Eisenhorn

Fire Emblem: Light's End

Jerod

The cry for medic made Jerod glance back, seeing that Marius' left flank had been abandoned. Well, damn, that didn't make things any easier for them, did it. Parrying the next attacking man's attack, he lodged the broken bottle into his throat and booted him to the ground, to gurgle on his life blood as he backed up to help cover the horseman, speaking loudly over the combat so the man could hear him. Jerod had shifted his position to intercept the maximum number of enemies trying to head for the wounded cavalry, either uncaring or oblivious to his own injuries of a hauntingly similar variation, all to emphasize what he was saying to Marius now.

" Ah'll take th' frontline 'orseman. Git patched an' watc' m' sides, I'll gut all t'ese bastards wit' m' bare 'ands if ah 'ave to, savvy?"

The next man to try and take advantage of the wounded horseman was some lance wielder who was charging the drunken warrior. Jerod grinned ferally, grabbing the lance past its tip and driving the momentum into the ground rather than himself, and with a roar lopped off the head of the offending soldier, and there was enough spattered blood to no longer be able to tell what was his and what wasn't his. Jerod flicked the blade towards the ground, the blood on the blade mostly flying off as he squarely stood in the way of a fair number of anyone attempting to approach the wounded or the rear line. He figured cavalry would be better off defending the flanks rather than standing in the thickest part of the fighting. Well, shame for the enemy, he was most comfortable in a bloody and chaotic brawl rather than some grand sweeping advance across a plains or long ranged pissing contests.

Jerod frankly wasn't even remotely concerned with what was going on by the newcomers and the fact that one of the flank protectors had run off to play hero too. He scoffed at that, fending off several attacks meant to gauge his defenses and keep him occupied. Here was hoping the horseman could play flanker better than centerpoint in the line or this wouldn't last nearly as long as he would have liked. His focus right now was taking over being centerpoint in the line, letting Marius do what he needed to, whether that was patched up or blocking his flanks. Another man tried to get by Jerod, and his blade came back with blood as he lashed out and sent the offender stumbling back, not dead but he was sure going to think twice before trying that again. Jerod roared his challenge to the enemies, blade held in a sturdy two handed grip now.

"AH T'OUGHT I TOLD YE GITS! AH AM YER ENEMY NOW, NA' TH' BLOODY 'ORSEMAN! AIN' NONE OF YE GON' SURVIVE T'IS!"

Niya

Niya remounted her horse calmly as the young boy, far younger than she would have imagined, asked her to hang back instead of utterly crushing the hopes and dreams of another one of these crude thugs, and she shrugged idly. If the tactician wanted to play the game like that, then so be it, she would humor him. She had come to keep him alive, after all, and everything beyond that was up in the air really. He made his speech, and a rare smirk curled at the edge of her mouth as she glanced at the mage and Solanne, respectively, before making a comment, only loud enough for Jacob to barely hear.

"I thought he'd be taller, still cute though."

Niya was, of course, just giving the tactician mild razzing as she nudged her horse into a trot after the boy, all business now like nothing had happened at all. As she trotted after the tactician, she overlooked the battlefield, having so many fronts opened onto it now, and could have sworn she saw a familiar figure in the distance. If that drunken fool was really involved here, she would not be able to say she was really surprised. That man could never seem to avoid trouble. She asked her question though, falling in right behind the tactician as he marched grimly towards the fighting. If the fighting man in the distance was who she thought it was, then she was going to be sure to repay him back for their last crossing of paths.

"Any injuries, call them out. I can mend them. Secondly, do you employ a man named Jerod?"

Project Freelancer

"Can I safely assume you're Agent Pennsylvania? I don't believe we've met properly, I'm Agent Oregon."

@PhoenixEye9

Penn looked up from his idle waiting to see an unfamiliar face. The man introduced himself as Agent Oregon, and an easy, friendly smirk replaced the neutral expression on his face from before as he extended his hand to the Agent, as an invitation to shake hands rather than anything else. "You could indeed assume as much. It is a pleasure to meet you, Agent, should be interesting seeing how you work on the field, sure as sure."

The briefing was given, and the role his team was given seemed to almost contradict the initial stealth and recon aspect of things. Then again, Team B was the back up just in case things hit the fan and something loud and noisy was needed to drag away prying eyes. Oh, he could think of quite a few things that could do that, especially on board a space ship. One hull breach could cause the entire ship to drop what they were doing and rush to plug it or, if it was bad enough, just outright evacuate. He could think of some charge placements that would cascade into something of that magnitude, and it would leave the ship damaged, and in all reality, very few people would die from the blast or decompression of the spaces he had in mind. Maybe a handful, if it was being traveled at the time. Penn spoke up, arms crossing over his armored chestplate. "So, if Team B is necessary, are casualties no longer a high concern? I do need to know what kind of explosives to bring, after all."

Once he had his answer, Penn nodded to Oregon and Carolina each before heading out towards the armory. The charges magnitude and power would vary depending on his answer, but his overall loadout would remain just about the same. He grabbed his paired pistols, both suppressed of course, locking them onto each hip for quick access and slung his grenade launcher over his shoulder. He didn't want to have to use it, but the EMP function could prove useful in disrupting and causing chaos. And of course, a grenade launcher was safer to use in a ship combat situation then a out and out Rocket Launcher. Grabbing an ordinance bag, he stuffed it full of a variety of grenades and several demolition charges, slinging that over his back as well before walking down to the hanger and walking up the ramp to the Pelican, an easy smirk on his face before he locked his helmet in place.

"Let's make this an easy day in and out, got plenty of presents for our friends on that ship if we need a distraction."

Dragon Age: Peace Torn Asunder

Sounds good to me.

Dragon Age: Peace Torn Asunder

Name: Alexander Atreides

Age: 44

Sex: Male

Race: Human

Class: Mage

Title: Taskmage

Magical Abilities: Having spent his entire life training and fighting with magic, Atreides has settled into using two very specific schools of magic.

Entropy: From clouding and confusing the minds of enemies, to sapping the very strength from targeted enemies and all around him, to even bringing down swirling vortex's of enthropic magic to leave groups of enemies disabled and vulnerable, Atreides has long experience and training with Entropic magic, having turned an art based out of the most chaotic portion of the Fade, into something not only reliable, but rather potent in the face of enemies that are resilient to more direct methods of assault.

Force: Sometimes subtly and disabling enemies just doesn't cut it, or his allies are in no position to take advantage of the gaps that he has created in the enemies. In these cases, Atreides turns to a school of magic that utilizes a brutally simple property. Gravity. Amplifying the force of gravity in an area to the point of being like the Fist of the Maker, scattering and forcing foes together, and even, with great focus, redirect the gravity in an area to force enemies to a snails pace, leaving them open to further harassment or a mighty crushing blow delivered courtesy of gravity.

Personality: Alexander Atreides, the Taskmage, values cunning and creativity first and foremost. While intelligent and rather well grounded for a mage, the man believes that all the knowledge in the world is useless without being able to come up with inventive and practical ways of applying such things. The man has some serious authority issues, not taking well to anyone he doesn't respect, let alone someone he has the energy and dedication to hate, trying to tell him what to do. He has been known to abuse his magical gifts to exact revenge on those he does not approve of, to the point of borderline sedition and treason. Only borderline, though. Beyond his mile wide vengeance streak and the stubbornness to carry it out, Alex is fairly approacheable, albeit he will be rather plain in his speaking which might come across as rude or insulting. But he is just honest in his opinion, and if he doesn't like someone, they WILL know it.

History: Alex was borne to a pair of Apostates, one arcane, the other religious. His father had never been handed over to the Circles of his time and refused to bow to them, and his mother had been driven out after her rather choice words and repeated stand offs aimed at the village Chantry. Being a boy on the run taught the lad right quick that all the magic in the world can't replace good old fashioned cunning and ingenuity. Since he didn't have the formal training of a mage guild, he never broadly branched across various schools before settling on one. Instead, his father focused on, at a young age, teaching the boy Entropy magic, for reason that by itself, the school of magic was not the most lethal of branches, more focused on general disabling and nullification of potential threats. Growing up with his parents he saw the world, and many of its glories, secrets, and horrors in between the dull and dreary places they had to stop at on occasion.

Once he was old enough, Alexander bid farewell to both his parents and went his own way to walk the world, alone. From the seat of empires most grand to the dingiest and dirtiest pub in some run down border town, Atreides has seen many, many places in the world as he walked and continued to openly practice his magic. He made a name for himself taking various jobs and sorting them out, often times bloodless, and in many places the title of Taskmage was known to the town, due to the intervention and aid from Atreides. When the war started, Atreides was in one of the first cities hit by the Tevinter and their daemons. He had been studying Force magic, a Kirkwall favorite, alongside his advancing and inventive work in Entropy, at the time and found himself blasting away daemons with sheer waves of force while obscuring and dampening the strength of enemy forces. The city fell, in due time, and Atreides the Taskmage has been fighting in the war ever since, by virtue of having nowhere else to run to, and if the Tevinter took over, he was not fooled by the idea of mages ruling. Their mages would rule, not the others he worked alongside and himself. Survival drove the man to stand against the Tevinter and their daemons, and he still stands now when the call went out for a new force to be assembled.

Appearance:


Other: Alexander's staff is an heirloom, according to his father, and seems to grow with the man in power and experience rather than get left behind in power.

Project Freelancer

Penn was not too far off from the briefing room when the announcement came over the speakers, F.I.L.S.S calling the top ranked members of this merry group of soldiers off to some brief. The group was far larger than the normal ones sent out, it seemed from previous call outs and chatter from lower ranked soldiers. Considering he was not occupied of otherwise indisposed at that particular moment, he was able to wander over to the indicated room in rather short time, in his armor as he found a place to sit down, while nowhere specific or near any spots that might hold some significant meaning for one reason or another, and set his helmet down on the table. He leaned back in the chair a fair bit, using the reclined position to relax while waiting for the other members he hadn't seen for some time to arrive. His arms were crossed across his chest, as well as he could over the increased bulk his chest piece had at any rate, and began playing the waiting game, wondering who would actually come walking in after him for the brief.

Fire Emblem: Light's End

I'll be posting as soon as Dedonus does, since that is kind of how the rotation has fallen in.

Fantasy's Shattering

Atreides listened with surprising patience as the cursed soldier worked his way through his fractured mind and manner of speech, eventually giving forth the name of Gilligan. Well, that was better than Cursed one, although that would no doubt suffice in a pinch. The being proceeded to mention accompanying Sable and himself, and the matter was not up for debate. Well, that meant they had an undead and near indistructeable, from the showing he gave with the dragon, soldier following them around that could not speak very well. This would make visits to town far more entertaining, he thought with a mental sigh. Well, that did mean things would be easier in sheer violence situations, although why the cursed one insisted on the matter was a mystery to the Taskmage. Depending on how fractured the being was, Gilligan might very well see the past in them and be clinging to it. Or he was very perfectly all there and was putting on a show. He couldn't confirm that either way right now, and for now, it wasn't worth the pain.

"Well, Sir Gilligan, I won't tell you where to go or who to go with, so by all means, let's get the ladies and get moving."

Atreides turned towards Sable, seeing she already had a little gang of her own and snickered, a sound that she would be familiar with as a prelude to some sort of mockery or ribbing that was about to drop. Approaching the woman, whether cursed soldier was in tow or not, he crossed his arms with a sardonic smirk on his face.

"Look at you Meat, got yourself a little girl's night out club and everything already. No more babysitting for me, it seems. On a serious note, its late, we need to find someplace to put up for the night. Town sound good?"

Project Freelancer

It had been a long four days, Agent Pennsylvania decided, a long as hell four days. He had gotten pulled, hard, from the training sim for, and he was quoting the brass on this one, 'Additional Advanced Advisement'. In other words, since he had ranked as high as he did on the scoreboard, he had been pulled for additional briefing, training, explanations, and a whole mess of things that had utterly and completely absorbed any free time he had, even eating had been done on the fly between briefs and training sessions. It was all very clear in his head how the last four days had progressed before the brass finally had let him walk off, having finished their training regiment to the satisfaction of whomever had dictated, and was no doubt supervising, the whole thing. Whoever it was had not deemed it necessary for Penn to know the why of the training, only the material within the training was valid information for him to know.

First day had been psych evaluations, which Penn had expected to see happen. Going full suicidal for a training sim might invite that kind of scrutiny. The questions and research did not go along as the Agent had predicted they would, seeming more concerned about various other scenarios and possible mental instabilities BESIDES the apparent tendencies towards critical existence failures. Apparently whatever he had going for him appealed to the brass, since after that they green lit him for the next three days of high intensity, high yield training. Day one had ended with being cleared by the various medical authorities, and day two expectations and briefings before being sent to a holding unit rather than his own quarters. Probably didn't appreciate him debugging the room.

Day two was physical and mental stress tests, in both simulated and real space. Maximum carrying capacities, lift limits, top speed, resilience to mental and physical fatigue, the sims allowed for warped time perception, getting far more done in a single day than would normally be possible. It was strenuous and went to the very limits of his abilities, which was to be expected from stress testing, really. Several of the 'no win' scenarios irked him, because they had run along the same vein as the final simulation that placed him at the top of the ratings board that others had placed lower on. So it was probably insuring that there had not been a fluke in the training, something unusual that had gotten him through where he shouldn't have. There wasn't, but it was a rare case of not being able to blame the brass for double checking their assets.

Day three and day four consisted of advanced technical instruction in ordinance class weapons that he had, in some cases, never even heard of, let alone ever dreamed of getting his hands on. Intelligence briefs on various environments and locations that he had not personally operated in, but had the potential to be deployed to. It was the good stuff that made Penn decide it had not been a waste of his time, even if the isolation aspect of it had not been terribly interesting or welcome to deal with. But it had finished by the evening of the fourth day of his isolation, and he was cleared to go resume normal duties and stand by for further assignment and mission tasking. Penn had quietly retired for the time being, passing out for however long he had, getting proper rest to digest the past few days events more fully and make his conclusions.

Eventually the doors to his quarters opened again, and out came Pennsylvania again, fully armored with his helmet tucked under his arm. He wasn't hungry, so for now, he wandered the hallways and spaces without a destination in mind, waiting for the call that he had a sneaking suspicion was not far away now. But he wasn't planning to run into anyone, though he would probably recognize them if he crossed paths with them, so it was not too much of a concern if he did. For now, though, he reckoned it was a good idea to figure out what was going to happen in the short term, especially after his rather unusual past couple of days.

Dragon Age: Peace Torn Asunder

Hmm, seems like something I'm down with. Have my interest.

Fantasy's Shattering

Once the cursed one managed to get out that he would not attack, Atreides let his hand drop from his sword hilt. He knew the truth of things, then, and would not remain any more hostile to him than he was normally to everyone. But he kept his tone in check as the being stuttered and forced the truth of its words out between whatever the curse attempted to wring them into, a considerable effort no doubt. As it finished speaking, he responded in kind, returning his hands to the pockets of his coat as he did so.

"They don't swear fealty to me, soldier, though if this turns out to be one big band of people running around, I will at least try to talk sense into them before they run into bloody peril every five minutes. The red lady? Folks call her Crimson Streak, Sable to others, she's handy with the knives, enough so not to need magic to compensate. You got a name, or shall it remain cursed one or soldier?"

Atreides had pretty much dismissed the other people running around, being problematic and talking FAR too much, too fast, and too loud for his own tastes. Sable eventually wandered over, and he glanced her way briefly before returning his gaze to the cursed soldier and await his response, speaking an aside to Sable as he did so.

"Lot louder than planned, Meat. Got any suggestions for further planning? Can bet your arse at least one of that lot a raging murder desire for me now. Almost always happens."

Darkness was falling fast, the sun setting over the land, and it wouldn't be too long before folks would have to turn in at the town's local inn. Atreides wouldn't mind a good night's rest, though some preparations would be necessary prior to falling asleep of course. Never trust his surroundings to be safe got him a good ways.