Corsair

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. RP

D'oh, I knew I was forgetting to do something with the URLs. Fixing.

And yeah, I've played Shadow of Chernobyl and Call of Pripyat, although never to completion.

I was originally not going to use the TAR, but the weapon is designed to be sturdy and reliable, uses similar technology to the AK series. But yeah, I was prepared for that.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. RP

I'm in.

Aquila

Name: Rachel Morgenstern

Alias: Aquila

Nationality: Israeli

Age: 30

Gender: Female

Physique/Appearance/Clothing:

Picture

Aquila is short and has a naturally slender build, but she is well-muscled, with a number of scars, mostly from knives and bullet grazes. Her hair is a pale blonde, and she wears it long, usually tied back into a ponytail with a baseball cap or scarf covering it. She wears old Soviet-era fatigues in woodland camo, heavily worn but kept in good repair, with a lot of stitchwork. On her hands she wears black gloves with weighted knuckles, and heavy brown combat boots that are starting to wear apart.

Spoken Languages: Hebrew (First language) Russian (Fluent) English (Bad, but she can get her point across)

Faction: Aquila has no real ties, but has a generally positive relationship with most of the major factions in the Zone.

Reputation: Aquila is generally regarded as being trustworthy. While she swears loyalty to no one if she partners with someone for a mission she will give every effort humanly possible to make sure they survive the mission and get their fair cut of the spoils. She'll help out a fellow STALKER in need, but it's known that she doesn't do it out of a sense of charity. She helps you, you owe Aquila a debt and you -will- pay it back someday.

Aquila doesn't really have any friends, anyone she routinely works with or spends downtime with. A lot of acquaintances, a lot of people who owe her debts, but no one who she really lets her guard down around.

There are rumors that sour Aquila's generally sterling reputation, namely that she isn't really a STALKER but something else, most popularly either Mossad or working for a nefarious organization within the zone, gathering intelligence. Where these rumors come from she has no idea.

Weapons/Ammo:
IWI TAR-21, with a mounted close-combat optic, with five mags of 5.56x45mm NATO rounds (150 rounds)
Micro-Uzi chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum, with four 20-round magazines. (80 rounds)
Tomahawk

Gear: U.S. Army issue assault pack in woodland camo, with an attached camelback filled with water. Inside the pack she keeps three MREs, a thick camo poncho, a cleaning kit for her weapons, and an emergency medical kit containing a tourniquet, four large bandages, and two syringes - one morphine, one epinepherine, as well as a small bottle containing antibiotic tablets. In a small pouch attached to the side is a geiger counter, while the other side has a pouch containing a canteen of water.
Hanging at her hip is a small bag containing her gas mask and two replacement filters.
In thigh pockets on her fatigues she keeps a multitool, with the other pocket containing a ruggedized PDA.
In shoulder pockets on her fatigues she keeps a small flashlight, and in the other a wad of coins and other metal debris she uses for testing anomalies.
In her back pocket she keeps a rolled up wad of 5000 RU

Stashes: Dark Valley, there's a boarded up house, probably nice once upon a time. She found a spot where a dog had dug out a little tunnel into the crawlspace, just wide enough for her to squeeze through, then cut a hole through the floorboards. This is less a stash than it is her personal hideout. Besides the oven where she hides her funds - 1000 USD, 1000 Euros, and 10000 RU, she keeps 150 5.56 rounds in the pantry inside an old box of cereal, a loaded Makarov PM under her pillow, and about twenty cans of beans as well as a dozen MREs in various drawers around the house. She also has a collection of about thirty different kinds of batteries going on, just in case.

Strengths:
Military Training: It's generally accepted that Aquila served in the IDF, and it shows. She acts like a well-trained infantryman, very aware of her surroundings and often using military-style tactics on her missions.

Expert Rifleman: Aquila is a crack shot, which is probably how she got her name.

Slate-Cleaner: Aquila never forgets a debt, either that she owes or is owed to her. This may lead to some animosity when she tries to call it in, but it does mean she has a lot of people in a position where she can get what she needs out of them, and it also means that she can agree to owe someone a favor as payment for services rendered to her and have them not laugh in her face.

Hand to Hand Fighter: Bare-handed or with her tomahawk Aquila is extremely effective in hand to hand combat. Observers report that she uses Krav Maga, the brutal, utilitarian martial art used by the IDF and Mossad.

Weaknesses:

Bad Rumors: A horde of rumors follow Aquila - that she's Israeli Intelligence and gathering information on the factions, that she's working for some power in the Zone to a dark end. She can't track the rumors, but they are damned annoying and have soured more than a few negotiations.

"I hunt Men, not Beasts": Aquila is not good at fighting Mutants. While the small, dog-like ones are not so strange she can't handle them she has little experience engaging the more unusual ones, and defaults to tactics that work on Humans that are generally ineffectual - targeting center of mass is pretty useless when the target's torso has the consistency of a sponge.

Star Wars - Legends of the Old Republic

It was simple enough work to pick out the Ambassador and his entourage from the crowds, even from Eris' position on a streetway a good ten meters above them. If it were just necessary to make a kill she could have done it from here, even an amateur could put a blaster bolt into a target at three hundred meters with reasonable accuracy. But she had to make it look like a hit from a rival group, and more difficult, she had to make it look like a hit from a rival group who wouldn't want the Republic to think they had just killed one of their officials. It was, to say the least, an annoying situation. She had to be deliberately clumsy, but not so clumsy as to evoke suspicion that she was trying to start trouble, and this was really the kind of thing that made one go cross-eyed.

She dug into a pocket and withdrew a cigarra, sliding it into her mouth and lighting it. It wasn't that she had any great use for it, but staring off into space draws less attention when you're apparently enjoying a smoke.

Ah, if only I could just jump down there and carve them all up. Damnable subtlety.

Star Wars - Legends of the Old Republic

There was no place in the galaxy Eris was stronger than the streets of Nar Shaddaa. Here was her home for the longest period of her life, and she thought as she walked calmly down the streets of the city, it hadn't changed a bit. Prostitutes and spice dealers openly plying their trade, brutality in every alley and street corner, the all-pervasive stench of alcohol and feces mingled with the choking perfume of the whores, the cacophony of screams and sobs and maddened laughter. This planet was thick with evil, choked with the Dark Side.

Eris hated this world more than any other thing or place in the universe. So naturally Darth Zazel had seen fit to send her here.

She was dressed the part of a spacer, like millions of others on this forsaken rock - boots, dark blue trousers, a gray shirt, and a black nerfhide jacket over it. The jacket served as handy concealment, she didn't have to worry about disguising her lightsaber when she could just slide it into an inner pocket. Most people would note the bulge on the other side of the jacket where she had slotted a heavy blaster pistol. Not that she thought she'd need it or have any real use for it, but people on Nar Shaddaa notice when they see people not carrying blasters. At best they see opportunity, at worst they get suspicious.

The Republic was active on this world, she knew. It was why she was here, and where the Republic went so too went the Jedi. She did not relish the thought of encountering one of them. Worst case scenario they would know her face - unlikely, she had been missing and presumed dead for years, but stranger things had happened and she was not exactly a lucky person. More importantly, she had not faced a Jedi since her rebirth as Eris, and had no idea how to handle her own reaction to it. Something she would have to deal with in time, but not today, hopefully. She drew into herself, stretched inward with her senses. In her mind's eye she saw the Force as a vast ocean, each movement of life around her sending tiny ripples in it. Here and there beings with minute Force sensitivity made larger ripples, but she could sense no great waves around her.

Then she applied her Master's teachings, and drew in her own power, the tides and eddies her passage made fading away into ripples scarcely larger than that of the men and women around her.

Eris opened her eyes. Limiting herself like this was strange, like temporarily giving up the use of a limb, but it was far better than being sensed by any Jedi who might be accompanying the Ambassador.

Her mission was simple: Track down the Republic ambassador and end his or her life. Imperial Intelligence had dropped the ball like never before on this one, she didn't even have a name or a holograph, just a title. But that had never stopped her before.

"Lady Eris, this is the Scarlet Jester."

"Go ahead, Jester." She said in a low voice, the small implant in her skull transmitting vibrations directly to the bones of her inner ear. It was effectively silent, but unfortunately the inverse could not be true.

"We have a warship on sensors transmitting a Republic IFF code. They've launched a shuttle and an escort of starfighters."

"Track them." She was in luck, she had arrived ahead of the Republic diplomatic party. Trying to find a single man in this entire world without a name or a holo, only a job description would be a little bit easier than finding one particular grain of sand on a beach.

"They're coming in at a public spaceport, not far from your location. Transmitting now."

Eris looked at the pad on her wrist as coordinates scrawled across it. Fortune was on her side today, she thought. She could run back to the base Darth Zazel kept on Nar Shaddaa and retrieve her personal speeder, but that seemed unnecessary in this circumstance.

"Taxi!" She waved one down, and slid into the back as soon as he had arrived. "Spaceport." She pressed a fifty credit coin into his hand, and the driver - a surly-looking Kubaz - nodded and hit the accelerator, the speeder jetting up into the Nar Shaddaa night. She tapped her ear, reopening the connection to the Scarlet Jester. "Are you maintaining a sensor lock on them?"

"For the moment, they're in the process of landing. Once they disembark I can't make any promises on maintaining sensor lock, my lady. There are simply too many beings on Nar Shaddaa for us to monitor from orbit without a tracker effectively."

"I'll handle it." She hung up. She would arrive a minute or so ahead of time, then it would just be a matter of finding the man with the Republic security detail, easy as could be for someone like her. This would need to be carefully executed, however. The Hutts would only find it offensive if a Republic ambassador was messily slaughtered by an obvious Sith Assassin, this needed to look like action by a rival of the Hutts rather than an enemy of the Republic. The Exchange was fond of speeder bombings...

Star Wars - Legends of the Old Republic

Eris

Name: Eris, formerly known as Kira Aenser

Appearance: Tall, pale, with black hair down to mid-back and bright green eyes, sharp-featured face. Her body is well muscled. Being a covert assassin she tends to change clothing regularly, but for combat she wears a black bodyglove.

Picture

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Age: 28

Faction: Sith Empire

Occupation: Sith Assassin

Background: Kira, the woman who would become Eris, was born on Nar Shaddaa into the house of two spaceport employees. Her mother was a spice addict, her father an abusive drunk with a gambling problem. Needless to say her childhood was awful. Then she turned twelve, started to...develop, shall we say, and gave her father sufficient trouble that he decided to kill two birds with one stone and get rid of his troublesome, unwanted punk kid and resolve some of his gambling debts by selling the girl to the Exchange.

As I'm sure you can imagine her lot in life really improved after that. It became her mantra that one day, -one day-, she wouldn't be afraid of anyone, she wouldn't be tormented and abused by anyone or anything ever again. It wouldn't be that day, or tomorrow, or any time in the next four years she spent working for the Exchange, forced to do fairly unspeakable things.

Then a miracle happened - a Jedi came to Nar Shaddaa and in the Jedi's dealings with the Exchange noticed something strange about the girl - she would react to strikes she didn't even see before the attack started coming, anticipate orders before they were even given. She surreptitiously tested the slave, and determined that she was strong in the Force.

For the Jedi it was a no-brainer. She hated having to play nice with these scum anyway, and spitting in their face by absconding with a bit of their property would at least slake her disgust with this whole mission. She rescued the slave and brought her to the Jedi Order, who - after giving her rescuer a tongue-lashing - determined that she would be trained as a Jedi. The Order was desperate for numbers to replace the Jedi who died or fell to the Sith, and as such the rules had begun to fall by the wayside.

For ten years she walked the path of the Jedi, but her heart was always a place of turmoil. The trauma and pain of her childhood, the fear and the pain they had brought her, the anger and hate she had clung to to survive it, they had left dark stains on her soul, and despite her and the Jedi's best efforts they seemed all but impossible to remove. Nightmares plagued her even well into her training, and she wrestled with dark, violent impulses in the face of the kind of evil she experienced.

Those were all the tools that the being who would become her new Master, Darth Zazel, would need to twist her into a weapon of the Dark Side. On a mission in the Outer Rim territories she was waylaid by a trio of Dark Jedi, and while she handled herself well she was defeated and captured, taken to Darth Zazel's personal warship - the Tarteras Serpent. Aboard the Serpent Kira would face nightmares that her childhood hadn't even begun to dream of, beings that burrowed into the primal terrors her youth had instilled in her. Through a haze of Sith drugs and the Dark Side of the Force she faced her demons, darker and more terrible than before, and her every technique, her every effort of will was insufficient to banish them. For ten days and nine nights she endured this torment, tormented physically, mentally, sexually, spiritually, always with the key to ending her torment just within reach, for the low, low price of a piece of her soul.

In the end she gave in and reached for the Dark Side, and drove the torments and the visions away. For a day she lay in her cage, her mind blissfully free of the horrors, the nightmares driven away for a time by the power of the Dark Side. And then she tried to pull away from that power.

The torments began again. Each time she lasted less time before she succumbed and grasped the Dark Side, each time having a harder time releasing it when it was over, until after six months of languishing in torment the fear of the visions returning made her cling to the Dark like it was her only lifeline. And once she made no effort to push away the Dark, then Darth Zazel began her training. He cemented his grip on her, showed her that if he willed it even the Dark Side couldn't protect her from his will, and he could begin the visions on her no matter her protections. Taught her dark secrets, the terrible mysteries of the Sith, and crafted the once heroic Jedi into a weapon of the Sith. For two years he labored over her, teaching her the ways of the Dark Side, and then he deemed her a worthy tool to be unleashed on hi enemies. He bade her forsake her old name and take up a new one. She reached into the Dark and called her true identity forth - Eris.

Equipment: A gold-bladed lightsaber, her personal starship, the Scarlet Jester, which appears to be like any of a billion other ships plying the spacelanes - huge, boxy, ugly, and suited to little more than carrying large amounts of cargo. Which it does, providing a source of credits for Eris' operations. In addition a section of the holds are given over to serve as Eris' base of operations, containing her personal starfighter, a custom-made stealth fighter she has dubbed the Stiletto..

Stiletto

The Stiletto is a tiny, incredibly fast craft with state of the art stealth tech, although it is unarmed, unshielded, and only lightly armored, and possesses no hyperdrive. It is, however, loaded with sophisticated sensor systems, providing Eris with the means to analyze her target from relative distance before she strikes.

In her storage holds on the Jester she has a vast array of weapons and tools that she makes use of, mostly disguises and secondary tools for infiltration.

Extra Information: N/A

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

Interested. I'll be out of contact from about Saturday to Monday, but after that I should be available most evenings.

Battletech: Forlorn Hope

A Battletech RP about the beginnings of the Clan Invasion? I cannot put into aords how much In I am. Gotta do some research on available tech.

Escape from the Pit: A D&D RP

Escape from the Pit: A D&D RP

Beneath the surface of the world is a network of caverns and tunnels that seem to go on forever, home of nearly unimaginable evils. Thousands of years ago the Dark Elves were driven into the darkness, and so many others have come to call it their home, no less evil: the Duergar Clan of Dwarves, the Beholders, Eye Tyrants of a thousand tales of horror. Still more terrible monsters lurk in the shadows.

Few if any are deadlier or more vile than the Illithid, those known as Mind Flayers. Terrible, alien beings who use their foul powers to bend the wills of mortals for their own sadistic pleasure.

By one way or another you fell into their clutches, perhaps directly, perhaps through one of their trading partners. Regardless, you were proficient or amusing, and were sent to the fighting pits to kill or die for their entertainment.

You fought. You killed. There was no choice in the matter, their power denying you the option of refusal. But as you and your fellow gladiators stood victorious over your most recent bout, blood still streaming from your blades, you felt the haze in your mind clear.

Battle was raging in the halls of the Illithid. You took your opportunity and fled, fighting your way out through Illithid and the Duergar invaders alike alongside your fellow gladiators, and when you finally broke free only a handful remained.

Now you huddle in a narrow alcove, tending your wounds beside a meager fire made of what material could be found as you sort through what has happened, your fellow former gladiators around you doing much the same.

Like it or not they are your only hope to survive to see sunlight again. Even as you contemplate the enormity, the near-impossibility of it all, there is no other true option but to go onwards, to fight and run and do whatever it takes to see the surface again, to escape from the pit.

* * * * *

Welcome to Escape from the Pit, host for this evening. A few notes before we get started.

One, I have a fairly busy schedule, so if you want a blazing fast RP you're probably not going to find it here.

Two, this is nominally in the Forgotten Realms setting, but I'm aware that a couple other D&D settings have an Underdark, and if you want to have a guy from Greyhawk or Eberron or something that is probably fine.

Three, the usual standards apply. Spelling, grammar, third person, don't be a tool.

Character Sheet:

Note that characters should all be proficient combatants in some way or another. Approximately Level 7-9 for reference.

Name: Under the circumstances I'm okay with amnesiac characters, but they do need a name.

Gender:

Race: While we are in the Underdark I would prefer to avoid Underdark natives, i.e., Drow, Duergar, Svirfneblin. Not a flat ban, more of a discouragement.

Class:

Alignment: I won't fiat ban any alignment, but I will judge Evils and Chaotic Neutrals characters more stringently than the other alignments.

Personality:

Skills:

Appearance: Art, descriptions, or both.

Gear: The Illithid outfitted you pretty well for the arena, and there are a lot of very dead, very well equipped corpses strewn around as well.

Backstory: Optional. If you want to play an amnesiac or just gloss over I won't count it against you. Hell, I'd rather no backstory than some eight page bloated self indulgent mess. Keeps my thread cleaner.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

I'm going to try to work up a character tonight.

Forgotten Realms: The Viscount's Crusade

"Yes! Thank you." She finished scrubbing her face, the rag now heavily stained with gore. She thought for a moment, then turned away. "Give me a shout once Korick gets underway, I'm going to head to the lakeside, try and clean up my armor before we head out. I'd prefer not to walk into this village looking like a murderous savage." She beat her retreat, putting actions to words and feeling far more embarrassed than her little verbal flub would warrant, stepping up to the lakeside and speaking the word of release for her armor, removing the breastplate and beginning to scrub off the viscera. Mercifully the blood hadn't gotten under the armor, the black gambeson she wore under it unstained. So it was just her trousers she would have to replace, wonderful. She removed the greave from her previously injured leg and drew her dagger, beginning to cut away the thick woolen hose underneath. She could improvise padding for her lower leg later if necessary, for now she'd rather not have the permanent stink of goblin blood slowly rotting into her clothes. She removed the stained cloth and cast it aside, then began buckling her armor back on.