Bastian

Star Wars: A New Batch - A Clone Squad RP [CLOSED]

Trooper CT-8246

Clone Number: CT-8246

Army Rank/Role: Medic

Nickname: None yet

Personality/Bio:

Like each of his brothers, 8246 is a perfect likeness and near-exact approximation of Jango Fett's personality. Also like the other clones, he possesses some slight variations in character from the original template. During his growth and training on Kamino, he was noted by the Mandalorian instructors and the Kaminoans for his composure and inexpressive body language, leading to him being frequently called "stone-faced" or "cold." Though eager to participate in training exercises and excelling at working with his fellow clones as a team, he showed comparatively little ambition or competitive spirit, instead being content to simply do his part. Though this has gained him a reputation for being dispassionate, 8246 nevertheless has finely-honed physician's instincts and is fiercely protective of each of his brothers in Rawl Squad, as well as anyone that requires treatment under his vibroscalpel.

Weaponry:

DC-15s Blaster Carbine

Medical Satchel:

3x Vibroscalpel
1x Laser Cautery
5x High-dose Bacta Patches
Bandages
Bacta Flask and Injector
Handheld Medscanner
Antiradiation and Adrenaline Capsules

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

Stur scratched a bit at his beard. He knew that by turning her back on him so pointedly, the half-elf was trying to wound his pride. Despite that particular bit of knowledge, he still felt himself rising to the bait, the words of an equally biting reply forming somewhere inside. Reluctantly, he clamped down on his tongue. The only thing that mattered right now was the mission, the the coin that came after. He needed that reward, needed it more than he needed life itself, and so couldn't afford to drag things out any more than they already were.

He let out a long breath, still watching the half-elf as she leaned threateningly toward their masked guide-to-be, dispelling both the eager banter on his lips and the last remaining bit of mirth he had in his system over the situation in the first place. The elf - Aoné - introducing herself as a barbarian nearly started him up again, but Stur held firm, his face once again carefully composed.

He listened to the introductions once more, names starting to become more familiar to him this time around. Solveig, Imalessa... the one that perpetually looked like she had swallowed a lemon was called Brynan. So she was in the king's employ, after all.

And there it is: the shame, the frustration... the helpless, hopeless anger. The aging mercenary was all too well acquainted with feelings like those. He nodded just slightly to himself - he couldn't bring himself to care much, but he felt like he understood a bit better now.

Gentle had moved off to talk directly to the huntress, Imalessa. Stur felt it was time to say his piece, again. He moved a bit to the front of the group, back in the vicinity of Nathaniel and Brynan.

"Stur Stonetalon. My business of late is mainly breaking stubborn heads. Though," a quick glance towards the bull and the dragonborn, "looks like I've got some decent competition there. Fortunately for us, I'm a bodyguard of sorts, just like our Royal Protector here. I can keep the less... sturdy among us out of harm's way, if need be."

That's not all he could do, of course. But that's all these few needed to know, for now.

Star Wars: A New Batch - A Clone Squad RP [CLOSED]

I'm all about some clones, and some OG Star Wars Expanded Universe. Definitely interested!

Fog of Torvelt

STUR

__________

The weathered mercenary pushed open the doors and emerged into the soon-to-be cramped sitting room. Internally, he winced at the thought of that huge bull-beast crushing him against the walls. The less said about the growing strangeness of their little band, the better. He had neither seen nor heard of whatever species this Gentle belonged to, he who looked like he could knock down a small building or two if presented with the slightest inconvenience. The others didn't exactly put him at ease, either. Though, there was something to be said about that full-blooded elf. Sorceress though she may be, she was the only one of the group that had professed to wanting to find a cure for the Fog. Stur had resolved to keep a closer watch over her than the others - someone with the guts and the brains to try to tackle that particular problem stood to help everyone in the entire country if they were successful, and they couldn't afford to be lose her by way of running some fool king's rescue mission.

That first half-elf was propped up against the stones right next to the doorway, looking everyone over with a studious eye. Stur returned her gesture in kind, carefully breaking down just what about her set off those faint alarums in his mind. The way she held herself seemed almost effortless, like every little motion was a part of some dance. He reckoned she was fast with those blades of hers. Too fast. Maybe five years back, he would have been able to match her blow for blow, but nowadays, if it came down to it, he figured he'd need to keep her at a distance, using his longer reach until he could wear her down and knock her on her back. Let her get in close, and he'd be dead before he hit the ground.

He didn't trust her one bit, neither her haughty expression nor her pair of sinuous swords.

Stur's train of thought was soundly interrupted by the introduction of the man in the strange mask, this Nathaniel. The mercenary grunted sourly; he knew of nobody that hid their face unless there was killing or stealing to be done. This one reeked of dishonesty, but then who that he had met today didn't? Lowlander hexers like this one were no small amount of trouble, though, it was true. He'd had to rough up one or two in his time; one of them had tried to turn him into a pigeon.

Things took a turn for the worse when that same haughty half-elf stepped right up and challenged their supposed guide. Stur rolled his eyes; so, the she-bitch was going to let her ego get in the way of the job now, too? By her words in the king's presence, she seemed like she was directly involved in his affairs before this. Had she somehow gone and gotten His Royal Backside lost in the first place, then? He had half a mind to say something before the situation got worse, but his job had taught him when to hold his tongue and when to-

The bull-man had stepped forward. Stur's eyes widened slightly as he proceeded, in his rumbling, implacable voice, to give the both of them the dressing-down they deserved. He listened in rapt silence until the words titanic cock reached his ears; his mouth twitched, and it was all he could do to stay silent until the talk had almost died down before the steely composure that he had been holding so valiantly abruptly cracked. The man doubled over, raucous laughter pouring out and bouncing off the stone walls.

He gasped a long breath, reaching up to wipe a moistened eye. "Ohh, ah, gods without," he managed, "he's got you both, there."

Academy of Noble Arms - The Golden Generation

Ope, I just posted on the interest check thread only to see you've set up the RP itself. Are you still accepting characters?

Academy of Noble Arms - The Golden Generation

Still interested, just got kind of busy the past few days. I've got a pretty good character idea and I'm working on my sheet.

Fog of Torvelt

Hmm, you raise a good point. I had him as Aragorn because of the leader in exile bit, but his virtues and vices are much more Boromir.

Fog of Torvelt

Not saying I'm Aragorn, buuut...

Fog of Torvelt

Nine companions... so be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Fog!

Fog of Torvelt

Ditto, also I take my time posting sometimes and don't want to hold anybody up if they have something really good and relevant to post.