory glance at the dossier poking ou from a pile of documents in the corner of the table. She wondered for a brief moment how Ryder managed to find a photographer, but was more preoccupied with the plan they were going over. By now a general consensus was being arrived at, she and the big hitter were going to provide long-range support, with two teams attacking from opposite sides. She commented, "Divide and conquer, huh?"
She shifted her weight, tucking one arm under the other, and gesturing with her hand, "If you want to go with a pincer strategy, then let's focus our initial attack on the middle of the enemy formation, that would force them to scatter."
Taylor took brief note of the location on the map where it was asked that she support the others from, especially taking note of the distance between the roads and her marked perch, as well as the elevations. She returned to her frame, which had been lowered onto one knee just beside the other frames, and pressed a button on a hidden remote in her suit. The frame briefly let out a low, metallic groan as it shifted, leaning forwards to open the cockpit. She climbed up the thigh of her Jackal, retrieving from the cockpit a small bound book, some blank pieces of paper, and a pencil.
Taylor not long thereafter returned with the pencil clutched between her teeth, and dropped the book onto the table. It spilled open, revealing that every page of the book was filled with ballistic data and trajectories, most muzzle velocities, slug weights, elevations, and angles of attack were accounted for, an artilleryman's cheat sheet. Taylor ran some quick math, and looked over the roads, before tapping a certain spot on the map, a small section of road that ran through a low point, "Here, look right here. This is a choke point, trees on one side of the road, steep inclines on the other; very little room for their frames to maneuver. If those guys want to get through to reach the bait facility, they have to pass through this section of road. If we're going to follow Angus's plan, then this pass is where I think we would have the best success if we attack."
She shifted her weight, tucking one arm under the other, and gesturing with her hand, "If you want to go with a pincer strategy, then let's focus our initial attack on the middle of the enemy formation, that would force them to scatter."
Taylor took brief note of the location on the map where it was asked that she support the others from, especially taking note of the distance between the roads and her marked perch, as well as the elevations. She returned to her frame, which had been lowered onto one knee just beside the other frames, and pressed a button on a hidden remote in her suit. The frame briefly let out a low, metallic groan as it shifted, leaning forwards to open the cockpit. She climbed up the thigh of her Jackal, retrieving from the cockpit a small bound book, some blank pieces of paper, and a pencil.
Taylor not long thereafter returned with the pencil clutched between her teeth, and dropped the book onto the table. It spilled open, revealing that every page of the book was filled with ballistic data and trajectories, most muzzle velocities, slug weights, elevations, and angles of attack were accounted for, an artilleryman's cheat sheet. Taylor ran some quick math, and looked over the roads, before tapping a certain spot on the map, a small section of road that ran through a low point, "Here, look right here. This is a choke point, trees on one side of the road, steep inclines on the other; very little room for their frames to maneuver. If those guys want to get through to reach the bait facility, they have to pass through this section of road. If we're going to follow Angus's plan, then this pass is where I think we would have the best success if we attack."
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