[hider=Hamazasp Sulser]

[u][b]Nickname:[/b][/u]

[hider=Appearance:][img]https://images.evetech.net/characters/2112987026/portrait[/img][/hider]He trims his beard regularly. He always carries a smile but never shows his teeth. He throws his shoulders back and walks upright, making him appear taller than actual. He wears a plain T-shirt and thick slacks inside his quarters but wouldn't be caught dead outside without his overcoat. 

[u][b]Age:[/b][/u] 26 Earth years

[u][b]Origin:[/b][/u] Taurian Concordat, born and raised

[u][b]Personality:[/b][/u] An offensive baseliner. In socials, in combat, in romance, he won't engage before calculating a high probability of "success," or his definition of it, then storm forward with unabashed investment. He can wait hours, days, weeks for this opportunity depending on the situation. He's quite patient and observant, though sparingly few friends realize it. He talks so boorishly that acquaintances dismiss him as an irrelevant triviality. Whether this is a front or a genuine aspect of his character, not even he knows himself. He has pondered that occasionally in moments of self reflection. From others' perspectives, the vast majority of interactions are bright, brief, and brash.

	Where are the allegiances of such an elusive fellow? They lie with small creatures. An outcast himself once, he sympathizes. He recognizes death and loss; he's seen and caused plenty across his short lifetime. Nonetheless, he'd open up his hatch to release an entrapped dragonfly should the need arise. If he finds a homeless person, he'll divert his routine to keep the vagrant warm and well fed. He'd do his best to reroute his biped around buildings, roads, and electric lines, if only because he understands their vitality to the common man's everyday activities. His quest to find purpose will cause no collateral damage.

[u][b]History:[/b][/u] The Sulser's dairy industry, like most on Illiushin, was renowned throughout known civilization. The youngest of six siblings, however, Hamazasp was impeded from higher positions of company leadership. He found solace in simulation. His older sister fell ill, and he assumed her duties. Misinterpreting his benevolence as a power grab, she demanded his exile when she recovered. Instead, his mother assigned him a role in their newly-established branch within the Draconis Combine, the family's furthest domain: banishment in every way but literal, thankfully with honor still intact.

	He labored diligently towards his newfound duty for little benefit. Unfortunately, despite his product's quality, name recognition prevented it from mainstream attraction. Illiushin's gouda advertised and sold itself with its reputation; Shinonoi colby jack felt off brand and fake. He tried to market through his home network, but they wouldn't return his calls. Finances forced him to downsize, eventually to where he himself operated the machinery. Managing a franchise doomed to fail depressed him, but the levers' and switches' methodical coordination calmed and comforted him. His childhood simulations provided useful advice, but practice was another matter entirely.

	He steered the business to its dying day. He personally slaughtered each of the remaining cattle, the last employees long since departed. His hands' work stillborn, he roamed the Inner Sphere for new opportunities. One night, while contracting on Vega VII, he received a quarter life crisis. He wondered how it would feel to handle a metal titan for real. He knew that mechanical operation was different but wanted to know the extent of its difference. Foolhardy? Sure, but he had nothing better to do. Would it kill him? Maybe so, but his parents wouldn't miss him. Very well. He'd sign himself up.

	The Fourth Succession War altered the political galaxy's course and shape, but powers that be forgot to include Darius in that restructuring. A planetary government, extremely paranoid that the Buckminster Prefecture couldn't rescue them from "impending conquest" (their words), purchased and established a reconnaissance lance to guard their critical access points. Unexperienced with these matters, they made rookie mistakes aplenty: purchasing mint condition machines, background checks, cutting protection to maximize firepower, decent wages, et cetera. The pool of competent mercenaries was already exhausted several times over, and Hamazasp stood at barrel's bottom.

	He was handed a Spider SDR-5K and no further instruction or training. His video games informed him of which dials went where, which was sadly more education than his peers had. Gradually the team became a cohesive unit, but their missions consisted of naught but escorting elected officials' cars. For a single instance, they engaged a gang of bandits who maintained simple motorized infantry and vehicles. As was typical in the Benjamin Military District, no apocalyptic threat descended from the sky, merely a boring peace. Violence was not the First's demise; it was bankruptcy. Its maintenance sapped their sponsor's treasury until the locals resolved to sell the 'Mechs and default on their contractors' payments. Hamazasp's Spartan lifestyle was no stranger to him; he carried on as his comrades faded into obscurity and poverty.

	Then Rasalhague came knocking. They offered food, pay, and a brighter scene. He answered the call. Perhaps he'd see some honest to goodness action.

[u][b]Skills: [/b][/u]
Gunnery: 1
Piloting: 2
Guts: 4
Tactics: 5

Abilities:

[u][b]Misc[/b][/u]: Keeps a pocket harmonica, and plays it as the mood arises. Maintains a physical library of novels and reference material, as space allows. For growing up on a world that specializes in cheeses, is oddly lactose intolerant.[/hider][hider=Ayrshire (Locust LCT-1V)]
Mass/Class: 20T (13T frame) LIGHT Fire Support
Armor: 4T StarSlab
Top Speed: 129.6 km/h run; jump N/A
Armaments: 
	M Laser
	MG x2 (with full pack of ammunition between them)
Heat Sinks: N/A
Quirks:
	Compact ’Mech
	Narrow/Low Profile
	Cramped Cockpit
	No/Minimal Arms
	Weak Legs
[/hider]