vietmyke

Monster Hunter World: Starfall

@Light here we are, I decided against the bowgun and went for a gunlance, hope you like it!

Purrcival

Purrcival

Race: Lynian - Felyne and Grimalkyne heritage
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Purrcival, due to his heritage is rather tall when compared to than most Palicos- standing in at about 3'6". His fur is short and mostly black, save for white patches on his stomach, underneath his chin, and on his paws. Scars from various missions adorn his frame, and a pair of gold rings are pierced through one of his ears.

Role: Tailraider - Tailraider Rescue Group
Weapons:

• Felyne Gunlance

  
  
  With a custom built gunlance and shield, Purrcival stands at the front of any rescue effort, protecting his fellow Tailraiders as they provide direct aid to distressed hunters and palicos. Though heavy and large, Purrcival wields this weapon with surprising grace and finesse.
• Felyne Iron Sword - Purrcival keeps a standard issue palico sword strapped across his back as a backup weapon. He uses it on the occasions when he has been disarmed of his primary weapon, or needs to drop the gunlance and shield for more mobility.
• Tailraider Gadgets - Purrcival keeps a pouch containing a variety of necessary tools for the Tailraiders, most notably a generous supply of vigorwasp spray for first aid purposes, and smoke bombs for screening escapes from hostile monsters.
• Grani - A Mernos wingdrake. One of many used by the Tailraiders as a method of quick transport in and out of rescue locations. While technically capable of combat, wingdrakes are rather fragile when compared to the usual targets of hunters, and Purrcival avoids bringing Grani into combat when possible. Still, the wingdrake is capable of being used as a warmount. Grani in particular responds to a whistle Purrcival has built into his helmet.

Armor: While at home and not on duty, Purrcival is commonly seen in the typical Palico getup- leather vest and hat. However, when deployed or prepping for a rescue mission, Purrcival dons a set of Legiana Mail, providing him ample protection without too much weight.

Bio:
A Tailraider of considerable repute, Purrcival is the oldest of 12. Always larger than his siblings, and possessed of considerable athleticism- with strength comparable to a human, Purrcival was quickly picked up and inducted into the Hunter's Guild as one of their palicos. Purrcival served with another hunter in the Old World before an injury left the hunter unable to continue their career. Staying with the Hunter's Guild, Purrcival was among those selected to join the Fifth Fleet as they headed out towards the New World.

Upon reaching the new world, Purrcival and several other Felynes without Hunter partners banded together to form the Tailraiders, support to hunter teams as they embarked on missions in the New World. The Tailraiders grew in number as the years went by, and different specializations were formed to fit the different needs of the Commission: Support and logistics staff, safari gatherers, auxiliary hunters, rescue teams, and whatever else the Commission felt necessary. Owing to his size and skill, Purrcival became member of the Tailraider Rescue Group: heavily armed and armored Tailraiders mounted on wingdrakes, responsible for swooping into mission areas and ensuring downed hunters made it back to base.

With surprising efficiency, by the time the Sixth Fleet arrived in Astera, Purrcival had risen through the ranks and made his mark as team leader for TRG-1, sent into the most dangerous locations to rescue and support beleaguered hunters during the most dangerous of hunts. As things have mostly calmed down after the events in Seliana, Purrcival and the rest of TRG-1 spend most of their days training new hunters and palicos as they arrive in Astera, though Purrcival still feels the call of adventure and is ready to answer any call at a moment's notice.

Monster Hunter World: Starfall

Still accepting? I had an idea for a Palico Tailraider, but with sort of air-force pararescue/combat search and rescue take on it

Can hunter weapons be resized for Palicos? Like a palico sized lightbowgun?

The Crownless King

If this is still going, I'll also be keeping my eye out for an OOC

Falling Skies: Reboot ver 2

Chaos was the only apt description of the situation at hand. Explosions and munitions rocked across the battlespace as the Roanoke traded fire with the enemy ships on either side of the field. Lasercannon fire from one of the 7th’s ship killers had critically wounded a frigate, and the other two ships were breaking off their attack, not willing to risk their own destruction for the single target that was the Roanoke. Likewise, most- if not all of the assaulting squadron of Coalition MAS had been wiped off the battlespace, the two that remained begrudgingly retreated back towards their flagging ships. While the Roanoke continued firing at the fleeing ships, it made no effort to chase them, instead its hangar doors began opening again.

Not content to just let them go, another Coalition ship and its escorts had peeled off to begin harrying the carrier, it's already deployed squadrons of MAS, rerouting from their current dogfights to hone in on the Roanoke and its MAS squadron.

“Keep on my ass rookie, we’re leaving.” Ingram remarked as the Sparrowhawk boosted off, back towards the Roanoke, the Peregrine easily keeping up with its breakneck pace. Already Ingram was on the comms with the rest of the squadron, his icon popping up in the corner of everyone’s vision.

“This is as clear as we’re going to get, RTB now- before that new squadron engages with us.” his voice crackled, the Sparrowhawk must’ve taken some stray hit or debris to its communication’s array, but it was still clear enough.

“RTB and rearm, we’re going after Pips and Grizz.”

The Sparrowhawk rocketed towards the open hangar doors of the Roanoke, lines displaying on his HUD to help guide his fast moving mech into its proper spot. Engineers scattered as the heavy mechs of the 7th Squadron entered the simulated gravity environment of the Roanoke’s hangar. There was a heavy boom as the Sparrowhawk touched down in the hangar, followed by another boom from the Peregrine. Ingram quickly cleared the landing and walked his mech over to its bay as the rest of the squadron began touching down behind him.

Without even waiting for the mechs to begin powering down, the technical crews of the Roanoke began servicing the returning MAS with practiced precision: Refilling ammo bays and replacing spent magazines, spot fixes to damaged armor plates, reattaching refueling/power lines, and the like. The Roanoke had already began its run towards the planet, the hangar doors closing above them as the view of the planet filled the bay doors.

The Sparrowhawk’s engines spinned down to idle as Ingram pulled off his helmet and popped the cockpit open. Pulling himself out of the cockpit, he got a lungful of ‘fresh’ air- at least air that wasn’t the recycled air of his life support system. A bottle flew into the air from one of the Sparrowhawk’s technicians and into Ingram’s outstretched hand.

“Squad, situation update:” he called across the hangar between sips of water, his helmet still picking up the audio and displaying it across the squadron. “We have VIP designation: ‘Sunray’ on the surface of Cerol.” Implications were clear, Sunray was the designation given to one of the Royal family- an immediate descendant of the Emperor himself. Ingram had no idea what she was doing so close to the front lines, or where her bodyguard escorts were, but ultimately those were questions they’d have to get answers to later- preferably when they weren’t in the middle of combat.

“Thanks to Pips and Grizzly, we have a rough location of where they landed. Our new orders are to deploy to the planet surface, find our recovery team, and walk them back to the Roanoke.”

“Cerol is mostly uninhabited save for major habitats underneath its space elevator- which is now inoperable due to the status of Horizon Point. Flora and Fauna are large and occasionally hostile, so keep your wits about you.”

He poured half the bottle down his throat, wiping his face and tossing the bottle back down to his crew below. An alert pinged on his holopad and he took a quick glance at it before grimacing.

“Coalition forces are already landing on the planet surface, so we can expect contact. No time for a protracted firefight, drop them and keep moving. Good news, they’re all over the place- they don’t know where Sunray is. Bad news, they’re all over the place.

“Deadeye, you’re better in the jungle than I am- you’ve got tactical lead, we’ll follow. No questions? Take five, get some water, then back in your mechs.”

---

Giant trees rumbled and swayed like tall grasses in the breeze as the Roanoke broke the treeline, retro thrusters blasting the surface of a sapphire blue lake beneath them. While capable of entering and exiting an atmosphere, starships like the Roanoke weren’t exactly designed to land on planet surfaces for long periods of time- and given the wide stretching jungles of Cerol, there wasn’t much in the realm of clear space for it to land.

They were lucky they were even able to find this lake- as it was, the lake put them approximately 80 klicks from Grizzly and Pip’s estimated position. The Roanoke was a big ship, and hard to miss, but with any luck, their presence would be partially masked by the rest of the debris falling from orbit. Either way, they wouldn’t be in the clear for too much longer.

Deploying from the Roanoke and stomping ankle deep into the foliage and stream, Ingram took a glance at the jungle around him and was thankful that modern day MAS had creature comforts such as air conditioning, or the heat and humidity would grow unbearable rather quickly. The Sparrowhawk’s armored hand waved Aleks’ Yeoman forward, before motioning the rest of the squadron to fall in.

Opening an encrypted long range channel, Ingram risked a call to their recovery team. “Pips, Grizz- Boss here, moving on your last known position. Status? Pips? Grizz? Either of you reading this?” There was a short burst of static, then nothing. Their communications might’ve been disrupted by the landing- or they were dead. Hopefully the latter wasn’t the case.

As Ingram set about contacting the Savonian duo, Aleks stepped up to the others and flipped on the local channel in the Yeoman-2.

"Alright, I want DJ and Alcantara on my flanks, a forty metres out either way and a hundred metres to my rear. Eyes, Apples, trail behind at sixty metres, twenty metres spacing between you. Boss as rear guard another forty behind you two. Flight engines and boosters are to remain spooled down, limit your thermal exhaust as much as possible - the jungle is warm but we are warmer, do not give the Coalition early warning if they haven't picked us up already."

The Yeoman held its fist up with a whir, then pointed out in the direction of travel.

"Our comrades are that way. We are going to meet them. We will move fast, at the jogging pace of the Heavy MAS. We keep our eyes open for hazards, especially Coalition and especially local megafauna." The iron arm of the mech clenched its fist again. "Big forest means big animal, but they will most likely avoid us if they can. Alcantara, if we need recon, you will be the most likely to fly up for it. Remember to ping threats on the tactical net, remember to keep your focus, and remember the mission."

Aleks hefted the rifle, and got on the march.

"Follow on my signal. No idle chatter. As always, Sunray has Prio. Deadeye out."

---

It must’ve felt like hours, as Jakunta maintained a watch over the giant branches of the gargantuan jungle around them. The heavy jungle was hot and humid, but seemingly untouched by war. Birds and animals called throughout the jungle floor, but otherwise nothing. A peaceful breeze billowed lightly past the two pilots, as an oversized bird, bright feathers almost a foot long each landed on the Krakono and regarded Jakunta and Abi with curious eyes.

In the distance there was a quiet, almost muffled boom and the bird gave an almost accusatory squawk and flapped away, a pair of large red feathers all it left in its place as it flew off. In the distance, hidden by the massive flora the booming slowly grew in volume, becoming much clearer as it grew closer: explosions- munitions, and MAS sized weapons fire. The radio blared to life as it picked up short range communications on the unencrypted open channel- a close range radio channel usually saved for banter between Coalition and UEE pilots.

“This -kssh- -ray, requ-ksssh- -ssistance” a voice crackled over the radio, garbled explosions in the background cut in and out. “I repeat -ksssh- Sunray, -kssssh- pursued -kssh- Coalition forces”

The rumbling grew closer, and through the thick cover of the jungle trees, Jakunta could make out a figure crashing through the trees- a 40 foot tall metal chassis of a rather rare Coalition design, red and black with what appeared to be the pelt and skull of a large creature attached to its shoulder. Following it, some distance behind another trio of standard Fenrir IIs. The foremost unit didn’t appear to be leading the others, rather it appeared to be being chased- as it would occasionally turn and fire at the chasing Fenrirs. Almost as if to answer their questions, the radio blared to life again.

“-ksssh- Sunray, I’ve got 3 -ksssh- Fenrirs on my tail.”

Priest and Hawthorne Investigations: A Modern Fantasy Adventure!

Here's the ever tired daddy-o!

Priest & Hawthorn Employee File: McCalister, Jacob B.

Name: Jacob Bartholomew McCalister
Gender: Male

Race/Species: Human
Age: 40

Appearance:
A middle aged man that appears perpetually tired, Jacob stands in at 6'2", putting him typically several inches taller than many of his cohorts. Jacob has a sinewy build and broad-ish shoulders, but is neither bulky nor lanky. His wavy hair is relatively short and generally brushed to the side and kept out of the way, the gray and dark brown hair somehow always manages to appear neat, yet casually unkempt at the same time; and his chin often sports a stubble that is likely several days old. His eyes are a sharp gray, and his piercing gaze is analytical and critical but belie a lurking sadness. His facial features were once strong and defined, but have grown gaunt and thin, and his mouth is often pressed into a thin line. His prominent features and build would lead one to believe that in his heyday, many would consider Jacob fairly attractive, though years of work and being a single father have clearly taken its toll.

Most of Jacob's wardrobe consists of well fitted suits, specially reinforced by PHI to be more durable and comfortable than the average suit. The vast majority of Jacob's footwear are leather dress shoes, clean and professional enough to wear with his suits, but comfortable enough to walk or do activity in for days on end. Jacob wears a leather shoulder holster over his shirt, and typically makes no effort to hide it. On his left hand Jacob wears a silver wristwatch, along with a golden wedding band on his ring finger. He keeps a picture of his daughter in his wallet.

Personality:
A serious man with a strong work ethic, Jacob, while generally kind enough, often has a no-nonsense demeanor and is typically impervious to the jokes and wisecracks made by his coworkers. Only rarely willing to crack a grin for his close compatriots, Jacob is for the most part incredibly blunt and to the point, though not confrontational. Incredibly strong willed, and somewhat hard-headed, Jacob is a man of conviction and his beliefs are hard to shake. Despite his callous attitude, its fairly plain to see from his actions and interactions that Jacob is honest and well-meaning, but doesn't have the easiest time expressing it. He isn't afraid to get his hands a little dirty, and is jaded, and somewhat cynical. Despite possessing a well developed moral compass, Jacob will often ignore morality and act in what he believes are in the best interest of himself and his compatriots.

Generally slow to trust those around him that he isn't well acquainted with, Jacob is skeptical of most strangers, and is a firm believer of "If it seems to good to be true, it is". He takes almost everything with a grain of salt, and rarely accepts things at face value. Jacob is for the most part calm and patient, and requires a fair amount of goading to lose his cool. As a part of his fatherly instincts, Jacob is extremely protective of his daughter, and will often react aggressively when something involving her well-being seems to be threatened. As a result of his wife's murder, Jacob is usually distrusting of supernatural creatures- particularly vampires, and is quicker to aggression when one is involved.

While technically capable of acts of magic, Jacob for the most part considers himself as mundane as the average man or woman walking around the streets of Chicago, and prefers to deal with his problems from the perspective of an average man or woman. He prefers to deal with issues as they arrive head-on, and avoids beating around the bush when a problem can be solved with the application of strong words, a mean look, or in extreme cases, a silver bullet.

Not completely at peace with his wife's murder, Jacob struggles to balance his desire to find closure, and his need to make Chicago a safe place for his daughter to grow up in. Between work and family life, Jacob has little time for much else, including sleep and proper self care. While there's no doubt that he's good at what he does, he can only do it for so much longer.

Powers, Traits, and Abilities:
Jacob possesses an innate magical talent, and has the ability to cast the simplest charms and spells (think jedi mind tricks), and can telekinetically move smaller objects, such as books, pens, wallets, and coins. He has yet to bother pursuing further mastery of his magical talent, too busy with work and family to take the time to focus on practicing magic.

Well aware of his shortcomings as a more-or-less human, Jacob is well read on a variety of magical and supernatural creatures, and is knowledgeable about the physiology of many them as well. He spends a great amount of time reading, recording and adding to the records of supernatural creatures in the PHI library. Amongst his compatriots at PHI, Jacob is considered the resident expert on supernatural monsters and methods of dealing with them.

While by no means an Olympic athlete, Jacob is no slouch. In rather good shape for someone his age, Jacob possesses a powerful mental and physical fortitude capable of taking a considerable beating and can hold his own in most situations that are physically or mentally taxing, from lifting and moving objects, to chasing down suspects or even withstanding torture and interrogations. While not a brawler, Jacob knows his way around a fist fight and can be a formidable foe when provoked. Though not an expert marksman, Jacob is well versed in operating firearms and firearm safety, and is a good shot with his sidearm or even a shotgun or rifle.

Jacob is a smoker, and smokes regularly. Despite his good shape, and regular workout habits, its clear that the years of smoking have taken a toll on his overall stamina. Jacob has also been starting to develop a drinking habit, and has begun using cigarettes and alcohol as a vice. It hasn't affected his work yet, but its clear his body won't be able to maintain his more physical line of work much longer- though getting him to admit it would be an effort in futility.

Street savvy and smart, Jacob knows his way around Chicago, and does especially well at night, when most decent folk have called it a night- his stature and attitude often give the seedy types pause. As an investigator, Jacob is capable of many tasks, from surveillance, to opening doors that aren't meant to be opened, and even a bit of interrogation. As a single parent, Jacob is also fairly adept in common household skills, he knows his way around the kitchen, and can grill a mean steak.

Jacob currently holds the record as the highest scoring Ski-Ball players at PHI- which is surprising because he's never actually played the game himself. Whenever Jacob is invited out to play with his colleagues, he brings his daughter out with him, and lets her play in his place. Amanda insists that his coworkers are taking it easy on her, but Jacob assures her that she is just a ski-ball prodigy of some sort.

Background:

Jacob & Amanda

Glazed in the golden glow of midday, the interior of the little shop was absolutely aromatic, a mixture of coffee and baked goods filled the air and almost took Jacob to days long past. Once the sparse cloud cover blocked out the golden sun, Jacob was slowly brought back to reality- a paper cup of the cheapest, strongest coffee he could buy and the loud voice of the Starbucks barista calling out to the next customer. He sat at a short, small wooden table, his knees bumping against the bottom of the wooden surface. Across from him was an empty chair nursing some sort of strange, pinkish-purple and blue concoction that was apparently a frappuccino of some sort.

Jacob took a sip of his coffee absentmindedly as he regarded the pale pink puffy jacket drapped around the back of the chair- Morgan had gotten it for Amanda a few weeks back, said something about him having a terrible taste in children and women's fashion. It wasn't designer, but it wasn't cheap, Jacob was curious how Morgan managed to afford buying gifts for his daughter so regularly- her salary couldn't have been that much higher than his after all.

Looking up as a head of dirty blonde hair skipped back to the table, he couldn't help but touch the golden band on his finger fondly. While Amanda had his eyes, nothing else about his daughter looked anything like him. She did however, take after her mother almost perfectly, the round face and soft features- Jacob liked it better that way, his wife was the pretty one in the family anyway.

"Did you wash your hands?" Jacob asked pointedly as Amanda sat down, grabbing at the drink with notably dry hands and sipping on the straw. Amanda finished a long sip of her drink before she looked away sheepishly.

"Yes..." she lied, not very well. She Also took after her mother in that regard.

"Then why are your hands so dry?" Jacob asked suspiciously, Amanda hated hand dryers, and the brown paper towels only ever got most of the moisture off.

"No they're not!" Amanda insisted, rapidly rubbing the sides of her drink, collecting the condensation onto her hands before shoving them out and showing them to her father, "See! They're still wet!"

"Amanda..." Jacob chided softly as he pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket and dropped a dollop onto his daughter's outstreched hands. "Now hurry up, we've got a lot to do today."

Half an hour later, and the two McCalisters were at the Pier Park, Jacob watching as his daughter went on a spinning ride for what must have been the fourth time. This was Jacob's first full day off in weeks, so Amanda had written out an itinerary for her self titled 'Best day off day ever, ever'. They were already done with most of the list- breakfast/brunch in bed, followed by a matinee showing of The Incredibles 2, late lunch with 'Auntie Morgan', and a trip to the arcade. After a coffee break, the two came to the Navy Pier, where they'd ride rides to their (Amanda's) content, and watch the sunset.

As Amanda got off her fifth ride on the swinger, she giddily- and dizzily made her way over to her father, giggling all the while. Hugging at her father's waist Amanda let out a tinkling little laugh. "Hey daddy, are you sure you don't want to go on? Its really really really fun!"

"Ah you know me," Jacob said with a nonchalant wave, "I'm not too fond of heights."

"But you're a detective! You're not supposed to be afraid of anything?" Amanda insisted, looking up at her father.

"Now where on earth did you get that idea?" Jacob asked, as he resisted his daughter's pull towards the large swing ride. "Besides, don't you think you've been on there enough? You can barely stand straight!"

"I can so!" Amanda replied with a huff and a stomp, not noticing as she brought her foot down onto her father's shoe. "See! Watch!" She said as she began to walk away from Jacob, standing upon a line in the cement tiles and walking foot in front of foot, her arms out to her sides to help her keep balance. Unfortunately, that type of walking made the already unsteady Amanda even move unsteady on her feet, and after a few short steps, she stumbled forward, catching herself with a few stuttering steps and a pair of hands being thrown forward.

"Well, I don't think we have enough time to go on the ride again anyway," Jacob said as he trotted over to his daughter, pointing at the sun. The sun had dipping closer to the horizon, turning the sky from a light blue into the darker prelude of evening. "If we don't get on the ferris wheel now, we'll miss the sunset.

The threat of missing the sunset must have been a strong motivator, because next thing he knew, his daughter had grabbed his hand and began dragging him towards the steadily growing line of the park's ferris wheel. Through some stroke of divine fate, or perhaps a bit of trickery on Jacob's behalf, the two McCalisters managed slip through the lines and get themselves high into the sky just as the sun began falling past the horizon, the sky now noticeably mixed with a wash of orange and purple amongst the blue.

The younger McCalister stiffled a yawn and leaned against her father. Jacob placed a hand fondly on her head and ruffled it a bit.

"Daddy," Amanda asked, stiffling another yawn, "What was mommy like?"

Jacob blinked a few times, his hand curling up and slowly retreating from his daughter's head. "Hm? Where's this coming from?"

"I've been trying really hard to remember mommy, but I cant remember a thing." Amanda muttered, pawing at her eyes with a small hand. "What was she like?"

"Your mother?" Jacob replied, absentmindedly touching his ring, "Well,"

"She was everything."

Priest and Hawthorne Investigations: A Modern Fantasy Adventure (Again!)

Any space for a single father and his daughter? :D

Falling Skies: Reboot ver 2

Music

Explosions rattled off in the silence of space as the 7th moved in to engage the enemy. They were not the only ones in the local battle space, skirmishes and pitched battles from other units- both UEE and Coalition overlapped with theirs. Wings of FF-210 Naginatas screamed by chasing after Coalition Fenrirs, which despite their ungainly appearances were easily able to outmaneuver the UEE aerospace craft with ease. The UEE comms were saturated with panicked chatter as individual strike craft and MAS units banded together to form ad hoc units amongst the chaos.

Ingram watched a flight of UEE Sparrows attempt to enter the battlespace from one of Horizon Point's many hangars, wincing as a plasma blast from a Coalition warship struck the hangar and destroyed it, reducing the 3 suits into slag. The defense fleets weren't handling the assault well either: unprepared for an assault of this magnitude, many of the ships were still bringing up their combat shields as Coalition weapons collided against their hulls, exploding with orange fire and sending debris, atmosphere and bodies out into the void of space.

He watched as Pips sped forward to distract the Garmrs, leading them into the accurate fire of Deadeye. Gansu had begun engaging the main body of the enemy squadron. The Fenrirs were rapidly closing the distance between themselves and the Roanoke, and the enemy warships had just entered the ship's firing range. From behind them, brilliant beams of blue plasma shot forward, into the bodies of the Coalition warships, splashing across their shields and hulls with blinding blue explosions. In response, the Coalition ships fired back a volley of torpedos and cannon shells, bright red tracers streaking across the empty space. The presence of ship weapons just added another variable to the battlefield- while the Roanoke's projected firing lines were constantly being presented in realtime across their HUDs, any MAS smaller than the Titan risked being destroyed outright by a single stray shot.

Everyone's vitals had thus far been holding steady, so Ingram steeled himself for the battle ahead. He pressed a button and felt the legs of the Sparrowhawk close into flight mode as he pushed the throttle to the max. His head was pushed back into the headrest as the Sparrowhawk rocketed forward, tearing ahead of the rest of the group moving to meet the Coalition squadron. One of the Fenrir IIIs raised its shield arm and let loose a spray of plasma, the Sparrowhawk barreling to the left to avoid the lethal stream. The cockpit shook as the Fenrir III and a pair of IIs flew past him- making moves on Deadeye who had been taking potshots at their Garmrs.

"Deadeye, heat coming your way. Commander unit and two Fenrirs." Ingram barked into the comms. Fenrir commander units were typically bad news- they were smarter than their subordinates by far, and their plasma casters could reduce something as light as the Yeoman to slag in seconds. Normally, Ingram would've turned back to intercept, but they were stretched thin as it is.

Turning back to face the rest of the Coalition squadron, Ingram dove into the center of their formation, swapping back into combat mode as his targeting system went to work. Instinct, speed and violence of action were the words Ingram lived by, in the center of their formation, the Fenrirs would be hard pressed to acquire and fire on him without risking hitting their wingmates, which Ingram took advantage of. His ammo counter dropped as he pointed the Sparrowhawk's arms at two different Fenrirs and unloaded a burst of 20mm shells at each, explosions rippling across their armor. He followed it up with a volley of micro missiles, four of which exploded across the formation of Fenrirs. The damage was minimal, but the point wasn't to damage, it was to disrupt.

Smoke, concussive force, and heat from the missiles in such volume and proximity played havoc with the Fenrirs sensors, allowing Ingram to pick off one without taking fire from the rest at once. Swapping back into flight mode, Ingram pushed his MAS forward and rammed one of the Fenrirs, the two MAS rocketing out of the smoke cloud

---

> C-MAD - Fenrir Mk II
> Lt. Andrew 'Nessie' Loch

"What in the-" Loch's voice was cut off as a UEE pilot of all things rammed into him. Whether it was aerospace craft or MAS pilots, UEE servicemen and women were never this bold. Usually it was the Coalition outmaneuvering and outgunning them, but somehow their unit ended up being the ones with the tables flipped. A fucking Sparrow was making a mockery of the Garmr wing, and another, bigger and bulkier sparrow had entered close combat with them.

The Sparrowhawk let go of his Fenrir and he felt himself tumbling as he quickly swatted at his controls, trying to bring his MAS to a stop- but the UEE pilot was already back on top of him.

"Fuck off!" Loch shouted as his Fenrir, still spinning, pointed its autocannon at the UEE suit and sent a spray of inaccurate shells in its general direction. The Sparrowhawk pointed its arms at his Fenrir and Loch saw the muzzle flash of its arm mounted weapons. He instinctively hugged the Fenrir's bulky arms around its chest, protecting the cockpit as explosions rippled across his arms and armor. There was an explosion above him and the cockpit viewscreen went dark for a moment as the UEE suit scored a direct hit into the Fenrir's head unit.

As the explosions stopped, Loch quickly looked around to reacquire his target. The camera distorted and unclear but he eventually found the Sparrowhawk, charging back at him- a beam saber drawn. Cursing to himself, Loch quickly hammered at his controls, launching his Fenrir's sledgehammer missile at the approaching suit whilst drawing his own combat blade. The armored Sparrow juked past his missile and an outstretched arm nailed him with another volley of shells, the explosions fully ripping his gun arm off. The enemy's beam saber reared back to prepare a strike and Loch saw his opening. He rushed forward with his combat blade, intending to stab the heated blade through the Sparrow's chest.

"I've got you!" Loch cried triumphantly as the Sparrowhawk juked to the left at the last possible moment, its beam saber cutting low across the Fenrir's torso. The blue-white of a plasma saber filled his view screen and disappeared, returning moments later as brilliant blue light began tearing through his cockpit. His helmet visor rapidly polarized as it tried to protect its pilot from the intense light, shattering. Loch saw the bright light and managed to get out a wordless scream. He felt intense heat, then nothing.

---

> 7th Squadron - Sparrowhawk-B
> LCDR Ingram 'Boss' Shaw

"That's one. Coming around for another pass." Ingram called over the comms, flying past a bisected Fenrir. His Sparrowhawk rocketed away from the remaining Fenrirs as the smoke cleared, easily dodging returning fire. His targeting AI blared a warning, his cockpit flashing red as it notified him of a Hardballer taking aim at him. The Sparrowhawk threw itself back into flight mode and tore off in random directions, a beam of plasma searing past him, along with a spray of 35mm shells.

"Eyes, I need some more fire down range, the Hardballers are coming into range, and they seem pretty intent on slagging little old me." Ingram barked, he may have specified Gansu, but he didn't much care who was firing, so long as it was sent.

---

> C-MAD - Garmr
> Lt. Amy ‘Aimes’ Kos

“How the fuck is this thing so fast?!” Amy ‘Aimes’ Kos barked into the comms as she and the remaining two Garmr’s tried to track the pesky sparrow down. Normally they would’ve let it go by now, but it just kept on getting in their faces whenever they tried to get even a second of breathing room.

“Fuck me, they got one of my boosters,” groaned one of her wingmates, as his Garmr lagged behind, smoking trailing from its shoulders where one of the Kolibri’s bursts had blown up one of its direcitional boosters. One of the Kolobri’s shells must have also scored a direct hit with the cockpit, as his camera was fuzzy and helmet was cracked.

“Stay back and bracket the fucking thing.” Aimes barked at her wingmates, “I’m going in for the kill.”

“Yes Ma’am” the other two pilots replied, as they immediately broke off their chase, splitting off in opposite directions. Using a combination of laser fire from their head units, as well as sprays of munitions from their handguns, they attempted to corale the Kolibri into a singular heading, where Aimes rushed forward to fill the gap, intending on ramming the thing with her sword and tearing it apart.

They couldn’t afford to spend much more time on a single Sparrow, they needed to turn and harass the UEE’s heavier units so the Hardballers could get their shots in undisturbed.

Falling Skies: Reboot ver 2

Space remained silent as an orange flower of fire erupted from the top Horizon Point- bits of solar panel, steel, and dish parts filling the local area as the force of the explosion ruptured outward. The station and its attached ships shuddered as gas, debris and concussive force rattled the local area. The explosion tore a great chunk out of the station’s superstructure, and a series of secondary explosions began to ripple across the station as a series of secondary explosions began to slowly tear the station apart from the inside out.

Time seemed to slow down as onlooking ships and people on board the stations tried to process what was going on. In the emptiness of space, just outside the range of Horizon Point and the UEE fleets’ weapons, a battleship warped into view, detaching its destroyer escort as soon as it exited FTL. Moments later, several other warships warped into view, releasing their clutches of destroyers and frigates as well. The final force was larger than the combined might of the Horizon Point’s defense fleet and weapons installations, and the 5th fleet- much of which was still undergoing repairs. Coalition ships released their MAS squadrons- dozens of tiny specs in the darkness of space, the glint and light from their thrusters made them seem like a swarm of angry fireflies in the distance.

Moments later, the flagship opened fire.

The remains of Horizon Point station rocked violently as a plasma blast struck it, melting into half a dozen floors and corridors in the tightly packed station hull. While not a devastating hit on its own, it was the preamble to another volley of plasma and cannonfire from the Coalition fleet. Several more impacts rocked the station, while others sailed off into the distance, hitting other vessels in the UEE fleet.

Red lights and sirens began blaring across the entirety of the UEE vessels, as they tried to react to the sudden attack. The planetary defense fleets, as well as the damaged 5th fleet sluggishly moved into defensive positions to meet the Coalition invasion fleet, deploying their own fighter and MAS units to combat the Coalition threat that was quickly closing in.

---

The Roanoke shuddered violently, sending personnel, equipment, and Ingram’s drink flying. Ingram cursed as he caught himself against the bar. ”Eva! What the fuck was that?!” Ingram barked into the air. Almost as if in response, the lights on the Roanoke flickered off, plunging them into darkness. Red emergency lights flooded the dark rooms and halls moments later.

Like a hound to a whistle, Abigail had already taken off on her heels for the nearest door. "MAS first think later!" She yelled over her shoulder, bumping into the opening doors as the emergency power was sluggish to detect her dead sprint towards it.

Eva’s avatar popped into existence in front of him, pouring pale blue light over the him. “LIEUTENANT COMMANDER SHAW,” the avatar reported, “Communications to Horizon Point have halted. In regards to your question what ‘THE FUCK’ was ‘THAT’: I can only assume the THAT you are referring to is an impact against the Roanoke’s hull from a Coalition plasma cannon. We are currently under attack.”

”Lead with that first next time!” Ingram cursed at the ship VI, also sprinting to the doors behind Abi. With a sort of practiced grace, Ingram transitioned easily from the false gravity inside the Officer’s lounge to the low/zero gravity of the ship’s halls.

”All hands, brace for emergency dismount.”

The ship shuddered as it ripped itself away from its docking mounts on Horizon Point. Those onboard the ship felt it shifting, as the ship rapidly pulled away from the exploding station, and began to reorient itself in space.

”General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill.

Already pushing himself down the ship’s hallways, Ingram grabbed his comm and barked into it, almost echoing the captain’s voice above him as it rang throughout the hallway.

”7th Squadron scramble! I want everyone off their ass and in their mechs, we have 5 minutes, do it in 3.”

---

Minutes later, Ingram and other pilots of the 7th squadron were tearing into the Roanoke’s hangar, which was already a mess of activity. Pilots sprinted for their crafts while engineers rushed to their stations, shouting things at one another and pointing at datapads and screens. Unnecessary or momentarily irrelevant materials were unceremoniously shoved aside as Ultra-light MAS lifters attached last minute munitions to mechs that still needed servicing.

Half climbing, half throwing himself into the chest cavity of his MAS, Ingram mashed a key on the side of his cockpit, shutting himself into the darkness. With a short breath, he pulled his helmet over his head and sealed himself within his flight suit. The helmet whirred to life as it booted up and connected to his neural implant, painting a heads up display over the helmet’s faceplate. As the MAS itself sprang to life, the walls seemed to become transparent, becoming what the ‘head’ of the MAS saw. Ingram turned his head left and right and was satisfied that the Sparrowhawk’s movements mimicked his.

Ingram looked up as the massive hangar doors above them began to pull open, leaving a thin oxygen shield as the only thing preventing the entirety of the hangar from venting out. Above them, the inky black void of space, dotted by stars, now occupied with dozens upon dozens of ships. Battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and the exploding Horizon Point station loomed above them, as flashes of light from railguns and plasma cannons streaked across the black empty. Tiny flecks of blue lights- the thrusters of MAS and aerospace fighters zig zagged and spiraled around, lights flashing as their weapons fired, silent flowers of orange and white taking their place as weapons connected with them.

> Confirming Pilot Assignment: LCDR Ingram Shaw_
> ...Pilot Confirmed
> Initializing systems...

> Reactor Unit: Online_
> Life Supportt: Online_
> Targeting AI: Online_
> Weapon Systems: Online_

> All Calibrations Complete
> All Systems Functional
> Standby for Launch

Above them, lines dictating each MAS’ projected path out of the hangar was displayed in realtime 3D. A screen flashed in front of Ingram’s face, control tower giving him and the 7th squadron authorization to launch- not that he would’ve waited for them to give the OK anyway.

”This is Boss. All green, all green. 7th Squadron, comms check.”

He paused for the briefest moment, waiting for everyone to report clear before he continued. ”Communications with Command are cut. We’re not sure what we’re flying into so expect the worst. Primary objective is the Roanoke, other allied vessels should be protected if possible, but the Roanoke holds prio. Updates on the fly, launch when ready.”

There was a hiss as the cables connecting the Sparrowhawk to the ship were disconnected, removing the MAS from the Roanoke’s grid, electromagnetic rails quickly propelling the Roanoke’s MAS’ into the black void of space. The Sparrowhawk’s thrusters activated as he cleared the threshold of the Roanoke’s hangar, banking off to get out of the way of other launching craft.

Taking a moment to orient himself, Ingram remembered how much he hated space combat. No solid ground or cover, fire could come from almost any angle- and at any distance. The only thing keeping him from dying in a vacuum was a few layers or armor.

Approaching the Roanoke was a Coalition cruiser and a pair of light frigates, intent on crippling the small carrier before it was able to clear Horizon Point and fall back to the carrier lines. At the head of the small Coalition force was two full squadrons of Coalition MAS, Ingram’s targeting computers tracking no less than 8 Fenrir IIs and a pair of heavy Hardballers, led by a Fenrir III. A quartet of Garmrs screened their approach, also led by another Fenrir III.

”Watch yourself, watch your wingman. All units, weapons free.”

Falling Skies: Reboot ver 2

Ingram sighed as the pilots filtered out of the officer's lounge, an absentminded hand rubbing at his temples. The squadron deserved their break- but Ingram still had a while before he was able to relax. He grabbed a small tumbler from behind the bar, and plonked a orb of ice into the glass, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a bottle Gansu hadn't gotten his hands on yet. He threw his head back and downed the glass in a single gulp and poured himself another shot.

He went about the very mundane process of forwarding post meeting notes to the Roanoke's Captain and the necessary upper brass. All things considered, the squad had taken the new girl without much fanfare of complaint- not that he expected anything entirely different. The Savonians were sociable, but stuck mostly to themselves, Gansu was Gansu, and the others weren’t the type to cause trouble either.

Ingram glanced up- Abigail seemed to have been content to remain in the Officer’s lounge, more or less gnawing on the same sugar-drink-snack-thing she always seemed to have. He offered the young pilot a raised eyebrow.

“You know you’re dismissed right? Unless you had something else you wanted to say.”

"No point in hurrying if I have nowhere to be dismissed to," Abigail responded. She thought for a second. "I don't like her yet," she added on.

“So I suppose bugging me is the next best thing to do.” Ingram sighed. “Yet? You’ve just met her- besides, you say that about practically everyone that comes on board. Or I assume you do, I still only understand half of the things you three are saying.”

"I've nothing to gain from bugging you. Besides - you spoke first. Could've left me to chew on this vacuum-sealed metal packaging for all I cared." She went back to chewing on the corner of the empty Froot Skwurt. "I don't care that she spoke over me. Only way to get a word in edgeways. But she shrugged and smiled at me, which worries me." Abigail chucked the empty carton towards one of the bins but the lid didn't slide open automatically so it bounced off. She sighed and stood up to collect it. "An FNG in a prototype MAS that doesn't look like it's had a lot of field testing shouldn't be getting cheeky with any of us - even the dumb rookie who talks too much. I mean shit, the only reason I felt alright doing it was 'cause I'd been video calling and sending IMs to you lot right the way through training." She picked up the packaging and plopped it into the bin.

"Don't get me wrong," Abigail looked up at Ingram. "This isn't about her not liking me. It's refreshing to be not liked for once. I just hope she's not so quick to put down the rest of the crew based on how they behave this close to being taken off the frontlines."

“Its a miracle those things haven’t bored holes in your teeth yet.” Ingram muttered offhandedly, “I mean, she knows more and less about you than probably the whole squadron- most of your files are redacted, and those that aren’t are all the poster child gaff.”

“Hell, if my first introduction to you had been the Abi-the-poster-child, I probably would’ve been looking for a way to get you out of my squadron ASAP.” Ingram pointed out, “Not everyone has a pair of vets looking out for them.”

“I wouldn’t stress too much about the new girl,” Ingram added, “I think she was just trying to find her spot on the pecking order. You probably look just as much of a rook’ to her as she looks to you.”

"I'm not stressed." Abigail pulled that placid, plastic smile she knew Ingram hated, thrown onto innumerable posters and TV channels all across Savonia and peppered throughout UEE propaganda. "After all," she played up her accent a little, "The Child of Savonia fights for the UEE, but she can't fight alone!" Her smile dropped as soon as it showed up. "I'm fair game, I just don't want her thinking it's okay to do that to anyone like Gansu."

Ingram was distracted for a moment as his holopad pinged- it was Dearil, prepping his return to the Roanoke. That was good for morale, Ingram rarely asked Dearil about what he brought- he was aware of the contraband that came on board, but as long as it wasn’t harmful to the crew Ingram didn’t care. Still, he made a habit of not asking what the man brought, he’d have to report it to command if he knew the specifics. He sent the Hammerhead pilot an OK, sending him necessary approval codes to land in one of the Roanoke’s hangar bays.

Raising his second glass to his mouth, Ingram shook his head and sighed, turning back to Abigail. ”I really hate when you do that.”

---

Horizon Point Station
Communications Hub

“How are we looking over there Sika?” Barret called out as he looked up from underneath the main console of the Communications center. His sleeves were rolled up and his face and uniform were covered in grime. He wiped at some sweat on his forehead with a dirty arm and was rewarded for his efforts with a dark brown and red smudge of gunk over his face. He grimaced and wiped his hands with his uniform- it didn’t help much. With a sigh and a stretch, he stood up straight and sat down on the chair attached to the console, pulling out a silver flask.

“All done over here boss,” Sika called out from behind another console. “We’re good to go.”

“Good, good. Right on schedule,” Barret said with a lighthearted chuckle as he took a swig from the flask. He took another as Sika appeared, also covered in grime, and leaned against the console itself. “Want some? Ilyan Whiskey.” Barret asked, offering the younger officer the flask.

Sika shook his head, and Barret shrugged. He shocked the flask and frowned, seemingly unhappy with how little remained of its original contents.

“How about you buddy?” Barret asked a comms tech, slumped against the same console he and Sika were at. The tech’s head rolled to the side, his eyes were glazed over, blood trailing from a small hole in his forehead between his brows and down his nose. With a smark, Barret upended the flask and poured the remaining contents on the body. He tossed the flask aside, seeing the name ‘E. Bossk’ enraged on its side one last time before it clattered against the floor and stopped at the boot of a second engineer, this one with a trio of holes in his chest.

“Gloria ad Imperium.” Murmured Sika quietly as he shut his eyes, dropping a silenced pistol to the floor and clasping his hands together. Barret nodded to the younger man as he pulled a detonator out from pocket. All around them, flashing red dots.

“Gloria ad Imperium.”

Man Made Gods-Modern Fantasy/Supernatural RP (Updated Links to Lore pages)

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