@Darkmoon Angel I actually wanted to be a Majin as well, but I think that might be good. A good way to nerf that particular race could be to say that something split them in two, creating a "clone," and drastically lowering the power of both.
Name: Holly Pritchard Appearance: A woman in her late thirties, with mid length, graying brown hair, often tied into a neat bun behind her head. In place of her right eye, there is a smooth metal patch with a series of gold electrical contacts on it. Her right arm is synthetic from just above the elbow, though in her combat jacket it’s usually mostly hidden. She dresses in a gray pilot’s jumpsuit and harness, with the navy blue jacket of her old military regiment. The jacket is fastened with an offset zipper, usually partially undone with the front folded down. Her shoulder has a patch with a chess’s knight on it, under the number “205.”
Weapons: ~A short barrelled bullpup SMG that she can hold in one hand. ~The Bitch, a bastard sword, jokingly named. It’s collapsible and sits on the small of her back when not in use. ~A thermite gel launcher. It lobs fist sized globs of sticky, burning gel. It burns intensely enough to dig into armor plates. Gear:Eye of Odin. Her helmet has a direct link to her optic nerve through her missing right eye. At its simplest, she can see with regular binocular vision when wearing her helmet. She can also switch the feed between any other cameras she networks herself with(including Cavelier’s visual processor). Background: Holly and Recluse(originally designated CV-322) were paired together in military service with Orion’s Two Hundred and Fifth Mechanized Cavalry. She served during a bloody, planet-wide civil war that, last she heard, has not ended to this day. Holly was a young hotshot at the time, and ruined her military career in a moment of cockiness. Her squad was taking control of a lightly armed farm that was in enemy hands, Holly decided she could manage the fight on foot, with CV-322 standing by behind. A surprise improvised grenade was thrown(or launched, it was never clear) from the nearby barn, igniting in mid air a few feet to her right. CV-322 rushed in to scoop its incapacitated pilot into the cockpit, and in an uncharacteristic display of nearly human anger, leveled the barn. Holly’s helmet and armor saved her life, but she lost an arm, an eye, and has had a long road to recover from brain damage. She was set to be decommissioned, and her titan reassigned. She stole it(and for its part, CV-322 didn’t make much effort to avoid being stolen), and took a smuggler’s ship from the planet. She’d already lost her arm, half her eyesight and her job, she couldn’t stand to lose her partner too. Holly and Recluse(as her mecha has come to be known) have been doing mercenary work on out of the way worlds ever since.
Name: Recluse Appearance: Class: Medium Armament: ~Kr-133 Focused Plasma Rifle. Fires bolts of plasma at 900 rounds per minute. The plasma cartridge carries 35 bolts worth of compressed plasma matter. ~Tor Industries Arc Cannon Mk-IV. A shoulder mounted heavy gun that fires a relatively slow moving orb, which arcs high voltage electricity off of it. Utility: The Web. A line launcher that embeds heavy duty conductive lines into its targets. The lines can remain attached to Recluse, or be anchored to another object or surface. Recluse’s arc cannon, or any other electric weapon, can conduct along these lines to electrocute whatever is attached to either end. Last Stand: Venomous Bite. Recluse launches one of their lines, with a direct link to their own power source. They empty their capacitors into the conductive line, causing massive electrical damage. If launched into a network of Webs, this charge can be spread to multiple targets, or an area of effect. This leaves Recluse stunned for about three seconds, and slowed for another ten while their capacitors recharge. Notes:
A harried woman was having a moment of peace in her field, tending the rows of coffee shrubs. Her crop was in tiered rows, up the hill toward one of six mouths into the cavernous mine that McDonough’s Rest was built into. The plants went all the way to the tall, electric wire fence that abutted the edge of the lush jungle. The fence kept out the worst of the predators on the planet, but was irritatingly ineffective against the arboreal herbivores, who had developed a taste for the leaves and branches of the coffee plants. A boom, and a shift in the air made her look up. There was a ship, just now arriving in the atmosphere, and moving quickly toward McDonough’s Rest. The woman looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. She switched to outrage as the ship - some basic sort of shuttle - landed on the outskirts of the field, crushing a segment of the security fence.
“Patrick!” the woman shrieked over her shoulder, back toward the sheltered supply shed, “Get the slathe-gun!” There was an indistinct response from within, but a moment later a man in dirty coveralls stepped out with a large bored, revolving rifle. He was moving with a bewildered caution toward the ship, while his wife stalked furiously ahead of him. As they approached, the ramp unfolded from the bottom hatch, revealing a wide entrance into the belly of the shuttle. A man stepped out. He had jet black, unnaturally neat hair, and a tan complexion. He was dressed in all black as well, the collar of his long jacket coming almost to his chin.
“And I suppose you’ll be paying for those crops you just ruin’d?” the woman asked in a fury.
He looked at her, a cruel laughter behind his eyes. “You suppose wrongly. As I own this land, anything planted here is mine to keep, or destroy, as I please.”
She was apoplectic. “I was born here! Ain’t know prissy space man gonna land his ship on my land, squish my crops, and then look me in the face and tell me it’s his!”
“I think you’ll find,” he began silkily as the woman crossed her arms and glared, “That my paperwork is-”
He was reaching into an interior pocket, presumably to produce said paperwork, when she interrupted him. “Patrick, shoot ‘im.”
As Patrick was bringing his slathe-gun to bear, an enormous metal arm reached out from the mouth of the shuttle, and put itself between the stranger and them. It was followed by a similarly black clad titan, which had to duck its way out of the ship’s belly.
“If that’s the way you will play this,” he said, ice creeping into his voice, “I think you’ll find my armament is every bit as orderly as my paperwork. If you would be so kind as to allow an introduction - I am Hector Federico Alvarez. And you are?” The titan had moved its hand away so that they could speak face to face, but it had a nasty looking gun trained on the both of them.
“Maggie McDonough,” she replied through clenched teeth. Other townsfolk were gathering to this side of the mine, peering from the opening, or approaching from around one side or the other. “Patrick,” Patrick said simply, holding his rifle down at his side.
“McDonough as well..?” He asked, pointing slyly between the two of them.
“Aye.”
“Well, always nice to have good company. Either by rule or law, or rule of gun, I think you’ll find this land to be every bit mine. You are in some amount of luck, however. My equipment and workforce is a few weeks behind me, so you have the fortune of a bit of a grace period. I will be returning in,” He waved his hand in front of him, producing a holographic screen that he consulted, “Sixteen standard days. You have until then to vacate the premises. When we arrive, we will use whatever Force is necessary to clear out all of… this. It has been quite the pleasure, Mrs. McDonough, Mr. McDonough. I hope I won’t see you again. Fairwell.” He turned on his heel and marched back into the shuttle. The sleek black titan seemed to look them over a moment longer before following suit as the ship’s engines began to came to life with a whine.
~~~~~~~
Patrick set out with the settlement’s only shuttle to look for help. He was met with any number of combinations in sympathy, apathy, and general unhelpfulness. Some towns simply couldn’t spare their militia, some were watched over by mercenaries who might have helped, if he had the money to outbid their current employers. One place had already heard of his plight and asked him to leave before he had even finished landing. At his last stop, Patrick was offered a crate of rifles and ammunition by the local militia captain, with the promise of a hogshead of tobacco and barrel of coffee beans from their latest crop, should they survive.
And so, already in debt and without any extra men, Patrick was loading the crates in the town’s landing bay, with little hope that they would help, when he heard a voice from nearby.
“You might need a bit more than that.”
“You think I don’...” his voice trailed off as he turned and saw what she had parked nearby. “Aye, but I can’t afford that.”
“I know, that’s why I’m approaching you. I heard about your little problem. Me and Rec here can help, and maybe a couple others. You got plas-carts and fusion cores?”
“Aye. Nuthin’ military grade, but…”
“I’ll make them work. Here’s the deal. As many of those as we need to keep our titans running and gunning, all the spoils of the fight… and half those rifles when it’s done. I’ll be there, and however many other good souls I can get.”
“Sounds a little too good to be true.”
“Sounds like you don’t have a choice. Have faith.”
A mechanical voice boomed out from the titan crouched in the corner of the bay. “Have faith.”
McDonough's Rest. A small town built into a long abandoned adamantium mine on the far flung frontier world of Actaeon. It's shelter from the native creatures, and any storm that might roll through. When Earth is years of near-light-speed travel away, and no help could conceivably come to their aid, solid shelter is a must for a frontier settlement.
The mine that McDonough's Rest sits in was set up and run by Alvarez Mineral Imports. At the time, they were a small, ambitious operation that set up many such outposts in planets out in one of the star systems that have been colonized from out of the Sol System. AMI’s business tactic at the time revolved around getting in some place cheaply(and with as little regulation to get in their way as possible) and leaving quickly with whatever they could grab. They left behind a network of tunnels, the shallower ones being quite solid and equipped with worker quarters that weren’t completely stripped when AMI left.
This made it an excellent find when Sean McDonough and his ship full of pilgrims arrived on the planet, looking for a place of their own. In the two generations since McDonough’s Rest, as the town came to be called, is alive and thriving, primarily through agriculture. There are other settlements that they can trade with, but they require a long caravan trip to reach, and it’s only worth the effort for things they can’t produce locally, mostly higher tech commodities.
Recently, a representative from AMI arrived and asked, quite politely, that the people leave so that they can continue their mining. When the townsfolk tried to open up some form of negotiations, it became clear that the request was anything but. They were informed(just as politely) that if they did not vacate the premises by the time AMI’s operation fleet arrived, they would be removed by whatever force was necessary.
With no law enforcement to speak of, McDonough's Rest faces death, either at the hands of AMI’s private police force, or the native mega-fauna out in the wild, should they try to flee. The grandchild of the town's namesake, Patrick McDonough, has set out with the town’s only shuttle in desperation to neighboring towns to find anyone, local militia, mercenary, even a rival corporation, that would protect them, or allow them passage to another safe haven.
A handful of pilots and their mecha partners answer the call.
~~~~~
The premise of this game is basically the plot of The Magnificent Seven, set in the future, on a colonized planet, with mecha pilots as the cast. It doesn't have to literally be seven(in fact, I'll probably title the game based on the number of players).
Pilot
Name: Appearance: Helmet: Your helmet contains the neuro-link to your titan. It’s important, but often used as self expression for a pilot. Weapons: Gear: If this were a fantasy or super hero game, think of this like what your special power would be. Background: Where’d you come from, and why are you working jobs alone?
Titan
Name: Appearance: Class: light, medium, or heavy Armament: Utility: Similar to the gear section of the pilot CS. Last Stand: Your titan’s greatest, but most desperate ability. It can be devastatingly effective in combat, but uses a huge portion of your titan’s resources, leaving it lower on ammunition, or sluggish until its capacitors are able to recharge. The last stand often further merged the mind of pilot and mecha, which can lead to a moment of more effective fighting, but can be disorienting for a moment afterwards. Notes:
A little about the world
It's a frontier colony world, our town happens to be an old mine, but there's other settlements, they're just scattered. We can get up to 99.9% the speed of light, but there's no warp or hyperdrive yet, so we still can't break that limit. Earth is some ten lightyears away from it's closest neighbor, so pretty much anything that goes out to colonize space is going out there to stay. There are worlds closer to Sol than Actaeon, and more densely populated. Though it's been about sixty years or so since Actaeon was first colonized, it's still very much in its infancy as a populated world(Though, I am considering if we want there to be a primitive culture of native sentients). Some groups did come here for business, like AMI, but just like any frontier a lot of people come out just to find a place of their own. Some even come specifically to get away from bigger government influence on more populated worlds. The people of McDonough's Rest are among this second group.
I don't think mecha(I've kept calling them titans, but I want a different name for them) need to have a specific origin. It's enough to assume that they are the evolution of war machines such as tanks. It could be said that they are particularly useful out in the frontier, where there's less infrastructure, and a weapons platform that can walk across any terrain, and even climb etc is invaluable.
Due to the expense to build a titan and train a pilot, most are in the employ of one of the larger factions out in the frontier. Even so, there's a fair amount that work as mercenaries, either independently, or as a mercenary company.
A form of AI was necessary to keep the mech's movements stable, and auto pilot was developed so that they could fight with or without a pilot(though they have always shown to be more effect with with a pilot). They were developed to be smarter, to obey verbal commands and relay tactical information to their pilot. These constant advancements, and a built in ability to learn created a sort of emergent intelligence. A new titan is smart, but bland. The older they get, the more their personality develops, and is shaped by their experiences with humans. Some pilots form close bonds to their titans, anthropomorphizing them as humans often do. By treating them as almost people, the pilots feed into the emergence of their personalities, and almost help to create them.
Some pilots, however, don't care for this messy personality business, and will periodically factory reset their mecha's AI to maintain the professional, tactical machine that was originally built. It has been argued that this creates a less effective AI, but there are no conclusive statistics on that.
A titan isn’t just a vehicle, it’s a partner too. You can choose how your character feels about it.
Slathe: Big enough to wrestle a mecha, and still only a mid sized creature on Actaeon. They are, however, the largest animal that has natural predators as an adult. A slathe has wooly hair, in various browns and reds that naturally locks up into a thick coat over their thicker skin. They have flat, simple faces and broad dull teeth in powerful jaws. The upper two of their four limbs are almost twice as long as the lower, and are similarly thicker as well.
They’re tree climbers, and though otherwise non-aggressive, extremely territorial of their arboreal homes. Slathes form a symbiotic triangle with the razorleaf trees and yurgs. Their thick, matted coat allows them to hide in the branches of the enormous red razorleaf trees without getting cut, but since they can’t eat the leaves, they still have to brave the forest floor for food, making them prey for yurgs. When a yurg chases a slathe, if I they don’t get them, they’ll throw themselves against the tree, cutting themselves on the leaves. Their blood nourishes the razorleaf, giving it its color and providing it with the iron it needs to keep its leaves sharp and hard.
Yurg: Fast, mean, and dumb, yurgs are hairless, six legged predators. Their shoulders come up to just above the average man’s head. Their primary survival mechanism is to breed quickly, and throw as many of themselves at their prey as possible. Before humans came along, their primary prey were the slathes in Actaeon’s great red forests, but humans are a good deal easier to kill, even if their meat won’t go as far. They stalk human settlements, but a simple electric fence is usually enough of a deterrent, as it takes more zaps than you’d expect for one to realize that lunging at the wires won’t do it any good. As soon as they get up to full running speed, their front arms come off the ground and they grasp at their prey with sharp claws.
Mathorn: A tall creature on six spindly legs. They are lithe and thin, and have disproportionately large horns on top of their head. Two protrusions that grow in nearly perfect fractal “snowflake” patterns, side by side so that they fan out. Their fractal horns never stop growing, but are actually living bone and scales, able to heal if damaged. A mathorn, though able to walk for short distances, moves primarily in large, flea-like bounds. The next jump in any series is notoriously hard to predict, helping to elude predators. A common Actaeon figure of speech is to say that a pointless or difficult task is “like chasing mathorn.”
Quillodon: An enormous omnivore with a mouth to match its appetite. A quillodon is covered every inch in sharp, thick spines about two meters long. Though willing to forage if necessary, it usually gets its food by picking off plants(and smaller animals) that have gotten caught on its spines as it rolls, curled into a ball, over the land. A quillodon is easily one of the worst of Actaeon’s native creatures to encroach on a human settlement. Not because they are aggressive, but because they are so large they invariably cause damage just by passing through. Fully grown, they have no natural predators, and killing one is difficult even for humans with their sophisticated weaponry. It takes force that, on any other animal, would be extreme overkill to take one down for good. It’s usually more cost effective to steer them away from settlements. It’s not like they’re hard to see coming.
Since others are somewhat similar, I am changing my titan.
Name: Recluse Appearance: Class: Medium Armament: ~Kr-133 Focused Plasma Rifle. Fires bolts of plasma at 900 rounds per minute. The plasma cartridge carries 35 bolts worth of compressed plasma matter. ~Tor Industries Arc Cannon Mk-IV. A shoulder mounted heavy gun that fires a relatively slow moving orb, which arcs high voltage electricity off of it. Utility: The Web. A line launcher that embeds heavy duty conductive lines into its targets. The lines can remain attached to Recluse, or be anchored to another object or surface. Recluse’s arc cannon, or any other electric weapon, can conduct along these lines to electrocute whatever is attached to either end. Last Stand: Venomous Bite. Recluse launches one of their lines, with a direct link to their own power source. They empty their capacitors into the conductive line, causing massive electrical damage. If launched into a network of Webs, this charge can be spread to multiple targets, or an area of effect. This leaves Recluse stunned for about three seconds, and slowed for another ten while their capacitors recharge. Notes:
@Thecrash20 I’m not entirely sure how many people are still joining at this point. Feel free to submit a CS, though.
Here’s a sneak peak at the beginning of the story.
A harried woman was having a moment of peace in her field, tending the rows of coffee shrubs. Her crop was in tiered rows, up the hill toward one of six mouths into the cavernous mine that McDonough’s Rest was built into. The plants went all the way to the tall, electric wire fence that abutted the edge of the lush jungle. The fence kept out the worst of the predators on the planet, but was irritatingly ineffective against the arboreal herbivores, who had developed a taste for the leaves and branches of the coffee plants. A boom, and a shift in the air made her look up. There was a ship, just now arriving in the atmosphere, and moving quickly toward McDonough’s Rest. The woman looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. She switched to outrage as the ship - some basic sort of shuttle - landed on the outskirts of the field, crushing a segment of the security fence.
“Patrick!” the woman shrieked over her shoulder, back toward the sheltered supply shed, “Get the slathe-gun!” There was an indistinct response from within, but a moment later a man in dirty coveralls stepped out with a large bored, revolving rifle. He was moving with a bewildered caution toward the ship, while his wife stalked furiously ahead of him. As they approached, the ramp unfolded from the bottom hatch, revealing a wide entrance into the belly of the shuttle. A man stepped out. He had jet black, unnaturally neat hair, and a tan complexion. He was dressed in all black as well, the collar of his long jacket coming almost to his chin.
“And I suppose you’ll be paying for those crops you just ruin’d?” the woman asked in a fury.
He looked at her, a cruel laughter behind his eyes. “You suppose wrongly. As I own this land, anything planted here is mine to keep, or destroy, as I please.”
She was apoplectic. “I was born here! Ain’t know prissy space man gonna land his ship on my land, squish my crops, and then look me in the face and tell me it’s his!”
“I think you’ll find,” he began silkily as the woman crossed her arms and glared, “That my paperwork is-”
He was reaching into an interior pocket, presumably to produce said paperwork, when she interrupted him. “Patrick, shoot ‘im.”
As Patrick was bringing his slathe-gun to bear, an enormous metal arm reached out from the mouth of the shuttle, and put itself between the stranger and them. It was followed by a similarly black clad titan, which had to duck its way out of the ship’s belly.
“If that’s the way you will play this,” he said, ice creeping into his voice, “I think you’ll find my armament is every bit as orderly as my paperwork. If you would be so kind as to allow an introduction - I am Hector Federico Alvarez. And you are?” The titan had moved its hand away so that they could speak face to face, but it had a nasty looking gun trained on the both of them.
“Maggie McDonough,” she replied through clenched teeth. Other townsfolk were gathering to this side of the mine, peering from the opening, or approaching from around one side or the other. “Patrick,” Patrick said simply, holding his rifle down at his side.
“McDonough as well..?” He asked, pointing slyly between the two of them.
“Aye.”
“Well, always nice to have good company. Either by rule or law, or rule of gun, I think you’ll find this land to be every bit mine. You are in some amount of luck, however. My equipment and workforce is a few weeks behind me, so you have the fortune of a bit of a grace period. I will be returning in,” He waved his hand in front of him, producing a holographic screen that he consulted, “Sixteen standard days. You have until then to vacate the premises. When we arrive, we will use whatever Force is necessary to clear out all of… this. It has been quite the pleasure, Mrs. McDonough, Mr. McDonough. I hope I won’t see you again. Fairwell.” He turned on his heel and marched back into the shuttle. The sleek black titan seemed to look them over a moment longer before following suit as the ship’s engines began to rev.
I’m out of town now though(posting during a layover) so don’t expect frequent responses.
@Rebirth It is, though you should be warned I am out of town next week and will have a delayed start until then. And this most certainly is not advanced. You are free to put in as much detail as you'd like(I mean, to a point. I'm not reading a thesis on bipedal robot mechanics from an engineering doctorate candidate, but you know), but I don't require any particular level.
@Aristo Yeah, absolutely feel free to go hog wild on the military tech details. Notes would be the perfect place for that sort of thing.
Like you say, mecha are by no means realistic, but I am aiming for something more “grounded.” Like a midway between a modern tank and a gundam. Obviously with some extra liberties taken(like some using swords, or blades claws).
And hey, if you liked the first Titanfall, I cannot recommend Titanfall 2 highly enough.
Izurich
Fading Memory
Crimson Flame
Ersa93
Lewascan2
False Prophet
Yankee
FourtyTwo
Abstract Proxy
