DruSM157 — Roleplayer Guild

“Tons of danger, low odds of mission success, and I’m probably going to lose a limb. Sounds great!”




NAME
Alan Fouren

CALLSIGN
Wild Wolf

ALIAS
Al, Jackass (Ryn)

GENDER
Male

D - O - B
July 14, 2654 (22)

ORIGIN
Dead Springs Township, Southeastern Territories



PERSONALITY & MOTIVATIONS
Alan is friendly to everyone he meets. Affable, open handed and humorous, Alan does not seem to really fit the mold of a soldier by any respects—and he owes that to being more or less forcibly pulled into this life rather than simply volunteering or being raised to be a soldier. Alan has an incurable form of gallows humor when preparing for the sortie, and his mix of inexperience on the actual frontlines of combat make him an odd member of the team. It never helped that he was one of the lowest passing score in Graham’s test; a feat that did not endear him to any of his team. 
Alan’s lackadaisical personality is the kind that veterans would push around as the man looking to get himself killed on the battlefield; the key difference is Alan’s personality when in the heat of battle. In combat, Alan feeds off of pain: constantly pushing himself to excel. The harder the fighting gets, the higher his sync becomes; continuously pushing him to dangerous extremes. His "loner" attitude also hides the fact that he is a lonely and needy man who deeply cares for his companions. 

EFFECTS OF POLARIS SHIFT
Alan is still unsure what the effects of his Polaris shift has been. Vivid dreams seem to melt into his waking world; except that these aren't simple dreams. Alan hallucinates vivid memories of pilots who used his NC's core; and since his NC is an older core, he has inherited the memories of many pilots-even pre-war pilots. As his de-sync becomes worse, he will fall deeper and deeper into these memories, with reality and memory becoming indistinguishable.

PERSONAL HISTORY
Alan grew up in Dead Springs, near the Atlanta Megacity in Fairbanks. Small ruins and tons of junk, it became a frontier trading post between the larger megacities in lower Fairbanks. Still, living in the frontier comes with danger: raiders especially. The test came to Alan’s town later in his life, when he was seventeen. Thinking of a chance to provide for his family and give them a better life than living in a junkyard town, he took his chance with the surgery. 

Still, a town needs money to pay their pilots. And Dead Springs was no megacity. But when you’re in a junkyard, you can find many wondrous things: including the frame of the Wild Wolf. Found nestled away in a collapsed compound in the ruins, the frame had been stripped of armor and a core, leaving only the skeleton remaining: a remnant of what it could be. But a frame would work: with money raised for a core, and what armor and armaments the money could afford; the WW was rebuilt piecemeal. But it worked. 

Alan took up sorties with local combatants, as well as defense jobs in the area; providing for both his home and his family; allowing them more luxuries than a Junker’s life can provide. But more than that, he fought to bring them some semblance of peace. However, a roughshod mech is only as good as its parts and pilot allow; and it was on these sorties that Alan met real terror. A team of outdated and hand-built mechs don’t usually fare well against well trained and well equipped soldiers; especially deserters from Atlanta. Outmatched and outgunned, Alan’s compatriots were slaughtered, and he was left broken and left for dead; a heavy grinder blade digging into his cockpit and tearing the metal apart, giving him his facial scar as a reminder. Alan's final memory of that day was a large custom NC inspecting Alan's damaged frame and simply walking away. 

The deserters didn’t simply wipe out the defense party; they came to Dead Springs. The town and its people burned. That’s when the second personality came to life. A beast, a wild, rabid dog that fed on all of Alan’s negativity towards his weakness came to life. It consumed him and drove him to fight. He survived, and he kept the Wild Wolf alive using the parts he could salvage from his fallen comrades. Metal scavenged from the destroyed ruins of his town strengthened his armor-and he went hunting. 

Surprise attacks. Traps. Decoys and delays. Alan learned to fight his new enemies with his mind to make up for his glaring technological weaknesses and his own lack of combat skills. And when it came to combat, the harder he fought, the higher his synchronization grew with the Wild Wolf. The more he fell into his ravenous fury, the harder he fought. In the end, Alan got his revenge at the cost of the Wolf’s left arm and right leg, both which he felt every bit of pain from. The custom NC however, was nowhere to be found. When Alan returned to the Atlanta burrow with news of the attack and these deserters, he was blacklisted from the job board, removed from the local registry and told that a it was simply a raider attack and nothing more. A week later, towns near Dead Springs claimed allegiance to the Atlanta Burrow and most residents were relocated.

This was the official story was very clean, very censored and lacked anything about Alan. Alan's own interpretations have been classified or simply ignored by Fairbanks staff at the Atlanta Burrow.


With no family and no prospects left in his home, Alan did what he could. Scavenging materials from the newer model mechs he had destroyed gave him a slightly better edge than a raider now, and with the beast inside of him awakened, he aimed to feed that hunger for carnage. That’s where he met Graham. 

He was a disappointing prospect to the Commander from the get-go. No real military combat experience. He was a frontier skirmish fighter. He was unfamiliar with up-to date equipment and weaponry. His physical tests and his skill tests were passable and he barely skirted by with that. Ultimately, he looked like he would be a wash-out until Graham’s…test. Climb an aging, old war combat frame with no grappling hook, no mag gloves and make it run without. If you couldn’t get it scrambled in time, you weren’t worth it. This was an easy test for Alan to pass. 

Alan was shocked when Graham gave him the news that he would be a squad leader. While his attempts at appearing like a middling pilot failed, his reputation preceded him. Graham basically threatened Alan into taking the position, much to the pilot's chagrin and much to Ryn's anger. 

INFLUENCE & RELATIONS
Commander Graham: Alan can’t exactly put his finger on where he rubs the commander wrong. Whether it’s his attitude or lack of hardened combat experience, the only thing that Alan has going for him is his impressive display during the test. And even that didn’t endear him too much.

Anastasia Kalfox:Alan knows how the wind blows with this girl. Cool, calm and professional; not the kind you piss with the wrong way. He respects her. She's military and she's well skilled. When the shit hits the fan, Alan trusts Stein to be the girl to follow in combat. 

Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing. 

Kathryn Dradht: Ryn and Alan have an odd relationship. Ryn insults him, Alan smiles and laughs. Ryn is the only pilot Alan knows personally, as he worked several sorties with her before coming to Anchorage. He respects her skill as a pilot and as a sniper. He can vouch for her skill, but he makes not mention of actually knowing her from before, and Ryn isn't out gossiping about Alan anyway. 

Percy Moore: Alan respects Percy greatly, due to his morals. He'll just never admit it to the man. Percy's attitude reminds him of his own father, and that's painful enough that Alan keeps his distance from the man, and lays the sarcasm on thick if Percy does talk to him.

Tahlia Styles: If he wasn't so damn intimidated by her indescipherable accent, he might actually want to get a drink with her. She reminds him of his kind of people but with an Aussie flavor. Plus, he's always happy to have some heavy artillery when things get hot and heavy. 

Elizabeth Jackspar: Alan isn't quite sure he's even had eye contact with Jackspar in his entire time in New Anchorage. Honestly, he doesn't think that's too bad of a thing. 

Madison Cole: Alan's word to describe her? The hospital chick. He has had nearly zero interaction with her due to the woman being in the infirmary, and honestly, he's happy for that. One less person for him to grow to care about. 

Vera Voloshyna: Damnit, of all the cute kids in the world, why did he have to have her in this squad. The baby recruit scares Alan, because he doesn't want to see her get into this world. With Ryn it's different; he and her are from the same world, forced to pilot to survive. If Alan had his way, Vera would never see combat.



APPEARANCE
Scruffy would be an understatement with Alan: nothing about him screams soldier. Shaggy hair, unkempt facial hair, and roughshod angular features. Alan sports a scar running from his left ear down his neck; a wound he received during his first sortie in the Wild Wolf. He stands roughly around 5'11, just a hair shy of breaking 6 foot. He is lithe and had slight musculature, due to his history as a junker. His casual clothes consist of a faded denim button downed shirt and dark slacks. While still young, Alan sports dark bags under his eyes, and has gained deep creased wrinkles on his forehead. His shaggy mop of hair is a dark brown, with matches the near black spotty beard that runs down his jaw, working its best to cover the scar. He seems spacey, and is more akin to sport a smile when not under combat conditions. 

TRAITS
Junkyard Mechanic: Unlike his counterparts who had access to proper materials during their combat stays, Alan grew up in the frontier where clean, shiny new supplies were few and far between. This meant that he had to scrounge and repurpose outdated, damaged or scavenged parts to keep his unit in workable condition. While he has to leave it to the professionals for proper upkeep of the WW, Alan can perform emergency repairs in the field if push comes to shove, and that ingenuity comes in handy when things go to shit. 

Unshakable Will: In serious situations, the average pilot would lose their cool and give into negative emotions, shaking them and breaking their morale. Alan, due to both his insane drive for destruction when fully “in the zone” as well as his own nature of do-or-die, is not easily shaken in combat. It would take extreme duress to make him break his usual façade; though a break would be disastrous.  

Adaptive: Alan’s past has forced him to make due with supplies and weapons he could scrounge either in the junkyard, the frontier or after battle. Alan lacks any sheer expertise with weapons; but he makes up for that in his ability to pick up and use a weapon with gradual skill. If he can find a half-working FMR or a Powered Spike, Alan can find a way to perform maximum damage with it. 

Well Read: If Alan has one indulgence it's literature. At a young age, collecting bits of archaic literature became a past time for Alan, especially exploring the databanks of ruined libraries. Alan's datapad has to date over 800 novels, short stories and poetry ranging from the seventeenth century to the twenty-third century. Alan prefers the classics over the later literature, enjoying chivalric romances, gothic horror and transcendental poetry. Alan's favorite stories include Le Morte d'Arthur, The Once and Future King, Frankenstein, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, and The Hound of the Baskervilles. 

INVENTORY
-Simple Tools
-Electronic Reader
-Metal locket (inside: weathered photograph of family)  
-Scrap gun (simple waster shotgun) 


MANUFACTURER
Fairbanks Registry; Waster/Mercenary Armament

TYPE
Medium

SQUAD ROLE
Assault

ARMAMENTS
-Stock NC Control
-Leg and lower back thrusters to give strong bursts of speed and sustained air boosts for a limited time for extra mobility 
-Average generator 
-Mix of light and medium armor over the mech; the left arm and right leg have heavier armor due to the armor being taken from a stronger mech, whereas his right arm and left leg have lighter armor. 
-Heavily Used LFR (Light Frame Rifle)-30 round magazine, short-to-mid range. (Right hand)
-Underbarrel HFG Launcher: A 3 round grenade launcher attached to the LFR. Equipped with standard fragmentary grenades. 
-Scavenged light grinder blade: A heavy blade mean to pierce and then tear pieces of a mech apart. (Left hand)
-Electrical Discharge Canon: Emits high powered electrical bursts at close range. Can temporarily disable an unshielded NC or cause damage to the pilot in the cockpit. 

OBSERVATIONAL NOTES
What the Wild Wolf lacks in appearance, it makes up in both its load-out and equipment. The mech has been highly customized to deal with the uneven armor and equipment it bares; and its pilot is quite possibly the only person in the entire world capable of piloting such a machine. While it is in constant need of tune up (which Alan is quite happy to perform himself if needed) the NC performs exceptionally well in combat. 

Dossiers of Alan's previous accomplishments (including eye-witness accounts) have confirmed command's own opinions that Alan is a more capable pilot than he lets on. Between being a capable teammate as seen with his past accomplishments with Ryn, and his survival instincts in combat against higher numbers, Alan's NC brings an incredibly versatile and well rounded combat unit to New Anchorage.

 Norio 

The “older man” wasn’t an old man, even if he seemed as frail as an elder at this point in their journey. The main seemed frail and sickly; which was odd seeing how he’d been locked away alone in the darkness before Hisao and Hyōryū were thrown into a cell with them. He’d been oddly quiet at times; which was a stark contrast to their “introductions” earlier. When the two were first thrown into the cell, it seemed as if they were alone; until the shadowy figure crumpled in the corner of the room started to cry. 

”There’s been a mistake! Please, why am I in here!?’ The pleas of mercy and the assertions that he was a simple farmer were grating enough. And it was a surprise that he’d kept pace with the others after their night run, even with his walking stick keeping him balanced on the trail. There were two moments where adrenaline had taken over and the crying and whining from the man had stopped: the first was their escape and initial flee from their holding; there was no time to waste the air in one’s lungs if they were a hair’s breadth away from being cut down. The second time was now, as they approached Nezumi. He’d kept his pace in the back of the group, and he quietly studied the yakuzai symbols as they approached the gates. 

”S-surely there must be a better place to stay than this—this town of miscreants and criminals! We are as likely to be robbed of our robes and sandals as we are gutted like a boar here!” He whined and stammered, his voice cracking from a mixture of exhaustion and fear. ”This is no place for a farmer or for these young maidens! If anything, you two-“Nakano Norio pointed at both Hisao and Hyōryū and then at the gates, ”You two should gather supplies while we find a more suitable campsite. At least the forest won’t have secret entrances and panels for gangsters to creep in on us while we sleep.”

Saito Norio had never traveled to Nezumi. It was too far from Otonomasaki, and as the retainer to Lord Oshiro, he had to make sure his master never came close to such vile cities. Still, gangs were dangerous; bandits were no friend of the samurai; and even a fallen ronin like Saito Norio could be a lovely prize for a bounty-or for the honor of beheading the last surviving member of the Saito Clan. His father had made a name for himself protecting a small village from bandits forty-odd years ago. That act of bushido had elevated the minor noble to a respected bushi—and eventually became the retainer for the Oshiro clan. 

Smart bandits knew how to change. With new eras, bandits bought up property, began taking territory in towns. No longer simply raiding them, they became the political power in small rural areas where the magistrate’s reach wasn’t long enough. That’s how the age of the yakuza began. No longer needing to kill their victims, they instead could slowly bleed their profit from the people with intimidation and the promise of protection. They were scum. 

Nakano Norio’s hand seemed to grip the stick tighter as the group looked at him for the first time in a while. He knew the dangers of the forest; outside the walls, a group of headhunters could find them easy enough, tracking the light of a fire of the vision of smoke through the trees. Inside the walls there was protection from the imperial dogs, but they traded the danger of the Empire for the danger of the criminal element. The walking stick felt frail and weak, but he’d chosen it due to its curvature and thickness first. It wasn’t pine or fir; that wood was too soft and tactile. It was a thick limb of pine; something that if it came down to it; he could fashion into a simplistic club. If he had more time, maybe even a boken. But that would be too obvious; too dangerous to reveal who he was. These people were all criminals alongside him; that was true. But he did not trust their loyalty or honor yet.

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