Well, planking over grass counts as "dirt" in my head. Because it sure isn't concrete, and FOD-sweeps aren't really possible.
Foster Member
STATUS: But yeah, the long shorty of nation-RPs is they require the existance of other nations and as a consequence, other concurrent nation-RPs... which usually means entire dedicated forums. 14 hrs ago
- Last Seen: 8 hrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Foster
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 3719 (0.99 / day)
- VMs: 32
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But yeah, the long shorty of nation-RPs is they require the existance of other nations and as a consequence, other concurrent nation-RPs... which usually means entire dedicated forums.
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14 hrs ago
BTW, I've been off/on a persistent nation-RP since '05. If I ported it over to here... there's going to be a LOT of noodle-incidents. youtube.com/watch?v=yNbJb1N…
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14 hrs ago
From there, you create a pool of characters hailing from "your nation". And they interact with characters from "other nations" to incite incidents internationally.
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14 hrs ago
Nation RPing is basically open-persistent world-craft roleplay. If "your nation" isn't consistantly persistent between a multitude of roleplays, it's a LOT of dead-end work.
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10 days ago
Owning a pet and being the brave one in the room to keep them calm worked well enough to keep yourself calm. As being happy and calm is almost as infectious as fear.
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Bio
-There will be delays in replies. Largely due to working overtime, voluntary obligations; other RPs and online-things may compete for my attention.
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
Most Recent Posts
The Bulgarian tried not to pay attention to the... mercenaries as they bickered over whether or not they'd offended him, while still in his presence. Thankfully, everyone seemed to file-out before anyone could say something truly offensive. He also managed to skip right past the formality of checking out any flight-equipment, whatever he wasn't wearing was stilll wedged in the cockpit of his bird out on the dirt-strip or probably wouldn't need for this trip.
And so Mr Greggor took his time strolling past pampered western planes on their fancy concrete pads, a few of which were definately old enough to need some coddling to get back up and running. He vaugely recognized the Swedish plane from some old aircraft recognition pamplet, he could remember the still smell of those yellowed and mouldered files from training, yet could not place the name of the beast before him.
His drifting attention snapped back to the here and now as he heard the two Americans arguing about... something, then referancing some movie about some test-pilots flying some sort of twin-engined naval MiG-23WTFBBQ mod against the fascists in their black F-5M Tiger IIs.
Once he reached his plane in its dirty sandbagged revetment, pulled the chocks himself, clambered up an onion-crate to get inside, pulled the crate up on a rope and threw it clear before starting the turbine with a gunpowder-charge. With wings fulley swept back, Yuril effortlessly threaded his plane like a needle through a screen-door around the various obstables in his way up to the strip. The flight-leader's A-6F was already barrelling down the way on the pave as he began worrying about preflighting as he spread his wings out to their full extension, his feet firmly planted on the wheel-brakes as he zipped up his leggings and fastened his waist belt, making himself comfortable as he then went to adjusting his comms-helmet, throat-mic check, ballsitic helmet and oxygen-mask came next. Visors down and canopy and shades pulled as he stared into the gleaming blue sunlight.
"Ranger five, all systems clem!" He said as he gave the stick a twirl to check for responsiveness, the positive feedback of the hydraulics against his hand and visual range of motion check of the control-surfaces just before taking his feet off the brakes and applying military-power to the R-35 turbojet. The MiG-23MLGD bounced out of its self-created rut and trundled forwards, just as the ride began to smooth-out Clem went to full afterburner to get the wheels to unstick from the uneven ground, before easing back to military-power and making a standard accelleration in ground effect, wheels-raised, up to 350 knots IAS before begining his climb up to the A-6.
He overtook Ranger One in 35 seconds, but then throttled-back to stall-speed to let the Navy-bomber return to the lead.
"Heard your bird would be serving refreshments. Got any for Clem?" He chided, both MiGs only had enough fuel for a single hour's worth of combat-endurance, whereas the A-6 easily held enough fuel to stay airborne for the better part of the morning. Although not nearly as bad as the F-16, which would run on fumes in half that time if it were ever forced into a fight.
And so Mr Greggor took his time strolling past pampered western planes on their fancy concrete pads, a few of which were definately old enough to need some coddling to get back up and running. He vaugely recognized the Swedish plane from some old aircraft recognition pamplet, he could remember the still smell of those yellowed and mouldered files from training, yet could not place the name of the beast before him.
His drifting attention snapped back to the here and now as he heard the two Americans arguing about... something, then referancing some movie about some test-pilots flying some sort of twin-engined naval MiG-23WTFBBQ mod against the fascists in their black F-5M Tiger IIs.
Once he reached his plane in its dirty sandbagged revetment, pulled the chocks himself, clambered up an onion-crate to get inside, pulled the crate up on a rope and threw it clear before starting the turbine with a gunpowder-charge. With wings fulley swept back, Yuril effortlessly threaded his plane like a needle through a screen-door around the various obstables in his way up to the strip. The flight-leader's A-6F was already barrelling down the way on the pave as he began worrying about preflighting as he spread his wings out to their full extension, his feet firmly planted on the wheel-brakes as he zipped up his leggings and fastened his waist belt, making himself comfortable as he then went to adjusting his comms-helmet, throat-mic check, ballsitic helmet and oxygen-mask came next. Visors down and canopy and shades pulled as he stared into the gleaming blue sunlight.
"Ranger five, all systems clem!" He said as he gave the stick a twirl to check for responsiveness, the positive feedback of the hydraulics against his hand and visual range of motion check of the control-surfaces just before taking his feet off the brakes and applying military-power to the R-35 turbojet. The MiG-23MLGD bounced out of its self-created rut and trundled forwards, just as the ride began to smooth-out Clem went to full afterburner to get the wheels to unstick from the uneven ground, before easing back to military-power and making a standard accelleration in ground effect, wheels-raised, up to 350 knots IAS before begining his climb up to the A-6.
He overtook Ranger One in 35 seconds, but then throttled-back to stall-speed to let the Navy-bomber return to the lead.
"Heard your bird would be serving refreshments. Got any for Clem?" He chided, both MiGs only had enough fuel for a single hour's worth of combat-endurance, whereas the A-6 easily held enough fuel to stay airborne for the better part of the morning. Although not nearly as bad as the F-16, which would run on fumes in half that time if it were ever forced into a fight.
Nyet!
I should totes git posting.
I should totes git posting.
<Snipped quote by Foster>
Hay, even Cecilia isn't happy about flying the thing either. The small cockpit of the Draken and her taller frame don't mix well.
'bruh, have you seen my office?
Is not exactly spacious.
Banter of flying-history aside...
Oh nice, I get paired with the Swede in the... flying museum ship...
@Massasauga, you could also find yourself paired-off with the MiG-31.
Silver, "Blind" means your wingman lost-visual on the guy they're supposed to be protecting (you).
-Because your plane is slow, hurrrr.
@Massasauga, you could also find yourself paired-off with the MiG-31.
Silver, "Blind" means your wingman lost-visual on the guy they're supposed to be protecting (you).
-Because your plane is slow, hurrrr.
So who's 2-5
Feel sorry for 2
Also, @Foster, No CBU abuse
Oh, you.
I have other forms of dakka to abuse.
-Just be glad there aren't any airships to roundhouse-kick a hand-grenade up their wheelhouse in this RP.
Meanwhile, my sleeping-habits
Well, if the MiG-31 pilot takes a pressure-suit, it can take nearly forever to get ready, since to put that on you've gotta strip down to your skivvies, and find an extra set of hands to pack your meaty frame into it.
-Or the pressure suit is Lonnie's skivvies, in that case getting ready is pretty quick and simple.
Seems the latter case usually happened if one expected to be on-alert for that day, stripping-out soon as you got off.
Which brings about the problem of pilot-hygiene during sustained high-intesity operations. (which during the cold-war, also had to consider the possibility of fields being chemically contaminated and/or irradiated)
-Which is about when the US Air Force unvieled the "poopy-suit".
Also: MiG-25 as a ground attack jet:
"As the bombs would weigh no more and incur no more drag than its regular load of R-40 missiles, its performance was not impaired, leading to some impressive bombing feats; when released at an altitude of 20,000m (66,000 ft) and a speed above Mach 2, a [normal] 500 kg bomb would have a glide range of several tens of kilometres"
Blyat. MiG-23 wanna try.
-Or the pressure suit is Lonnie's skivvies, in that case getting ready is pretty quick and simple.
Seems the latter case usually happened if one expected to be on-alert for that day, stripping-out soon as you got off.
Which brings about the problem of pilot-hygiene during sustained high-intesity operations. (which during the cold-war, also had to consider the possibility of fields being chemically contaminated and/or irradiated)
-Which is about when the US Air Force unvieled the "poopy-suit".
Also: MiG-25 as a ground attack jet:
"As the bombs would weigh no more and incur no more drag than its regular load of R-40 missiles, its performance was not impaired, leading to some impressive bombing feats; when released at an altitude of 20,000m (66,000 ft) and a speed above Mach 2, a [normal] 500 kg bomb would have a glide range of several tens of kilometres"
Blyat. MiG-23 wanna try.
Banned for being much too quiet.
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