Bork Lazer

Mirage: Tales of Urth (A Quest)

[x] - A pair of bolas wound tightly around your blue-skinned ankles. You can make out the whorled tattoos of the sand krakens that your clan has worshipped for millennia.

Choice: Faa Nomad

---

You almost want to laugh at the irony of the situation. A Faa such as yourself dying in the depths of the Vaarnish Interior is akin to a dromadon dying from thirst. Pride and anger then bubbles within your belly. You would not die some honorless death. You would die by Vaa’s grace and rejoin your ancestors in the cyan sands that birthed your flesh and blood.

You tug at your arms, only to realize that they are bound together in a knot of rope that snakes around the wrists, tearing painfully at your skin. Your teeth and jaws gnash together, trying to bite through the gag that is stuffed in your mouth. The only movement you can make resembles a memory of a juvenile sand kraken that your clan heads once captured deep in the Interior.

It’s only after a while that you realise that there is no hope here.

You sigh, reminiscing at your past memories, letting the blue desert speak to you.

The sandy winds whisper your name to you………

Pick one choice and post in OOC

[X] - Ikrush

[X] - Rence

[X] - Cirus

[X] - Roll a d20

[X] - Write in………..

The stars flash above, dying constellations painting a picture of your past. Clouds of comets swirl in an image only you know is true to your heart, the truth for why you left the safety of your clans, it was because….

Pick one choice and post in OOC

[X] - Of forbidden love.

[X] - Of adventure to Gnomon, the Jewel of the Badlands

[X] - Of murder

[X] - Roll a d20

[X] - Write in………

Your thoughts are interrupted by a snide comment that scrambles your mind ofr a moment. Your Vaarnish is well-spoken but many years wandering the phtalo plains of the Vaarnish Interior have left your verbal lexicon lacking. The snide comment repeats itself again, as it grows closer in your ear.

“ Well, look who we have here.”

Roll 4d20 and post result in OOC

Mirage: Tales of Urth (A Quest)

M I R A G E

.....To move in these blue dunes is to be marooned in the past, for I drank from the ikor of slumbering mountains and recited cants of yore to the hums of their quivering star wombs.....

- Last Words of Jhull Khonia, Apostle of the Promised Sun

Red.

Red is what you first see when you come to.

There is no variation, nothing to see. Just a plain expanse of light crimson that stretches from east to west. Hanging in this cloudless frame is a dull circle, bleeding faint light colored like embers.

Then, you look around, your vision wavering and blurry, small shadows around you that you can barely make out moving to and fro. All you can be sure of is the blue around them. By the Titans, it’s everywhere. Dunes that glide and curve around the phtalo plains and in the distance, pale mountains that look li

You try to move your body but something pulls you back, preventing you from any further. Looking down at your legs with growing frustration, you see.......

Pick one choice and post in the OOC.

[X] - A pair of roughshod worm leather heels wrapped together in plasteel chains.

[X] - Frayed rope wrapped around sand-abraded feet, one covered from toe to ankle in polyps and other pocketed with sun blisters

[X] - Sparking wire woven through the steel simulacrum of man feet.

[x] - A grievous rusty clamp bound around your legs and tail

[x] - Stumps that once were your gloriously sized hyphae

[X] - A pair of bolas wound tightly around your blue-skinned ankles. You can make out the whorled tattoos of the sand krakens that your clan has worshipped for millennia.

[X] - A series of worn out hyperelastic myo bands wrapped around two pawed feet covered in spotted, tawny fur

[X] - A long thick chain wrapped around your craggy feet. It’s attached to a crackled marble bust of a former Autarch, their face sculpted to inspire command and fear.

[X] - An obsidian black ontological anchor driven into the ground that binds your two-dimensional form to this plane.

---

Mirage is a dice-based quest based on the tabletop RPG: Vaults of Vaarn. The setting is essentially a dying-earth retrofuturistic science fantasy RP with vibes of Dune, Moebius and Gamma World. People are free to join and leave the quest at their leisure at any time. Their only requirement for participation is to vote an action or dice roll in the OOC tab. Actions are decided based on simple majority whilst dice rolls are decided by whoever rolls first.

Map of Vaarn

Mirage: Tales of Urth (A Quest)

M I R A G E

.....To move in these blue dunes is to be marooned in the past, for I drank from the ikor of slumbering mountains and recited cants of yore to the hums of their quivering star wombs.....

- Last Words of Jhull Khonia, Apostle of the Promised Sun

Red.

Red is what you first see when you come to.

There is no variation, nothing to see. Just a plain expanse of light crimson that stretches from east to west. Hanging in this cloudless frame is a dull circle, bleeding faint light colored like embers.

Then, you look around, your vision wavering and blurry, small shadows around you that you can barely make out moving to and fro. All you can be sure of is the blue around them. By the Titans, it’s everywhere. Dunes that glide and curve around the phtalo plains and in the distance, pale mountains that look li

You try to move your body but something pulls you back, preventing you from any further. Looking down at your legs with growing frustration, you see.......

Pick one choice and post in the OOC.

[X] - A pair of roughshod worm leather heels wrapped together in plasteel chains.

[X] - Frayed rope wrapped around sand-abraded feet, one covered from toe to ankle in polyps and other pocketed with sun blisters

[X] - Sparking wire woven through the steel simulacrum of man feet.

[x] - A grievous rusty clamp bound around your legs and tail

[x] - Stumps that once were your gloriously sized hyphae

[X] - A pair of bolas wound tightly around your blue-skinned ankles. You can make out the whorled tattoos of the sand krakens that your clan has worshipped for millennia.

[X] - A series of worn out hyperelastic myo bands wrapped around two pawed feet covered in spotted, tawny fur

[X] - A long thick chain wrapped around your craggy feet. It’s attached to a crackled marble bust of a former Autarch, their face sculpted to inspire command and fear.

[X] - An obsidian black ontological anchor driven into the ground that binds your two-dimensional form to this plane.

---

Mirage is a dice-based quest based on the tabletop RPG: Vaults of Vaarn. The setting is essentially a dying-earth retrofuturistic science fantasy RP with vibes of Dune, Moebius and Gamma World. People are free to join and leave the quest at their leisure at any time. Their only requirement for participation is to vote an action or dice roll in the OOC tab. Actions are decided based on simple majority whilst dice rolls are decided by whoever rolls first.

Map of Vaarn

The Hourglass Order

Onarr Yidlob

---

Interacting With: @dragonpiece

---

Isla DÁmato reminded him of the Joruban Republic with its humid climate and the crowds of sailors he’d regularly see whenever he accompanied his father down to the docks, plying their trade and salvaging steel from weary sellswords who were looking to make a quick coin. He adjusted the scuff of his helm, now glowing with a more silver luster than before. He hoped the alterations he made would allow his treasured gift from his brother to weather the briny air.

He ignored the gazes of the onlookers who by all accounts, looked as though they had never seen a dwarf in their entire life. As he listened to Desmond’s plans, he was nonplussed by the air of bravado his classmate seemed to be determined to put on. His head craned towards the location where Desmond pointed to and he frowned. Dorvalish was not a part of his limited repertoire of languages. It would be hard for him and Ingrid to fit in and he severely doubted that she spoke adequate Dorvalish.

“ Thank you,” he replied to Ingrid as they both walked together to the Main. His ears perked up at her plan and he looked up at her in anticipation.

“ Do tell. Does it involve subtlety or something more….loud?”

The Hourglass Order

Onarr Yidlob

---

Interacting with: Desmond @Th3King0fChaos, Trypano @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid @dragonpiece, Eun-Ji @Medili, Carmilla @Animus, Dorothea @jasbraq, Leon @Jumbus, Manfred, Jocasta Re, Hugo Hunghorasz @Force and Fury

---

The morning had already been full of surprises so meeting the paradigm himself, Hugo Hunghorasz, on any other day would have reduced him to fits of prostate bowing in front of a magician of astronomical caliber. Seeing Jocasta, the student that he had met in the local Stresian Guild library, was also quite a shock but that didn’t even come close to the announcements that the Arch-Zeno laid before them like a decree.

30 minutes to prepare? I can barely make a cup of Danzagg in 30 minutes!

This was a task far more suited for a Stresian diplomat or an expeditionary, not a scholar of his trade who was far more used to the bookshelf than traversing the vast opens of Constantia like a gallivanting adventurer. Onarr, however, didn’t have enough will in him to testify against an Arch-Zeno, especially one above him in the societal totem pole of Ersand’Enise. He would just have to put faith in the old mage’s wisdom and hope that he wasn’t sending students to their death in an attempt to make room for classes.

Onarr studied what he had on his person. He was currently in his evening clothes and his cloak, with a block of dried goat cheese and his trusty helmet covering his hideous face along with a few curios on his person. Good items for a day of academic study but completely lacking for excursions in foreign lands. Taking out a piece of parchment, Onarr took out a chunk of coal from his pockets and began to scrawl out a list of items for Jocasta to bring to him.

ONARR’s LIST

A bottle of whale oil
Smithing tools underneath bed
Boar jerky and a bag of nutmeg
Pickled limes
His satchel of Perrenchian currency
His half-completed casting staff
Summer clothes in his wardrobe

After completing his shopping list and handing it over to Jocasta, Onarr walked over the group, recognising a few familiar faces such as Leon Soilare, his fellow first year student who made a stunning impression at the induction ceremony. The storm of conversation and harried planning made the Joruban lose his mind but eventually, he found focus as he began to speak. “ Appropriate disguises will be needed, most assuredly,” Onarr nodded in response to Desmond’s plans, before raising a finger. “ We would need to also adopt the local slang of the region in order to better conform and reduce attention to ourselves and ingratiate ourselves with these vagabonds. I am only familiar with “ Arrrr, me maties” . Does anyone know any other local Mycormish slang?”

Onarr’s mind quickly began accelerating at all the possible items he would need. Whilst he was no stranger to seawater, his helmet was constructed of castle-forged steel. His helmet would most likely rust and fall apart whilst on this mission which would render his magnetic magicks useless. After some consideration, his mind turned to one of the many Stresian Scholars, Ioha, to be precise. Her work on construction of naval vessels was interesting but what was far more interesting were her conjectures on the application of chemical magic in metallurgy…..

“ I believe I require the most change in attire. A helmet such as this will falter in the environment we will be heading to,” Onarr rapped the steel of his helm before turning towards Hugo. “ Would it be possible to acquire a 1 kilogram block of raw zinc? For experimental purposes, of course. “

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

Connie couldn’t tell whether it was day or night by the time she made it back to her apartment unit safely. Evenings and mornings were blended together for TTI medics until they became one and the same. Only a schedule of mandated corpo melatonin formulas and caffeine allowed her to maintain the inhuman circadian cycle required for a TTI operative. Without her corporate pills, Connie’s body ached and screamed, every muscle pleading with her to go to sleep. Her heart pounded like a drum in her head and her bones were jelly. Only pure spite towards Regina’s sympathy kept her awake as she walked in the hallways of the sparse Mega-Building. The vendors were busy wheeling away their carts to take a rest before tomorrow’s hustle and a couple of reefers were puffing out hoops in an abandoned ice rink. Her heavy footsteps echoed through the concrete halls as she tried to recollect her apartment number.

Was it 876…..892…..no, I think it was…..

Her fingers pawed the biometric sensors of a door and it slid open. Stumbling into her room, her sleep-deprivation and punch-drunk state combined to form a potent clumsy cocktail as her hips slammed into the countertop. Bottles of synthol fell onto the ground with dull clinks as she navigated her way through sheer instinct to the bathroom. Her apartment had been a mess ever since she moved in. Bullet shells and cigarette butts were scattered like ants on the apartment floor, her boots crunching them underfoot as she strode forth.

As she splashed warm water on her face, she could already hear ma ma telling her how unclean her room was. How she wasn’t eating enough. That she needed to find a real corpo job instead of working as some back alley mercenary. She guffawed at the thought. If only she saw what being a TT medic really was like. Some merc jobs were easily more stomached than the type of grisly shit she heard employees pulled in companies like Biotechnica or Militech. Her naive self made the mistake of thinking that TTI was different and where did it get her now? Living from contract to contract in a shitty overpriced apartment was hardly the ideal of the American Dream that every newscaster seemed to hump to.

The TT uniform was off in a series of swift practiced motions as she shimmied out of it. With both her hands on the rim of the sink, Connie looked at herself. A stitch of bruises ran up her belly up to the middle of her breasts. Her fingers traced a tiny one, dark and purple, over her heart. The tenderness brought back the memory of how she earned that one five days agao, when a Tsunami nekomata nearly cored through her upper lung. The ablative kevlar plate on her uniform managed to deflect it.Her mind continued to fill in the blanks, as she opened the mirror cupboard. She ignored the sharp peaks of stinging pain as she sutured back in a stitch that she had torn open during her fight on the train.

Possible subdural hematoma…….bruising for five days……….superficial frontal cuts……..sprained wrist…..all in all, not bad, Connie

The in-built receiver in her mirror began to ring quietly. Connie recognized the number. Her fingers hovered briefly over the green ‘ACCEPT’ button, unsure, before pressing it.

“ Mom.”

“ Hui Liang….” Her mother’s pursed countenance could be heard through the receiver. Her voice carried a sharp edge to it as she continued speaking. “ ……Are you well?”

“ Yeah,” Connie lied, grinding her teeth to muffle the yelp of pain as she pulled a shard of glass out of her shoulder. “ ….Sorry if I haven’t called you enough. I’ve been busy at work -”

“ Connie, Frank told me about today. How could you not tell me that you’ve been fired from Trauma Team International for six months!”

“ It’s not like I was fired. I was…” Connie stumbled as she searched for the exact bullshit excuse her supervisor told her. “....put on reserve.”

“ And getting involved with the underworld of Night City? We raised you to be a responsible, law abiding individual, not associate yourself with brigands and hooligans - “

“ Well, I’m dealing with it. O-” Connie yelped as she applied too much pressure on a shell she was pulling out.

“ What was that?”

“ Nothing. Nothing.” Connie palmed one hand over her eye in frustration before replying back. “ Is there anything else you’re here to complain about, ma ma?”

“ It’s your father, Hui Liang.” The softness in her mother’s voice made her skin tingle in fear of the next words.

“ He’s dead.”

BattleTech: A Band of Misfits

Character Sheet

Yero Adder

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Nickname/ Call Sign: Shell Fodder

Crew Position: Infantry Commander

Rank: Colonel

Nationality: Free World Leagues

Biographical History:

Yero was a third sibling in a family of 10 on Ionus and seemed destined to toil on a hydroponic farm for the rest of his life, helping his family harvest and sell their produce to nearby systems in the Inner Sphere. Ever since witnessing his first military parade from the shoulders of his beleaguered father on Ionus, the majesty of battlemechs stomping across ferrocrete streets captured his imagination. At the ripe, bold age of 15, Yero tried hard to enter into Ionus Military Academy to become a full Mechwarrior and reap the glories that he saw in his early childhood. However, a medical examination revealed that a cochlear defect would prevent Yero from being able to wear a neurohelmet and fully pilot a mech without suffering further injuries.

Some would say this was the catalyst for Yero’s descent into depression and full on development of imposter syndrome. However, in spite of his bitter regret, Yero signed up as a member of his provincial military. His talent and fleet-footed mind eventually propelled up the ladder to NCO status, eventually becoming a lieutenant of his own platoon. However, trouble struck during a pirate skirmish where it was discovered that several members of his platoon were running a hashish trafficking operation with the pirates. To protect his platoon (or to flee the military in his own opinion), Yero took the lion share’s of the blame and after a military tribunal, was summarily discharged for insubordination and then, arrested for collaboration with criminal elements in the Free World Leagues. Yero was then sent to live a 10 year sentence in a prison colony on Wendigo.

Spending 2 years in confinement, a mass breakout occurred Yero escaped with a group of convicts in a K-1 DropShuttle and hopped from mercenary to mercenary team across the Inner Sphere, accumulating a sizable group of people who looked towards him as a natural leader. Eventually, his crew of 25 odd people eventually made their way into Marley’s Misfits whereby he was made captain. The high casualty rates of contracts on the mercenary company’s infantry units eventually led to

Personality: Yero is a greedy, selfish man who is leading all the poor souls of the Marley Fusiliers to their doom and will be remembered in history as the single most incompetent infantry commander of the 31st century…..is what he would say to you.

Whilst bearing a confident and witty demeanor on the outside, Yero is wrought with pathological self-doubt and believes that he is not as courageous, strong or the bonafide tactical genius that his men think he is. Humble does not even begin to describe the vast depths of his self-loathing as he takes great efforts to diminish his accomplishments by either crediting them to other individuals, coincidence or just ignorance. Such is his self-loathing that he is prone to going into fetal positions of distress in private moments when he is not being observed and crying himself to sleep in order to keep functioning as a part of his company. He believes that the thought of attaining enough kerenskys to retire on some ocean world far away from the incoming crisis of the Fourth Succession War is what fuels him and not the fact that he is addicted to danger in any way possible.

In reality, Yero possesses near suicidal levels of bravery in combat as the threat of death barely manages to make him blink. In addition, Yero is also a veritable tactical genius, able to understand where his men need to be placed on the battlefield and having a knack for logistics and management. His former military background also gives him He is also a deeply empathetic and compassionate individual towards his own men, putting their own needs ahead of his, which he often regards as evidence of his talents in sociopathic emotional manipulation.

Yero has a habit for boozing up with Yangtze Pale Ale and religiously guards his private reserves from the rest of the mercenary company.

Character Portrait

Infantry Organisation

Over the years since the formation of Marley’s Fusilier’s , the lucrative financial remunerations of contracts attracted all sorts of scoundrels, savages, soldier units and wanderers from across the Inner Sphere. Today, they are known as relative nobodies in a system full of crack commandos and super soldiers. If you need a suicide bomber, someone with a jump pack to sneak up onto a Flea and plant an AV mine into a jockey’s cockpit or an extra liver for an emergency procedure, then, you can call on the Marley’s Fusiliers.

The Marley Misfit Fusiliers roughly consists of over 3 companies worth of armed infantry, numbering roughly 298 personnel in total split between 3 platoons worth of men and women. There is no formal organization, given the fact that multiple squads with different SOPs from across the Inner Sphere, can be found, but intensive pressure and management of Jero has managed to beat some sense of direction into unit cohesion. Each company is responsible for management and battle readiness of their own supplies, loadouts and equipment whilst Jero and other recruit new Fusiliers into the infantry. Mercenaries will regularly switch between companies on a chaotic basis and are given a free degree of latitude on how to conduct themselves.

Slaughterhouse Company

Total Members: 108

Commanding Officer: Lieutenant Rosar “ One-Eye” Indel - A former capellan commando who washed out after a tragic mission during the brewing years of the 4th Succession War. Converted to a highly individualized sect of Omniss during medical leave and became obsessed with bringing peace at any cost by killing those who were unpeaceful. Eventually came into contact with Marley’s Misfits and signed up.

Redshirt Platoon

First to enter and the last to leave when shit hits the fan. Primarily used in first strike operations or used to conduct strikes on enemy positions.

Crimson Squad: Crimson Squad is the oldest squad of the Red Shirts with multiple members having been there since the inception of Marley’s Misfits. Iago. Generally the most well balanced and mentally sane of all the squads in Slaughterhouse.

Bonebreaker Squad: An astounding number of their mercs in this squad have training in HVA insertions and are known for incurring the highest medical fees of all squads post-contract due to their tendency to break all their bones when they land.

Burgundy Squad: Rumors exist that members of Burgundy Squad are cannibals from their common tendency to distribute finger and tooth necklaces from the corpses of their fallen enemies, much to the disgust of the battalion. Otherwise, they’re reliable foot infantry. Just be wary of falling asleep next to a member.

Carmine Squad: Known for boasting members that have the best accuracy and perception which makes them lethal sharpshooters. Members regularly compete with other mercs in darts and billiards and bet ludicrous amounts of post-contract payments in casinos.

Octane Platoon

Adrenaline junkies who are prone to performing daring manuevers in the battlefield in aerial and land based transport vehicles. Suspected of taking multiple joyrides with war material in contracts and damaging company equipment.

Dove Squad - Originally used to be called Falcon Squad in the early years of the Marley Misfits before an inordinate number of mercs with both medical and vehicular pilot training were recruited into the squad. Noted for being potential sadists in Slaughterhouse Company due to their tendency to resort to amputation.

Eagle Squad - Every member of Eagle Squad learns the hard way that no, you can’t dogfight an Aerofighter with a VTOL or a transport carrier, no matter how much shells you lob in their general direction.

Turtle Squad - If you need to be transported somewhere fast on land, don’t rely on Turtle Squad.

Rat Squad - The only infantry unit with enough balls to ride on dune buggies and cycles underneath the crotch of an Atlas mech.

Angel Platoon

The only platoon in Slaughterhouse Company that is trusted with the usage of jump packs in combat. Typically collaborates with elements of Octane Platoon for high velocity HALO insertions. Stimulant usage is notably high amongst this platoon to stave off inertial stress and the nausea of using jump packs.

Thunder Squad - Jump-infantry squad noted for being particularly fond of dropping C8 explosives on enemy positions mid-jump. All mercs are noted to suffer tinnitus and hearing problems

Lightning Squad - Talented in usage of shooting with rifles and weaponry mid-jump. Informal sharpshooting competitions are held between members of Lightning Squad with more than one individual becoming horribly injured in an attempt to break company records.

MORE SQUADS TBA

Saboteur Company

Total Members: 102

Commanding Officer: “Private” Peter Lucell - Former Comstar Beta Adept who was imprisoned for deliberately hiding deliberate sabotage of mobile HPGs on trade vessels as mechanical failures in return for payment by roving pirate crews.

Errant Platoon

Consisting of a combination of foot infantry with combat engineer elements, Errant Platoon primarily serves as Saboteur’s company demolitions experts and primary anti-mech force when the Mechwarriors are unable to get the job done.

SQUADS TBA

Vulture Platoon

Generally a grab bag group of scientists and combat engineers who specialize in acquiring and stealing gear from the battlefield to repurpose it for the mercenary company’s own usage.

SQUADS TBA

Losmen Platoon

Serve as the general gearheads of the company, being able to fix anything with sprockets and judicious usage of plasma welding.

SQUADS TBA

Oddball Company

Total Members: 90

Commanding Officer: “Senior Cadet” Io Shamsing - BACKSTORY TBA

Jungle Platoon

In times of tough situations or when the terrain is unsuitable for vehicular or mechanical reconnaissance, this platoon breast mounted infantry troopers are primarily used for stealth reconnaissance of enemy positions without alerting them of their presence.

Orbit Platoon

Consisting mostly of former commandos from ComStar and the Draconis Combine, they are highly reclusive and elitist compared to the rest of the company, preferring to keep their affairs to themselves. In other words, they're complete and utter loners. Used mostly for contracts in zero gravity enviroments.

Shellshock Platoon

When you absolutely, positively need to bury everyone on the battlefield in caskets, Casket Platoon will reduce the entire battlefield to a bloody mist thanks to the absurd number of field guns in their possession that can raze a mountain into a flat plateau.

Equipment, Weaponry and Mechanized Assets

Slaughterhouse Company

Weaponry

Equipment

Vehicular Assets

“Mother Nest” - Karnov UR Transport AC/2 Variant

Specifications: 2 x Bulldog Minigun, 1 x Armstrong Autocannon, 2 x LSRM Launcher, Dual Interfus 155

“ Dying Light” - AC/2 Fire Support Carrier

“ Galapagos - Goblin Medium Tank

" Kangaroo" - Heavy Hover APC

"Poker" - Ignis SRM Model

“ Rat King” - 10 x Dune Buggies/Skimmers With Varying Alterations

" Excalibur" - Von Luckner Heavy Tank

" Scrapper" - Marsden II-A MBT

" Yin and Yang" - Bulldog AC/2 MBT and Bulldog LRM-20

Sabot Company

Weaponry

Equipment

Vehicular Assets

"Piggyback" - Battlemech Recovery Vehicle

13 x Flatbed Trucks

"London" - Prometheus Combat Support Bridgelayer

"The Hand of Truth" - Oppenheimer Hazardous Material Recovery Vehicle

Phantom Company

Weaponry

Equipment

Vehicular Assets

NOT FINISHED. TO BE ADDED AND EDITED OVER THE WEEK. JUST PUT HERE AS A PLACEHOLDER.

Ring of Fire - A Pacific Rim Mecha RP

---

---

The year is 2024.

Shit is fucked.

After an Category V Kaiju emerged from the Breach and unleashed a global electromagnetic storm, communication lines and power grids went offline for 48 hours. In those hours, an unprecedented surge in breach activity resulted in Kaiju flooding the entire world. Whilst the majority of economically developed nations wait with bated breath behind the Wall of Life, many countries are left to fend for themselves in the wake of this devastation.

You are a Jaeger pilot. Whether you're a veteran, a rookie or a nobody PPDC pulled off the street, your day job involves piloting a 8000 tonne war machine and beating the shit out of any kaiju to slow down the advance of humanity's doomsday. You are currently on reserve in the Lima Shatterdome on the coast of Peru, waiting for your Jaeger to receive diagnostic checks and repair, whilst the Peruvian LOCCENT tries to sort out their shit. All the while, the sounds of warning klaxons and kaiju roars are in the distance, calling on you to wage war.......

The odds for humanity right now seem insurmountable but anything can be overcome if you dream big enough.

---

DECOMISSIONED JAEGERS AWAITING PILOTS

- Puma Real, Mk 2, PANAMA [UNCLAIMED]
- Diablo Intercept, Mk 2, CHILE [UNCLAIMED]
- Solar Prophet, Mk 2, PERU [UNCLAIMED]
- Eden Assassin, Mk 2, RUSSIA [UNCLAIMED]

---

- You don't really need to be familiar with Pacific Rim lore to get into this RP. The basic gist is of this setting is that giant monsters known as Kaiju began emerging from the centre of the Pacific Ocean in 2015. In response, the nations of the world formed the PPDC (Pan-Pacific Defense Corp) and began building giant mechanical robots known as Jaegers in response to the threat.

- I'll be accept 4-8 players for this RP. As Jaegers require two individuals to pilot it, the rules for application are slightly different. Two players can apply together as co-pilots of one of the Jaegers above in a single application or one player can sign up as two copilots. Applications must also contain details of the Jaeger.

- You are given free reign to design, edit and alter whatever Jaeger you claim to your liking because these Jaegers, despite being in canon, have little to no detail to them. More information will be given in the actual OOC but keep in mind, your Jaeger is not a Mk 5 like Striker Eureka.

- Looking for a roughly casual/advanced level of writing. Being a mecha-enthusiasts also earns you brownie points.

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

“ THIS IS THE KABUKI SUB-DISTRICT, WATSON. TRANSFER IS AVALIABLE TO 6A, 6B and 6D. PLEASE STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE.”

Connie rubbed her knuckles tenderly, not even noticing NCRT security wading past the doors, hollering for everyone to get down and provide identification. Whilst everyone was busy handing out their identification papers and jacking in the local netrunner to verify themselves, Connie was tussling through the pockets of one of the gangoons that she had laid out on the floor along with the other dozen or so around her who were either unconscious, in pain or a combination of both.

“ Didn’t think of you for a vulture, Zhang,” A cocky voice rang out, causing Connie to pause mid-looting and look up. The cop was burly, enormous shoulders hunched together like a log and with arms that looked almost freakish. Connie would’ve mistaken him for an Animal if it wasn’t for the laminated NCPD badge pinned on the ironed lapels of his work uniform. His eyes were mismatched, one a Kiroshi optic whilst the other was a solid ball of gold, velvet red kanji inlaid where the pupil would be located.

“ Being picky doesn’t pay bills, Frank,” Connie mused, standing up to go. However, Frank wasn’t going to have any of that, crossing his arms, and looking at her expectantly as if she’d graffitied her school principal's aerodyne. “Look, nothing serious aside from a few epidurals and the guy whose nuts I crushed. Besides, good opportunity for you to get them singing while the paras hook them on benzo.”
“ Connie.., ” Frank palmed his face in embarrassment “ I can’t keep covering for you in post-ops everytime you get into an incident. I get you’re still angry about how TT treated you but it’s been 2 years. Maybe, it’s time to move on?”

Connie’s face became granite at the mention of her prior employer. Frank bit his lip, recognising a lost argument, before pulling on Connie’s shoulder and pushing her out the door of the carriage.

“ Listen, I appreciate what you did for all of us in the department when you were a senior in TT. All of us do, but do this one more time….”

“ What?” Connie asked, hostility in her voice. “ Or you’ll call MAX-TAC on me? Ask me to sign up with the crazies?”

Frank’s eyes widened, a hurt frown on his chapped lips. His fingers drummed the sides of one of the aluminum poles, unsure of what to say to his friend.

“ Stay out of trouble, Connie.”

The train doors shut and the security-holo tape sprouted from the station platform before Connie could get the last word in. The barrier of yellow warning signs and spastic red markers mirrored off Connie’s parka as security bots began ushering the general public out of the way. Connie waited until the platform was devoid of any onlookers before making her way out of the busy station. She looked down at the scratches and flecks of dried blood that crusted the polymer coating of her right prosthetic arm. Rainwater would be pissed off about the damage she’d done to the polymer coating but the guy was naturally more pissed off ever since Bucks got iced earlier in the year.

A light drizzle began to overtake Night City, her boots impacting the slick asphalt. Some took out parasols and others made their way for the cover to not let their 1000 eddie digs get ruined by a storm. Beads of rain ran down the hood of her refractive parka. The skyscrapers and concrete jungle of Night City seem to soften in the rain, almost forming an abstract painting in the sheets of gray that poured down from the gloomy skies above. Connie hunched up her shoulders, moving from alley to alley and taking care to avoid the look of any stalkers or roving gangoons.

It was a good solid half hour of walking before she made it onto the ground floor of Yaiba. It was not the tallest skyscraper in Kabuki but it was a well hidden secret amongst edgerunners who frequented the area. The lower ground floors were commercial, a few start-ups and stores here and there who were taking advantage of the low rent offered by developers. The cracks of the concrete told of the building’s history, well before the Time of the Red, and the 2030 corporate architecture had been swallowed in a colorful tide of Watson’s street artists.

Connie entered the elevator, entering in a specific combination of buttons that would seem random to anyone else who would happen to be in the elevator with her. The light over her blinked for a moment before the floor beneath her jolted and began ascending. The clear window in the elevator offered her a clear view of Watson. She could see the coast of Pacfica, the beams of light streaming out from the center of the Corpo-Plaza into the aether and the scarred expanse of the Bad Lands beyond.

The elevator dinged and she walked out into Regina’s office. The fixer never seem to take a break. Everyday, Connie would find the former WRS news jockey parked on a chair with a thermos full of recaf on her table and her eyes glued to multiple monitors displaying news feed across all of NC, the Euro Theatre and the Pacific Rim.

“ Back early.” Regina remarked, not even blinking at Connie’s disheveled, soaked appearance. “ You got the mark?”

“ Part of him, “ Connie dipped into her pocket and flicked

“ Ah.” Regina shook her head in mild disappointment as Connie hid her bangs too late to hide the grievous red cut that ran on her cheek. “ You should get that looked at.”

“ I’ll glue it.” Connie’s thumb scratched her palm nervously, trying to judge Regina’s passive expression. Was she mad? Angry? Unbothered by the fact that Connie disobeyed her instructions? “ You got any more gigs to give me, boss?”

“ I do. However - “ Regina froze Connie’s excitement with that single-eyed glare of hers. “ I’m not sure if I should give it to you.” The issue isn’t how you handled this job. It’s the fact that this isn’t sustainable. Look at you, Connie. How long have we known each other?”

“ One year,” Connie admitted.

“ One year. You’ve been slummin’ up more contracts than any other merc, all just to make sure you’re staying on the right side of the line. I only know one another choom who had the same type of ethic you had. They only had six months left to live. What’s your excuse?”

Connie looked down, away from Regina’s penetrating stare as the weight of her left prosthetic felt heavy. As much as she hated to admit it, Regina had a point. She wasn’t bought, forced or coerced into joining Trauma Team International. If she was angry about being axed, what did she have to cry about? Plenty of corpos were dropped off when the stock price fell or their floor was on the verge of bankruptcy.

“ I needed structure in my life. TT gave me structure. This is the only way to have it.”

The two continued staring at each other for 30 seconds before Regina balked and rolled to the other side of her desk, snatching a data sheet to give to Connie.

“ Well, hopefully, this is the last gig that I give you. I got a tip off from a contact in the Afterlife. Fixer there’s doing a headhunt for mercs. Someone with your skill set would stick out from the crowd. You’ve spent most of your life saving other lives, Connie. I’d reckon it’s about time you start focusing on saving yours.”

Cyberpunk2077: 5th Corporate War

Going on the NCRT was like buying a lottery ticket.

Some days were crowded with mid-level corpos and commuters struggling to make it out from the city centers to the monolithic hab blocks. Some days were sparse whenever NCPD or MAX-TAC decided to do a district lockdown.

Today was annoyingly the former for Connie. The hydraulics in her left arm were becoming stiff from the firefights that she’d become involved in all week. The cramped moulded plastic seats in the mono-rail didn’t make things better. If she had a half a mind, she’d suspect that the city council was trying to prevent vagrants from sleeping on them if the automated security drones on the bus didn’t dispose of them first. The sun was smoldering red by the time she was five minutes away from the nearest stop in Watson. She was tired as fuck and wanted to get boozed up in her bed as soon as possible. Jone’s little gig had taken so much out of her that all she wanted was a good night’s rest that was followed up with an appetizer of sake.

Unfortunately, Night City had other plans. Muffled yelling and shouting filled the train car. Connie blearily opened one eye as she observed what was happening. The other passengers in the car began filing to the other side of the rail car, forming two crowds at the end. The newcomers were dressed in thick garish neo-kitsch jackets with diodes and canyons of circuitry running from head to toe and across their tanned cheeks. The smell of Pacifica’s briny waters was stuck to their glistening open chests which were entangled with gauche chained necklaces. Their chrome was Scandinavian quality and the iron was street level, nothing of a mil-spec quality that Connie saw in her TT days. They didn’t have the colors of the Valentinos or Tyger Claws on them. They were most likely a minor gang that rose up in the wake of the second Arasaka Tower Fire.

Please don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me.

They looked at her.

Shit.

Connie signed internally as she heard footsteps coming closer.

Couldn’t Night City just give her one hour where she didn’t have to kill someone?

“ Hey there, babe.”

One scav was leaning over, an acrid cologne of CHOO making Connie’s nose curl. He pushed his body close to Connie, pressing against her parka uncomfortably. His crew occupied the other side of the rail car. Most were just keeping silent to themselves, whilst a few others were egging him on. From this close, Connie could see the chipped jags of yellow teeth and blood-burst eyes that were the signs of synth-coke addiction. “ How’s ‘bout we get out of here and you be my output for the evening?”

“ Here’s an idea. Piss. Off, “ Connie hissed in disgust, desperately focusing her attention on the blurred skyline outside the window as the monorail cruised above the smoky streets. Hopefully, the druggie could take a hint and move on for his sake.

“ Aw, come on. Don’t be so shy. “ Connie’s fist, flesh and bone, clenched as fingers danced around her chin, making her skin crawl, as he wrenched her face forward to look at his own. “ Can’t we have a little fun - “

The scav then squealed and looked down at Connie’s fist, currently buried in his pants. 2000 newtons of force was currently pressing down around his crotch in a vice-like grip. In any other situation, this would have been considered some fucked up version of foreplay in her bathroom with someone she wanted to stuff it with. The scav tried to worm out of her grip as if he’d been caught in a mouse-trap. Meanwhile, Connie hadn’t even moved from her position, still sitting down as she stared daggers at him.

“ I can’t be an output if you don’t have any input, jackass,” Connie growled impatiently, squeezing harder as the scav’s face turned a cherry red, pointing his finger out at her face.

“ You bitch, I’ll -”

Wrong answer. A thought was all it took for the gangoon’s crotch to turn into a misshapen mess of mince meat. His lungs then proceeded to explore every pitch known to mankind. Eyes squinted in deleterious pain, the scav’s hands pawed in between his legs, frantically trying to fix what remained of his mangled manhood together. He eventually gave up, knees falling first, before his head slammed against the floor of the train.

She turned her head lazily over towards the other gangoons who were flicking out switchblades, batons, all the usual blinged crap that scavs carried.

“ I’ve got five minutes.” Connie cracked her neck, yawning. “ Try not to waste your time with me.”