<Snipped quote by Starlance> ...although the OP post does mention for humanity that Earth is a long-lost myth, and nobody really knows where humans come from - they just seem to be everywhere.
Am aware, I tried to word it in a way that would convey that they don't know either (long forgotten ancestry etc.) They basically knew they must be from the same place, since they're the same species, but that's as far as it goes. Don't know why the mainline Humans forgot about Earth but for Midgard it would be along the lines of "Never been, don't care, this is my home."
The history section is more OOC to explain the "who, where and why" of the system than things that would be known in universe.
I smell some Geth-like mental connection, as we've both managed to independently write characters who lost left arms and had them replaced with prosthetics.
Name: Astrid Weiss
Callsign: Cataract
Age: 29
Gender: Female
Species: Human
Hauptmann Weiss, early CE 2083
Height: 157 cm (5’2”)
Weight: 70 kg (154 lbs)
Miscellaneous:
As with most native to worlds with higher gravity and atmospheric oxygen content, Astrid is shorter and has more muscle mass than an average Human.
Transhumeral prosthesis of the left arm (Painted bright orange with a Gungnir multirole fighter attacking a disintegrating Imperial bomber on the back of the hand, leaving a trail of smoke and debris spiraling up to where the prosthesis connects to her shoulder.).
Scarring on the left side of both lips, chin and cheek caused by glass fragments during a crash. Exhibits a muscle tic when agitated or nervous.
Off duty wear consists of various pieces of Midgard Military issued apparel she’d “lost” over her career.
Born: 13/01/CE 2054 - 29, Norden, Midgard
Midgard is perhaps the most successful failure of the Human colonial effort. With the successful spread into even the furthest corners of Sol, the most daring of Humans started looking even further. Long before Relativistic speeds jumped out of Sci-Fi into the real world, a massive collaborative effort of private parties gave birth to the Trailblazer - A class of ship designed to carry daredevils beyond the Kuiper Belt, and soon after, four ships of the class - the Trailblazer, Pathfinder, Pilgrim and Explorer - left their home and bravely raced off into the unknown. Neither was ever heard from again. This torpedoed any further missions until humanity found a new way to explore the stars, and the Trailblazers became a mostly forgotten historical footnote.
Which is why the discovery of a planet inhabited by Humans in mid CE 2081 came as a bit of a surprise. Long after their departure, the descendants of the crews of the Trailblazers had thrived, despite losing the Pilgrim to an asteroid belt that appeared in the time it took them to reach their new home - an archipelago planet with a thick Nitrogen-Oxygen atmosphere about 1,6 Earth’s masses and 17% larger. The settlers cannibalized the Pathfinder, Explorer and the gutted husk of the Pilgrim into a permanent station and continued their mission despite the loss of their long-range communications equipment which caused them to drop out of contact. It was the presence of the Trailblazer, by then preserved as a museum ship, that confirmed their identity when the Empire found them by accident, and the decision was made to reintegrate these stray souls back into Human society.
And that’s when things got difficult. Because the Midgardians enjoyed their independence - unwilling to join a nation they had barely any connection to that demanded their cooperation based on their ancient, long forgotten ancestry alone - but underestimated the spread and technological advancement of the Empire, and they in turn underestimated the willingness of the “Colonists” to put their warheads where their mouth was. Hostilities broke out in late CE 2082. Mere minutes after a public broadcast in which the leaders of Midgard announced they will give no quarter to anyone wishing to threaten their independence, strike craft attacked Imperial ships throughout the Yggdrasil system, causing more damage than even the Midgardians expected.
And then things got even more difficult. What the lost colony expected to be a brief period of skirmishes after which both sides would reach a mutually agreeable compromise spiraled out of control into a brief but vicious war. For two months, the outnumbered and technologically outclassed military of Midgard traded blows with the Imperial military, lasting twice as long as anyone expected through tactics just barely qualifying above guerilla warfare, their short-ranged but fast-cooldown Sprint Drives and the fact the Empire had to work to find their targets, whereas the colonials had free reign to wreak havoc in what fit the definition of a target-rich environment to a T.
They fought a losing battle from day one, owing to their inability to strike the supply lines of their enemies capable of interstellar flight or outpace their industrial might, and a ceasefire was called in early CE 2083, ending the Midgard War with their defeat and integration into the Empire, leaving a tired and bitter people to get used to the new normal or look for another way to fight back.
Personality: A cocky fighter pilot embittered by Midgard’s defeat in the eponymous war and the subsequent loss of her nation’s independence, Astrid nevertheless remains a stout - and loud - patriot. Shaped by the fighter pilot culture, she sees her fellow pilots as a caste above others in the spirit of the usual interservice rivalry, something that usually shines through when she runs out of patience with someone. That being said, she is aware that ground forces are and always will be the be-all end-all of armed conflict, though she’d rather chew off her other arm than admit this within a grunt’s earshot.
As with many of the ex Midgard Aerospace Corps pilots who joined the Resistance, she is more motivated by hitting the Empire rather than fighting for the Resistance itself, seeing it as a convenient means to their liberation. With some experience as a wing leader fighting an enemy that outnumbers her, she’d grown used to the necessity to fight smart and conserve resources, leading to her being protective of inexperienced pilots.
Bio: Born to an Aerospace Corps officer and a historian, there was little doubt of where Astrid’s path would lead. Names of superheroes and fairy tale characters meant nothing to her. Her childhood heroes were the likes of Yi Sun-sin and Franz Stigler. It was a parable based on the latter’s tale (and her father’s stylish uniform) that first paved the way to museums and airshows since 4, a nearby general aviation field for ultralight pilot’s license at 15, a private pilot’s license at 17 and finally enlisting and making the cut to the Aerospace Corps Academy at 18.
By any metric, she was an average student in the classroom, but she led the class whenever she was in the flight seat. The number of times she’s been shouted up for running her mouth and other small transgressions was likewise impressive. Her scores were enough to keep that from being a significant problem, and in CE 2073, she graduated into active service. But peacetime was boring to the newly-minted Leutnant, so she took every extra course she could. Fighter Weapons School? Why not? Transorbital flight? Of course. Advanced weapons qualification? Hell yes! And then the big chance came. With the appearance of not-quite aliens making laughable demands and being serious about them, the Aerospace Corps increased the production of their newest multirole fighter and thus opened up more positions for pilots. Rather than putting new pilots into these cutting-edge fighters, experienced pilots could apply for a transfer. Astrid was an experienced pilot, and most definitely interested. Not only did she upgrade to a better fighter, but with her recent promotion to Hauptmann, she was assigned to the position of a flight leader. A month after the ‘Second Contact’, her transition was complete with a few months of peace time left to gain experience on this particular type and synergize with her new wingmates.
And that experience would come in handy, as in CE 2082, her wing was chosen to be among those taking part in the initial strike against Imperial targets in the Yggdrasil system. The target of Astrid’s flight was Alan Shepard, a carrier serving as the flagship of Imperial forces in the system. Flying Gungnir-class multirole fighters, the pride of Midgard fighter corps, Astrid was among the pilots responsible for the fighter doctrine used in what would become known as the Midgard War - approach fast and fight at close range where the Empire’s superior sensors and long-range weapons were of little use. Due to her less-than-stellar aim, she took this to the extreme, earning the callsign “Katarakt” as well as several early returns due to damage from debris falling off of her prey.
But all good things must come to an end, and in early CE 2083 she, too, found herself on the receiving end of no small amount of explosive ordnance. It wasn’t even a hostile fighter that brought her down, much to her chagrin. Instead, she got her wings clipped by some trench monkey with a tube on his shoulder. The gall. Injured by shrapnel, down one engine and losing systems left and right, Astrid realized she wouldn’t make it back to base. In its death throes, her fighter stayed aloft long enough to reach a city big enough to have a decent hospital and get her down safely. The landing was rough, more of a controlled crash, and earned Astrid some extra scars on both flesh and pride. Coming down on a beach next to a city proved prudent, as it got her medical care quickly, but that same city fell to Imperial troops mere hours later. The war outlasted her involvement by only four days.
Following the war’s end, the Midgard military had been disbanded and its former members forbidden from serving in the Empire’s armed forces. Discharged and thoroughly mad, she sought out ways to keep her in a flight seat, turning to the Resistance along with many others.
Fighter: Mithria Arsenal AS-96 Wildcat
Fighter Customization:
Her name, callsign and a cloudy green eye painted on the left side of the canopy.
Emblems of the Midgard Aerospace Corps 11th Fighter Squadron next to Resistance roundels.
How long has the Resistance been active? Did they start immediately upon the coup's success 20 years ago, or did it take a few years to get the basics down, then some to gather men and equipment and they've only recently started actually fighting?
Idea: If you want to play a younger pilot (say early 20s), you could have your guy/gal be an aviation nut who'd joined an aeroclub or somesuch group at a young age and was partway through military training when he or she decided to join the terrorists Resistance and had to start active duty early due to the Resistance being short on hands? Then you'd have a character who knows how to fly and has some training with fighters, but is still learning the ropes insofar as actual combat flying goes.
Do you have a "current year" date in mind (Unless it's stated and I'm just blind)? Not super important I guess, but I like to have a fixed point to base the character's history on.
She spotted the threat too late. The Gesha left the holster, and almost got in position to hit the legs of one of the bastards rushing her, but the 21-foot rule was king, and she had maybe six. A baton made of PVC pipe smacked her wrist, sending the pistol flying out of her hand. A similarly painful object held by the other guy smacked her in the gut, making her double over. Before she could recover, someone yanked off her backpack and a brick house fell on her back, or at least that’s what the knee between her shoulder blades felt like, and then the lights went out. She felt a hand reaching into her pocket to remove her phone and probably cancel the call. It happened so fast Hayden likely wouldn’t even notice someone tried to call. Or wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of similar treatment unbeknownst to Yekaterina. Resisting being moved worked for about two seconds before the attackers simply picked her up by shoulders and ankles and carried her into the van like an oversized garbage bag. She landed on something soft and probably Welsh. All she had left in that moment was impotent rage and Russian curses, and a length of duct tape quickly put an end to the latter as well.
Well that encounter went down about as well as a pint of brake fluid. Next time, no splitting the party, as if there would be a next time at all. Unless they saw the whole thing happen, the lads had no realistic way of tracking them, and if they had been that close, they’d probably have been shooting before either of them got loaded up. Trying to keep track of left and right hand turns soon proved a hopelessly confusing mess. At least they weren't being beaten during the ride and she couldn’t feel plastic sheets on the floor, but that was only a small comfort.
The ride came to an end, and they were led somewhere shady and colder with a hard floor. Not a basement, no stairs. A stone building? The duct tape and hood came off. The first things she recognized were the shapes of three other bound individuals. Crap. They were on their knees and with their wrists ziptied, not seated with their hands and feet duct taped to the chair. At least there was that, but considering that a victory clearly spelled how bad their situation was. She tried to reach the pocket where her phone should’ve been, but couldn’t reach far enough. One of the goons even had the presence of mind to pull her jacket down over her elbows before they led them out of the van, practically immobilizing her arms. Yekaterina tried looking around, but was poked in the ribs with the stick again and reminded to stop squirming and pay attention. “No meathooks, Hayden. Yet.” She informed the still-blinded Canadian.
Their captors’ conversation further muddled the waters. What was that about trusting them and taint? She was rapidly growing sick of this damn city. “You have pretty shitty PR, you know that?” She replied to Edgar’s questioning, the mix of fury, unease and confusion evident to the other three operatives from her native Russian sneaking into the way she pronounced English words. Before she’d say anything else, she chanced a glance at Sean and Beth, hoping to catch a look or some other attempt at communication, trying to figure out how much they should say.
Yekaterina allowed herself a brief laugh at Bethan’s reply, listening to her partner’s worries. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, the arguments being sound, but any attempt to switch allegiances was an uncertain shot in the dark, with the only certainty being leaving a pissed off Victor, with the added possibility of Conan’s sisters coming for their scalps. That would’ve been some encounter. ‘Yeah, bossman is a cunt, but money is money.’ The only silver-ish lining was that since Victor wasn’t being straight with the rest of SAMC head honchos, his resources might be limited if it came to mopping them up. But maybe there was a way. After all, Melani sent them here to gather information. They could do that, and then decide what to do with it.
"Agreed....but I think there's someone watching us before you can do that. What's our play? If this guy is as psychotic as she says… I'm not sure I want to get crucified. But something tells me we might be able to take a chance to play dumb." Bethan replied, watching the men, staying by the wall and allowing her to have eyes laid on, but return the favour in due course.
Yekaterina had the presence of mind to not turn around to look at whatever made Bethan think they were being watched, instead looking past her on the lookout for suspicious activity behind the Welshwoman, but seeing nothing for now, paying no mind to the trio at the meat stall. Since she hadn’t seen them getting out of the car together with the others and split up, they completely failed to register as something new or in any way out of place. “What do you see? You think we can bullshit our way past local thugs?” She asked, obviously skeptical, “I think our best bet is to shoot as many as we can before they close in. As soon as they get close enough to grab us, we’re fucked.” Definitely figuratively, between getting hanged, crucified, skinned alive, beaten to death with a broomstick or whatever the locals considered a fun way to kill time and people they didn’t like, and Devil only knew if not literally, she didn’t add, “Remember our earlier agreement. I don’t want to become a wall decoration either.” She reminded Bethan, retrieving her phone, selecting Hayden’s number and putting it back, keeping her hand on it inside the pocket. If something went down, one button press was all it’d take to at least alert the boys that there was trouble. “I’ll follow your lead, but someone as much as twitches, we’re pulling out if we can.”
“‘Truant officers’, right. That’s something I can pretty much guarantee we won’t have to worry about. At least I’ve never encountered any, but I doubt that has changed.” She laughed before her usual straightforward cynicism returned, “Tranbir-IX, our destination, is one of over eighty moons orbiting the sole planet in Epsilon Theta. It’s a class K shithole. No water, unbreathable nitrogen atmosphere, seven-odd meters per second squared gravitational acceleration and a surface colder than an ONI agent’s heart. All of the habitats are former copper mines bored deep into the ground, split into several strata, or levels, in turn divided into sublevels, kept more or less at 20 degrees celsius. Alpha level is the spaceport, we’ll face the sternest security there on our way in. Only place that gets better cops is Foxtrot at the very bottom, but we won’t be going there, so that’s a non-issue. We’ll be bypassing Bravo, that’s rich people country and entry is restricted to people who live or work there. Charlie through Echo are housing, think The Galactic Bazaar, but slightly poorer and more cramped for Charlie and it gets poorer and more crowded as you descent. Prewar population was just shy of 25 mil, and I suspect that being on the other side of Ascendancy Territory from the conflict made it an attractive destination for refugees. Foxtrot is full of ruins, both human and structural. Below Foxtrot is Golf, though only unofficially, it’s… I don’t really know, they told us at school that it’s regularly checked by geological teams because the weight of the whole city rests on it, but other than that it’s a dumping ground for the city’s waste, requiring closed-circuit environment suits to traverse it. Urban legends speak of tunnels dug by black market traders and smugglers to move stuff from habitat to habitat, but I can’t verify that. We probably won’t go below Echo, but too much information never hurt anyone” Avelyn shrugged, her brain firmly in briefing gear.
“We’ll be going down to Delta, the border between middle and lower class, Sublevel 12/28 to be precise, the very bottom of what you’d call middle-class. ‘Top of the shit pile, yet still a way to fall.’ I heard someone say once. I can think of three places to start: Our apartment, since even if mother and father moved, the new tenants might be able to tell us something. A couple levels above is the Broken Bit, a music club of sorts where mom used to perform and the owner was a good guy. He might still remember me, I spent a lot of time there after school when I was very little. Third is the spaceport, arrivals and departures.” She counted on her fingers, then she paused, and alarm bells went off in her head. Her father was a freighter pilot. What if he was out of the system when they arrived? How could she have missed that? Idiot! Her brain quickly recovered from the stall, hopefully fast enough that nobody noticed anything, “Fortunately for us, Longannet sits right on a huge subterranean ravine, about fifty meters wide, practically bisected in two parts from Bravo to Echo. Despite being underground and sealed from the surface, it’s big enough that temperature differences at the ends can be big enough to cause the air to move, so cloaks and scarves are normal to keep the wind out.” She tugged on the red scarf draped around her neck, “Nobody should look twice if we’re covering our faces. Like I said, the habitat is an old mine, so mostly bored or blasted tunnels in solid rock, with the occasional natural cave modified to better suit whatever purpose. As with any indoors space, fires are terrifying and every gunshot will reliably deafen anyone without earpro for the next minute, so keep that in mind if we have to go loud. Law enforcement has no fucking sense of humor, and is tight with the Ascendancy, given how fast they shipped me out. A lot of the guards are K9 officers with Kell Hounds. I don’t know which corner of Hades they found those things in, but just in case you haven’t had the pleasure, it’s a forty kilo ball of concentrated hate, fiercely loyal to its handler and with enough teeth to put crocodiles to shame. And blind they may be, but there’s a reason people joke they can smell movement and hear colors, so let’s get in, do what we must and get out, shall we?
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