Athol

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad

While Ducaelia tried her claws at 'interrogation', Gerad made a mental note to speak to Silas about his concerns once they go off of this rock. Skag it, wish I knew more 'bout how th'm clanks worked...

While the other were busy with the questioning Gerad poked about, though the first order was pulling the HF blade from where it was still stuck in his Barrier. With a bit of a tug it came free, and he gave it a once over. Poorly sized for his main hands, it was none the less a decent little cutter, worth tinkering with back on the ship. Lifting a sheath from one of the dead, he attached to a foreleg to keep it out of the way before continuing with his investigation of their attackers gear; whomever was responsible for the equipment list knew what they were doing, as it was all top flight gear.

While the repair nanites did as much as they could, he released a different kind onto one of the less mangled casualties. Known as 'Dupers', their role was to infiltrate tech and map targeted tech as fast as possible, for those time where collecting samples just wasn't practical. Gerad was most interested in the cammo cloaks used as they seemed to be fairly effective, but he really didn't have space to bring one with him.

In the background, he heard the man break, and Cyne announed that he was into the system. "Back t' work I guess..."
--
"Wowche' boss!" 'Overwatch' was all well and good...assuming there was any high ground he could get his stumpy hide up onto; but since the building's designers hadn't made any such considerations, all he could do was wedge himself in a likely corner.

As the APCs came into view, he couldn't help but smile a bit. Like the tank it had a shield, but unlike the tank, there was only one emitter meaning an older and less effective design. When the order was given, Gerad opened fire first with his VLA at full power, sweeping it across all three machines. The shields did their best to refract and dissipate the laser, but in doing so they burn a lot of energy and suffered a significant drop in effectiveness, which of course Gerad was counting on. On the heels of his VLA came the PRP, heavy bolts of plasma slammed into the first APC, slagging the front end and forcing it to halt; a testament to its builders though, the crew inside survived, though they had to abandon it as the blast also disabled its weapons.

The second wasn't so lucky, as Gerad adjusted his shot and actually hit under the vehicle, causing the blast to be forced upwards and into the belly. The APC simply blew up, shrapnel shredding the dismounts using it as cover, debris scattering over a wide area.

The third one slammed to a halt as the driver probably panicked, but all that did was make the shot easier. The third one blew as spectacularly as the second, though the 'soldiers' scattered from it much faster. With it neutralized, Gerad put a fourth PRP shot into the first APC, just to be sure.

The Saltaire District

Menddir Sohrersson

Still solidly built, he's none the less starting to show his age; a bit softer around the middle, grey hairs here and there, evey year a few more wrinkles. He hears other bemoan the fact that they're getting older, but to him they are things worth cherishing as it means he's still alive.

His body is a patchwork of tattoos and scars collected from a lifetime of fighting. Runes of protection, strength and health adorn his arms and torso, while ones of endurance, way-finding and peace cover his legs; behind his right ear, and now lost in his still thick, but greying, hair he has an intertwined rune of wisdom and knowledge. His hand, both backs and palms, have ones of power, strength and magic.
-
Of the numerous scars, there are only two are of note. The most noticeable, across his left eye, was as the result of a foolish boast as a young and hot-headed warrior; in his arrogance he thought he could beat any man and so challenged a Jarl for the right to rule, a rather foolish endeavour as it turned out.

His lower left leg has a sizable bite mark from a bear baiting match that went wrong; he was fortunate others acted fast enough to drive the animal off before it could do more serious harm.

"Beware of the old man in a vocation where most men die young."

---

---

Menddir Sohrersson

Male

54

Human

---

Iron Mage
^{The Northlander term for what most would call a 'Spellsword'}

The common view of Northlanders is that of a gruff and stoic type, with little use for the idle conversations and pleasantries found among the more southern peoples. While there is some truth to that, it is mostly because such things are usually reserved for friends and clansmen in the North. Menddir however has spent a large part of his life in the South, and has become much more open to others. A serious warrior for sure, but a welcoming friend to those around him.

Menddir was born in the fractious tribal area known simply as the Northlands, where Jarls rule over small holds, trade and make war with one another; some send raiding parties to the Southern Lands, while others offer their services as warriors to defend against such attacks.

Menddir was the second son of a minor noble, and grew up always intending to be his brother's strong right arm when he inherited thier father's title. Such plans where further strengthened, when as he began to mature, a magical affinity began to show itself.

Tested by the Hold's Skaal, his strength was found to be a bit lacking, but that did not worry Menddir; he'd already been training as a warrior since he was a child, now he would become one of the revered Iron Mages, men and women who wielded both blade and magic on the battlefield.
-
In his fifteenth year, his father's Housecarl and Skaal both deemed him fit to leave training and take up arms as an Iron Mage. The next two years were some of the greatest of his young life; raiding both Holds and southern towns at his brother's side, hunting beasts and other such deeds. However just short of his eighteenth year, he nearly undid it all; at the Jarl's request, he and a sizable war-party were sent to aid an allied Hold, and upon arriving Menddir in his youthful arrogance was dismayed to see the allied Jarl was an old man who seemed to do little but sit in his Great Hall and whisper to his attendants.

After the war-party assisted in driving off a heavy raid from another Hold, the reason they were sent in the first place, Menddir made his move. Barging into the Great Hall he declared the Jarl was too feeble to rule and that the Hold deserved a strong leader, an Iron Mage leader. While his war-party's presence gave the impression that he was willing to make a go of it, few of the men seemed overly enthusiastic (he'd neglected to tell any of them his poorly thought out plan).

Marching to the Jarl, he issued a challenge by combat for the right to rule, stating he'd give the old man a 'chance' by with holding his magic. The Jarl nodded, and the Hall was made ready for the duel. Once all was set the duel began...and then it ended; in his arrogance, Menddir rushed in thinking to overwhelm the old Jarl, only to find himself on the ground with the left side of his face feeling like it was on fire, and a bloody sword point to his nose.

Seeing Menddir's stupidity and arrogance for what it was, the Jarl didn't claim his life, though it was his right, instead ordering Menddir's war-party to gather up their half-blinded 'leader' and depart at once. Upon returning to his own hold, his Jarl was enraged, but not without mercy. He was allowed to remain in the Hold for as long as it took for his wound to be declared healed, though he would have few rights and no authority. Once that time was passed, he was escorted from the Hold to never return under pain of death. After the Jarl's initial pronouncement neither his father nor brother spoke to or of him, nor came to see him while he remained. His mother still came to see him, though she seldom spoke, but that was more because she helped tend his wound. When he was escorted from the Hold none of his family were there.
--
From there he set off South to try and make his way in the world, and to keep his belly full; while he was angry at the time, he's now made peace with what was done and considers it the right action. What he did should have started a war between his Hold and the other, but wiser heads prevailed, and he still had his life.
--
Menddir found himself in Heston not for the first time, having just finished a contract escorting one of the city's wealthier merchants around a few of his holdings outside of the city's walls.

---

Quilted gambeson and lamellar armour
Iron helmet and chain-mail
Splinted greaves and vambraces
^{His left vambrace is engraved with a runic sigil of defence and protection allowing him to focus a ward into a shield that will stop most physical and magical attacks for a time.}
Axe
Seax

Skills

Single-Handed Combat
Cook
Tailor
Singer

Abilities

Mage
Cold Resistant
Long Endurance

Major Spells

Firebolt
^{Medium range ball of fire. Explodes on contact}
Flames
^{Short range jet of fire}
Frost
^{Short range blast of intense cold}
Lightning
^{Medium range bolt of lightening. Can arc between some targets.}

Minor Spells

Defensive Ward
^{Focused through left vambrace. Creates a three foot diameter 'shield' for protection.}
Bind Wound
^{Causes wounds to heal at a phenomenal rate.}

---

---

He has at least three sons and two daughters, that he knows of, but he's never met any of them.

The Saltaire District

Menddir Sohrersson

Still solidly built, he's none the less starting to show his age; a bit softer around the middle, grey hairs here and there, evey year a few more wrinkles. He hears other bemoan the fact that they're getting older, but to him they are things worth cherishing as it means he's still alive.

His body is a patchwork of tattoos and scars collected from a lifetime of fighting. Runes of protection, strength and health adorn his arms and torso, while ones of endurance, way-finding and peace cover his legs; behind his right ear, and now lost in his still thick, but greying, hair he has an intertwined rune of wisdom and knowledge. His hand, both backs and palms, have ones of power, strength and magic.
-
Of the numerous scars, there are only two are of note. The most noticeable, across his left eye, was as the result of a foolish boast as a young and hot-headed warrior; in his arrogance he thought he could beat any man and so challenged a Jarl for the right to rule, a rather foolish endeavour as it turned out.

His lower left leg has a sizable bite mark from a bear baiting match that went wrong; he was fortunate others acted fast enough to drive the animal off before it could do more serious harm.

"Beware of the old man in a vocation where most men die young."

---

---

Menddir Sohrersson

Male

54

Human

---

Iron Mage
^{The Northlander term for what most would call a 'Spellsword'}

The common view of Northlanders is that of a gruff and stoic type, with little use for the idle conversations and pleasantries found among the more southern peoples. While there is some truth to that, it is mostly because such things are usually reserved for friends and clansmen in the North. Menddir however has spent a large part of his life in the South, and has become much more open to others. A serious warrior for sure, but a welcoming friend to those around him.

Menddir was born in the fractious tribal area known simply as the Northlands, where Jarls rule over small holds, trade and make war with one another; some send raiding parties to the Southern Lands, while others offer their services as warriors to defend against such attacks.

Menddir was the second son of a minor noble, and grew up always intending to be his brother's strong right arm when he inherited thier father's title. Such plans where further strengthened, when as he began to mature, a magical affinity began to show itself.

Tested by the Hold's Skaal, his strength was found to be a bit lacking, but that did not worry Menddir; he'd already been training as a warrior since he was a child, now he would become one of the revered Iron Mages, men and women who wielded both blade and magic on the battlefield.
-
In his fifteenth year, his father's Housecarl and Skaal both deemed him fit to leave training and take up arms as an Iron Mage. The next two years were some of the greatest of his young life; raiding both Holds and southern towns at his brother's side, hunting beasts and other such deeds. However just short of his eighteenth year, he nearly undid it all; at the Jarl's request, he and a sizable war-party were sent to aid an allied Hold, and upon arriving Menddir in his youthful arrogance was dismayed to see the allied Jarl was an old man who seemed to do little but sit in his Great Hall and whisper to his attendants.

After the war-party assisted in driving off a heavy raid from another Hold, the reason they were sent in the first place, Menddir made his move. Barging into the Great Hall he declared the Jarl was too feeble to rule and that the Hold deserved a strong leader, an Iron Mage leader. While his war-party's presence gave the impression that he was willing to make a go of it, few of the men seemed overly enthusiastic (he'd neglected to tell any of them his poorly thought out plan).

Marching to the Jarl, he issued a challenge by combat for the right to rule, stating he'd give the old man a 'chance' by with holding his magic. The Jarl nodded, and the Hall was made ready for the duel. Once all was set the duel began...and then it ended; in his arrogance, Menddir rushed in thinking to overwhelm the old Jarl, only to find himself on the ground with the left side of his face feeling like it was on fire, and a bloody sword point to his nose.

Seeing Menddir's stupidity and arrogance for what it was, the Jarl didn't claim his life, though it was his right, instead ordering Menddir's war-party to gather up their half-blinded 'leader' and depart at once. Upon returning to his own hold, his Jarl was enraged, but not without mercy. He was allowed to remain in the Hold for as long as it took for his wound to be declared healed, though he would have few rights and no authority. Once that time was passed, he was escorted from the Hold to never return under pain of death. After the Jarl's initial pronouncement neither his father nor brother spoke to or of him, nor came to see him while he remained. His mother still came to see him, though she seldom spoke, but that was more because she helped tend his wound. When he was escorted from the Hold none of his family were there.
--
From there he set off South to try and make his way in the world, and to keep his belly full; while he was angry at the time, he's now made peace with what was done and considers it the right action. What he did should have started a war between his Hold and the other, but wiser heads prevailed, and he still had his life.
--
Menddir found himself in Heston not for the first time, having just finished a contract escorting one of the city's wealthier merchants around a few of his holdings outside of the city's walls.

---

Quilted gambeson and lamellar armour
Iron helmet and chain-mail
Splinted greaves and vambraces
^{His left vambrace is engraved with a runic sigil of defence and protection allowing him to focus a ward into a shield that will stop most physical and magical attacks for a time.}
Axe
Seax

Skills

Single-Handed Combat
Cook
Tailor
Singer

Abilities

Mage
Cold Resistant
Long Endurance

Major Spells

Firebolt
^{Medium range ball of fire. Explodes on contact}
Flames
^{Short range jet of fire}
Frost
^{Short range blast of intense cold}
Lightning
^{Medium range bolt of lightening. Can arc between some targets.}

Minor Spells

Defensive Ward
^{Focused through left vambrace. Creates a three foot diameter 'shield' for protection.}
Bind Wound
^{Causes wounds to heal at a phenomenal rate.}

---

---

He has at least three sons and two daughters, that he knows of, but he's never met any of them.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Could never get into WoT:Merc, the controller just never 'felt' right in relation to the driving (too used to WoT PC I guess...not that I play a whole hell of a lot)

The Saltaire District

You have my attention...

Into the Crossing (a Drifters-inspired Alternate History roleplay)

Question, how technologically advanced can characters be?

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Don't know if the 'survivor' will have much to say, but I figure Gerad will give them 2 choices.
1. Talk and get a quick death.
2. Don't talk and get Ducaelia.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad

As they regrouped from fighting the tank, he took a moment to set his nanites loose to scavenge as much raw material as possible; they were going to be working hard to patch up his damage, and that meant burning through resources.

Much like Silas, he came to the conclusion that the tank and the power armored troops were loaners from one of the other Horsemen; but that also concerned him. Gear like that would have a pretty good comm net at least tying them into their parent units...so where was the back up? They hadn't exactly been subtle, and power armoured troops and anti-grav tanks could move very fast to cover terrain.

As they advanced on the power station, Gerad was on high alert expecting an ambush or out-right attack at any moment, but it never came. As they pushed inside, he packed the PRP away and dropped back to a rear guard position as they moved on. ”Don' like dis...” He muttered. ”Dey haf t' know we 'ere afte' th' rukus we raised, an' dis place th' mos' plain target, so were th'y be?”

As Cyne and his drone tried to get into the stations systems, Gerad planted himself along the way they'd entered and methodically swept the place, his VLA at the ready. Cyne was talking to Silas when the lights cut out; Gerad hadn't been listening, but the power cut could only mean one thing. ”AMBUSH!” His helmet swapped to night vision automatically as he began to search for hostiles, when Silas called them out.

With basic light gathering optics, the attackers presented merely as a slight optical illusion. ”Skaggin' ghost gear...” Quickly he cycled through his other imagine settings. Thermal as no better, their gear was well insolated; on accident he swapped to a diagnostic mode for tracking shorts in power systems, and they lit up as these mass distortions which only grew more as two activated HF blades.

Trading VLA for Hammer, he ignored the three shooters and closed with the other two. They seemed surprised that he could locate them, and both hesitated for a fraction of a second which gave Gerad the opening he wanted. With his battered shield up he slammed into the first one, their HF sinking deep into it and getting stuck as Gerad launched the attacker with a shoulder charge, sending them flying on one the obelisks with a meaty thud.

The other one had broken wide at the last moment and was trying to get around his side, but must have forgotten that melee was a Garundin specialty. He'd deliberately let it look like he'd left himself open, so when Number Two move to exploit the 'opening', they ran into his swinging Hammer. A half-second flip of his wrist meant instead of hitting them with the flat hammer face, Gerad struck them full force in the chest with the the spike end, punching the spike into their chest cavity before launching them back into the shooters, toppling one of them.

Shield still up, and HF blade still embedded in it, Gerad swapped back to the VLA, taking cover behind he shield. It was still set to the full power 'Beam' from the earlier tank fight, so he simply pulled the trigger and dragged the beam across the shooter he'd knocked over, cutting them and the punctured attack in half in one motion.

The other two had scrambled for cover, but he guessed they were miss/uninformed about Garundin tech and thought they were dealing with a human-like infantry grade laser weapon; one of them popped an aerosol grenade which are generally fairly effective at neutralizing such weapons, but the VLA had enough power output to just force it's way though. Sure it lose some effectiveness, but it retained enough to burn through the console one of them was hiding behind, as well as their armour and flesh behind it. Boring a thumb sized hole through their head, they hit the ground. The last shooter, seeing their team wiped and Ducaelia rending the other one, tried to make a break for the door.

Though his target was still a fairly amorphous blob on visuals, Gerad swept the beam low, taking the running off at the knees. With their cloak now disrupted, Gerad stood from his firing position and approached, weapon still leveled at the survivor. ”Hole up, we got quessions fer ya.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ducaelia still shredding the dead man. Tha' clankie gotta short circuit or two, mayb' need t' take sum Fungi precautions wit' 'er.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad

Gerad let out a triumphant hoot as the tank's defenses began to falter and his shots started to chew up the armour, that hoot became a holler as the lift engine began vomiting fire and the machine began to slew away. Burn ye skaggin' bastard, burn!

Unfortunately, the crew of the tank wasn't about to go down without a fight, and the pilot did their best to re-balance the lift, while the main gun was brought to bear against him. There was no time to do anything except run; but as he tried to, his feet shifted in the rubble and he staggered. Looking down the muzzle of the cannon he knew he was done. "Ancestors watch fer me, I'm comin' " He said softly, closing his eyes.

The next thing he knew, damage alerts from across the rear of his armour howled, his sheilds collapsed and he found himself face down in the dirt, closer to the Chimera. "Bloodydamn, how'd they miss?" It took him a few moments to regain his feet; Militia power armour had pretty good anti-shock systems, but even they had their limits. Once he was up again, he surveyed he damage and spied Sven and Silas by the tank and made a quick association. "I was all set to greet th' Ancestors there...thank y' both. Big heater like dat 've slagged m' proppe'."

He was alive, but his armour was in need of some work. The shields were coming back online, the corona from the tank cannon had overloaded them, but caused no emitter damage. His physical armour w=however was a little worse for the wear; between the power armour skirmish and the tank fight it was down to 60% overall, though some places were a tad more compromised than others. The self-repair nanites were already on the job, but that was going to take time.

He was still taking stock, when he heard Ducealia's call for assistance. "Oi Clankie, need a 'and?" While still giving her a deadpan look through his battered faceplate, he began to clap with his secondary arms, while lifting with his primary ones.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

@Dealdric I just have to say, damn you for having Ducaelia jump on the tank. After her comment about Gerad's (ineffectual) shooting, he was going to make a smart ass reply about offering to throw her at it. :p