HereComesTheSnow

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

we can't let them get close. social distancing enforcement starts at 6 clicks

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Proper knightly beamsword 1v1 duels, in true Ace Combat fashion, comes as the season progresses and follows my character development.

<<We’ll reset Proxima Centauri with this V2, and entrust the future to the next generation.>>

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

Konstantin

Name: Konstantin Stojanović

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Appearance: A man of resilient, lean build, sharp jaw, and steel-clad expression. Carries himself with a pilot's surety and confidence, bolstered by the slightest air of recessed nobility— perhaps suggesting that he was not always so immersed within this harsh, spartan military life. His hair is a sandy blonde, and normally cropped quite close in a classical crew cut, but has been grown out during the lax span of the Pandora's interstellar voyage.

Personality: Keeps a rather cool-headed and reserved exterior, but close beneath lies a warm, friendly, even affable man. Long released from the trials that plagued his youth, Konstantin walks with the weight of wondering when his next meal will be completely removed from his shoulders, leaving only the well-earned faith in his skill that he honed over years of active duty. Happiest behind the cockpit, he nonetheless has been making concerted efforts to continue rehabilitating himself to life beyond it, having cultivated a few hobbies as well as a dark, dry sense of humor that would make Ganymede’s soil proud. Seems to go alight at the prospect of a scrap, as any red-blooded soldier should. His skills are his very life. Putting them to the test, in his eyes, is a thrill none other could match.

Backstory: A son of a well-to-do family hailing from Belgrade, Konstantin's early life was one that enjoyed the Earth's comfort and stability. Educated well, with little want for simple luxuries or privileges borne of money, it was the picturesque standard of the homeworld's upper class upbringing. Club sports, chess lessons, regular vacations to scenic vistas, all were simple facts of life to the Stojanovic children. A charmed childhood.

A routine stop at a spaceport tossed it all out the window. Not one moment of this lax upbringing could prepare young Konstantin, scarcely eleven at the time, for his abduction by a rather notorious band of interplanetary corsairs after being separated from his family. The pirates' leader, at the time still posing as the overseer of a backwater colony upon Ganymede, saw only a young man, the name "Stojanovic" scarcely pronounceable, let alone noteworthy— If he hadn't heard of it, then surely no ransom would be worth the attention. Konstantin, despite his protests, was thrown to the mines as a result. An able body was an able body, and this was one of many he needed not pay anything resembling a wage to. For four years, this would be Stojanovic’s life— endless toiling in the thick, hot, dusty air, unable to desert or even rest for fear of starvation, torture, or worse. He had worn to nothing beyond his name, bereft of his status, of his hope, of all semblance of his former life and self. Had he not so covetously clung to this final facet of his identity, he likely would have broken forever.

To compound his trials, at 15 he was transferred out of the mine and onto the battlefield, for reasons still unknown to him. To combat an incursion by rival pirates, the Overseer had need of manned atmospheric craft— in so many words, Konstantin was shoved into the cockpit of a centuries-old Sukhoi, guns at his back and a suicidal task ahead. He had graduated from "laborer" to "prisoner"; now spending his time on the ground in a cell rather than absolute squalor. It was a hell of a tradeoff— get more food for the small price of nigh-impossible missions. The more damage you did, the more your plate was covered. A full meal was reserved for those who excelled, the right of only the day's ace.

Knowing that this bastardization of valor was now his only path to survival, he quickly learned to dive into the fireworks. There was no room for cowardice, for timidity, for ineptitude. His wings would never soar the way they needed to with such weights upon him. No odds were too long, no order worth starving for.

5 years passed, the skirmishes growing into a war that could no longer escape the notice of the United Nations. Peacekeeping forces initially descended planetside to assist in dealing with the more brazen piracy opposite Konstantin's guns, but one fateful transmission captured their full attention. A simple act of switching radio frequencies by one of the only pilots who had lived behind the controls long enough to intimately understand their plane, and the words, "Investigate the mines. All of them. The colony's numbers aren't as clean as you think."

It took one tumultuous month for the inescapable hammer of justice to fall upon the entire operation. Two to evacuate and begin to rehabilitate every gaunt figure that crawled out of the shadows, lungs heavy with dust. Three for the United Nations Armed Forces to receive a new pilot candidate. He had dodged death for five years in the thin skies of a Jovian moon— their training could never hope to break him.

It would only make him better.

He acclimated quite readily to proper logistics, training, and chains of command, graduating from aircraft to Orbitals at the night-insistent urging of his instructors. Within months, he was back on the battlefield, now carving piracy out of the stars for a just cause, as opposed to a simple means of survival. His performance wasn’t always flawless, as the crimson arm on the Bedwyr would attest, but his ability was nonetheless undeniable. He was definitely where he belonged.

Skills and Flaws: Experienced pilot, comfortable in the cockpit of both aircraft and orbitals. Naturally, this includes good reaction times, sense of three-dimensional space, and a learned tolerance for G-Forces. Owing to his rather unique experience with the former, his aim with dumbfire weapons such as vulcans is, plainly put, remarkable. Ruthless yet obedient, he keeps enough of a leash on his innate bloodlust to follow all but the most anathematic orders (to date, none in his proper military career). That said, if there is leeway to get into a fight, chances are high that he will happily pursue engagement, ready to prove his ability. It is notable that he seems to more than simply pride himself on his combative skill— it is a cornerstone of his identity, "the wings that set him free" in his own words. He doesn't take well psychologically to being grounded for an extended period. One might theorize this as the primary reason he has not reunited with his erstwhile family beyond letter correspondence. Beyond the cockpit, he is a self-proclaimed connoisseur of plum brandy, keeps an obsessively clean space, and treats life with a dry, blackened humor.

Equipment: Standard-issue, pressurized flight suit, albeit with a modified helmet system to accompany experimental vision tracking program. 9mm sidearm. Dress uniform.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

In a similarly helpful vein, I'll slap up the Orbital sheet for official approval while I rework the character sheet in the meantime.

Straight outta Avalon Dam

Model Number: General Resources OF-02D, Unofficially designated "Bedwyr"

Role: Point Defense / Area Denial Artillery

Appearance: 20m tall, the Bedwyr owns the humble distinction of having perhaps the most recognizable silhouette of any standard-sized Orbital, owing naturally to its quartet of autocannons and variable-geometry wings. Often thought to have an appearance reminiscent of the knights of old, its alloy plates are all distinctly curved or angled, an attempt to minimize both direct penetration and atmospheric drag. This particular craft is painted with a red left arm, a bout of symbolism having overtaken both pilot and maintenance crew.

Systems: Merlon Target Acquisition Suite: Boastfully marketed as "The logical conclusion of AESA and IFF", the Bedwyr's onboard platform of phased-array sensors and identification software allow it a 360 degree picture of the battlefield with remarkable fidelity, as well as a streamlined data-uplink system for transmission of gathered information. This is most often used in conjunction with, or as a proxy version of, a dedicated AWACS system. This particular unit contains an experimental eyeball-tracking program, intended for use in real-time combat against highly agile targets. General Resources believes very strongly in the value of field-testing.

Variable Geometry Wings: For use in both atmospheric and vacuum combat maneuvering, these wings adjust position to increase in-flight stability with additional lift, or as a platform for retros in space. Both offer marginal improvements in small-scale agility and course adjustment.

Weapons: 4x General Resources E-30: A quartet of 80mm autocannons integral to the Bedwyr's construction, a pair each mounted on the Orbital's shoulders and underslung through the "armpits". A mainstay of the unit's firing platform, the modular receiver and barrel design is both light on parts and very receptive to customization, allowing for specialization in ammunition type changing from mission to mission. Linked to the fly-by-wire systems and onboard IFF designators, the E-30s have a functional aim assist, allowing for use in a suppressive or additional CIWS role while the pilot can focus on manually-operated weapons systems.

2x Kaida Corporations Super-22-G: Kaida Corporations, while known primarily for their advancements in the field of A.I. and drone units, have carved out a small niche of making what most Orbital Pilots refer to as "very fun ideas". Chief amongst them is the Super-22-G, an Orbital-class drum-magazine 105mm smoothbore "Canister Rifle". In sum, this weapon is not dissimilar to the venerable shotguns of infantry combat, in that its Gauss Barrel propels a scaled-up cartridge round containing "buckshot". Where the idea gets "fun", however, is that each pellet of the aforementioned "buckshot" is equivalent to a 40mm grenade. Very useful for throwing out a wall of firepower at an enemy Orbital, chewing a skyscraper in half, or putting on an impromptu fireworks show. Can work with most NATO-standard 105mm Howitzer rounds, but why would you ever pick something so boring?

General Resources TLS-88: Tactical Laser Sword. A model that was designed in-line with the "energy efficiency" philosophy, it unfortunately has proven to suffer from a (rather obvious, in retrospect) reduction in cutting power compared to older beam saber units, as well as most of its contemporaries. Such is the curse of being mostly an afterthought in the design process. Theoretically can be brought to standard— many pilots opt to simply pump in more juice and redline their blades in the thick of combat, but such practices drastically decrease the weapon's service life.

Manufacturing History: First introduced ten years ago, after a 5-year testing period. With a growing demand by United Nations constituents for a new Gunner-class orbital platform in recent years, the industry giant General Resources (formerly Germany-based Grunder Heavy Industries) sought to fill the void left by the last heavies to retire with a next-generation model, competitive with many of their peers' Space Dominance Units in performance, if filling a differing niche in armament.

Looking to the ongoing Usean Drone Conflict taking place on Mars, the market seemed wide open for a suit excelling both in maneuverability and (given the inhuman ability of most things pilots were trying to shoot) target saturation. The result was the OF-02 platform, performing admirably enough in its role that it was referred to as "a flying turret". The more conventional nature of the autocannons compared to the contemporary rail-weapons meant the Orbital sported a notable advantage in energy efficiency, even amongst Oberth Reactors. This allowed General Resources and Pilots alike to direct that spare power elsewhere.

The release of the D-Variant came roughly twenty months prior to the launch of Pandora, the Merlon Targeting system being now all but inseparable from the mech's identity, as well as sporting weight reductions and ridding itself of a jamming issue with the shoulder-mounts' receivers upon loading with alternative ammunition.

Weaknesses: With such a spirited focus on target field saturation, the mech is naturally very ammunition-dependent, with an additional caveat of not being particularly suited to punching through harder defenses, nor extremely close-quarters combat. A danger-close fire mission is still a risky prospect, even in an Orbital, and it currently lacks the caliber to meaningfully damage anything its many small explosive shells cannot bust open.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

i'll kill you

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@VitaVitaAR

Bone scattered with a swing, steel biting deep against the structure of magic holding the calcium together.

No blessing meant no permanence to his strikes. No holy light meant no way to push them back. No sacred oath meant no way to strike fear into the hearts of the undead. Not good. For all his faith, Gerard was no Paladin. Not even a squire to one, like Fleuri. In the face of such an unnatural, ungodly opponent, he was nothing more than a normal man, clad in cold iron.

That said.

The skeleton that had stood in his path moments ago was out of the way, offering a clear shot at the armored man accosting his captain. Halting their advance. In the moments it would take for the forces of unearthly arcana to pull the bones together, giving them form anew, Gerard was already moving. They had no time for being held here. The man in full harness was priority. Kill him, and the skeletons could be dealt with in the advance.

There was a silver flash in his peripheral. He threw his head to the side, twisting his trunk. Almost enough. Flame. Burning. Skin torn across cheekbone. Got him. Blood below the eye... did not hinder vision. Superficial.

He swung, rebounding the twist he took. It loaded his hips anyway. His sword smashed through a ribcage. He set off. His tunnel vision had gotten him hurt, but it also illuminated why he had every reason to help the small Captain take this man down— if he didn't, she'd be surrounded. Pincushioned. Skeletons were not terribly strong. They would not need to be, if a target was distracted.

Most of the man's body was covered in full harness. Hard to penetrate with a longsword in the best of circumstances. Here was almost right out. The best thing to do would honestly be to ground him with either wrestling or some other method, then slip a knife into his throat or armpit. He wasn't in the ideal circumstance for it. Too much going on, too close to the captain. First priority was freeing her from this deadlock against a larger, stronger opponent.

Let him face somebody his own size, maybe.

"Ma'am."

The grunt came from Fanilly's left side, heralding an oberhau plummeting squarely for the armored man's skull. He was a rich sellsword to afford all that armor, forgone helm aside— this wouldn't end the engagement. He more than likely earned it through battlefield experience within this mercenary group. So saying, he could handle another attack coming in at him during a bind. There was no chance he'd not seen it before— Gerard could name dozens himself.

But once Fanilly was free to act, how long could he fend off two blades working in concert?

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Sorry, had trouble finding my muse over the past couple of weeks. A lot going on off-site (nothing bad, just time-absorbing) and trouble figuring out what I wanna do here. I think I'll be over it soon, though. Writing's starting to come back to me.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

That would mean she's moving back up, as they're still on the entry level.

By my read of it, the hooded gentleman that they've engaged was leading the contingent that came up through the right stairwell (assumedly in the wake of Mari shredding the initial wave that came up), and forced Fanilly down the left. Gerard being a few seconds ahead of her group on that path, I can only imagine he's running into the skeletons as well, so I'll be looking to engage the fella in full harness when I next post. I think that would mean we're (Gerard, Fanilly, whomever's with her) on that same lower level as Tyaethe and the Barukstaedian, albeit on the far side of the lower chamber.

I think that's everyone accounted for, save maybe Mari if she hasn't continued to to that second chamber. It's definitely gotten pretty touch-and-go to keep track of.

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Sharehouse

The thudding of footsteps and the slamming of a door were, to even the most oblivious of inhabitants, pretty damn hard to ignore in a cramped, thin-walled sharehouse like this. For Iwao, straining his ears against his common sense for anything out of the ordinary, it had been like staring down rolling thunder.

He swallowed a quartet of orange caplets, having nearly had a minor drowning incident once the radio flickered back to life and began to describe a missing person report destined for, impossibly, the day to come. Black hair, square-framed glasses... fit Mochi. The problem was that, unlike his habitual standout scalp, those two descriptors described just about seventy-five percent of the young men that lived in Tenoroshi. As had as it spooked him, that could be anyone either missing already or bound to be.

Maybe it was him rushing through the entrance right now, scared of missing dinner and in no more danger than that.

His knuckles had faded, despite only seconds passing since he'd swallowed the pills. The mind was a powerful thing indeed. Unwilling to let this uncertainty eat at him, given that and all, Arizawa ambled out of his room to greet the new arrivals and (hopefully [for once]) face the music for his destructive tendencies.

"Yo, shit."

...Seemed the only music he was facing was something punky. Rather than the still very much missing unaccounted for Mochizuki, he was met with the ragged breaths and wild eyes of Fumiko and Otoya. These two weren't lazy by any means, but he knew them well enough to know that neither looked at a dead sprint as their example of a lark.

"You guys alright?" He asked after a moment, eyes narrowing as he glanced between the pair before settling upon the door. Shit, if this disappearance thing was a bunch of abductions they'd just dodged...

His right hand, acting just below the level of a conscious command, curled itself into a loose fist at his side. There were a million reasons why it didn't need to. They were on campus, it wasn't even completely dark yet, you name it— but nonetheless, he could feel the idea growing in his head and shaping the unknown on the other side of that door into its image. Like a good horror movie, it didn't matter that it wasn't real.

"You look fuckin' spooked, somebody chase you?"

By the way, Pot, we really need to talk about what you've been saying to Kettle.

@Crowvette@banjoanjo

Lostman Graffiti

Iwao - Sharehouse

He stared at the halves he held, split as though cut by some great knife, and numbly contemplated the pit sinking into his stomach. Like he was falling into the emptiness he'd been contemplating. Or a slow sink into something like tar mixed with quicksand, you could say it was that too.

Shit.

He knew that was a gift. A housewarmer from Mochi's kid sis, more important than just any random plate. It wasn't enough that he carelessly broke some porcelain— no, he'd done it to something that meant something to somebody. Wasn't enough to wallow in his own meaninglessness. Nope, he evidently had to spread it to other people's lives too.

Chase off a helping hand. Snap clean the sentiments of Mini-Mochi. Next he'd set the house on fire, or something.

Fuck, man. What are you doing?

"You just keep fucking up, huh?"

What did you even wake up for toda—

...He shut the water off, that having been the last dish to begin with. Setting the two halves to the side on the countertop, he found himself eyeing the radio as it spewed white noise, now finished with the log of a rotting world. He didn't want to trash the plate, couldn't bring himself to.

He had... heard that. Slipped right in the middle of his own interrogation, he'd heard a voice, not his own, right before the signal winked out and gave way to static.

Was it in his head?

Was it a spot he'd missed on the radio?

Was it something else?

Reaching to switch dial off, his eyes slid back to the former plate, and he wondered if it really made a difference. He'd have said the same shit anyway... either supernatural or simple serendipity, he was never gonna escape it either way.

His knuckles throbbed again, as if piling a little extra on top for the sake of it. He needed to get to his room and take something already. It was gonna drive him nuts.

Shoulders slouched, he studied the floor as he ambled out of the kitchen and towards his little corner of the sharehouse, unable to refrain from straining his ears in case another message came through the dormant radio.

Maybe he already was losing it.