Futuristic Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842 Pilots

[SirDerpingtonIV]

Name: (here)
Rank: (Cadet unless you are a veteran)
Callsign: It'll start as a number, make sure it isn't taken.
Race: (If you would like a custom race, just talk with me about it)
Faction of Origin: (If you would like a custom, you talk with me about it)
Homeworld: (It is likely a planet that no longer exists, so you can pretty much put whatever here, unless you are a native to the Laaru system)
Age: (Something logical for a fighter pilot)
Gender: (here)

Appearance: (Picture/description or both)
Height: (here)
Weight: (here)

Personality: (Few sentences)
Likes: (Atleast 3)
Dislikes: (Atleast 3)
Fears: (Atleast 1)

Background: (Paragraph +)

Skills: (Atleast 1)
Strengths: (Atleast 1)
Flaws: (Atleast 1)

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications: (Any modifications you've made to your craft)
Unique Visuals: (Anything you've painted on. You all have M-842 painted on in white about where the numbers are in the picture above)

 

[pilgrim_]

Name: Hruska'gaatar
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 10
Race: Kurresh
Faction of Origin: Confederacy
Homeworld: Initially grew up during a migration to Ythlir 1, lived there for the rest of his time before being enlisted.
Age: 17 CY. An adult Kurresh.
Gender: Male

Appearance: Hruska has the usual features of a Kurresh, with an angled reptilian face that opens up to rough, curved teeth that are specialised in causing a lot of small wounds and tearing. His tails are light grey and dark grey, covered in spots of opposing shades. His fleshy dreadlocks are usually kept within secure, latex material, to allegedly keep them "clean". These appendages reach down to the bottom of his shoulder. A Confederate translation device is carried by him at all times, as Kurresh is not a widely understood language.
Height: 6'5
Weight: 265 kg, without armour.

Personality: Like many Kurresh, Hruska is violent and proud of it, disciplined on using as much of his time to benefit him in warfare as possible- maintaining his health status, optimising his strength and mental abilities, and studying the weapons he is given. His distance from Ythlir and the rest of his clans pits him in a place of isolation, and so keeps his hunter spirit the core tenet of his image to others. He is happy to be intimidating to humans, despite the further loneliness that he breeds as a result; he excuses this with the belief he simply lives to fight as best as possible, lest his race be wiped out.

Likes: An ancient Earth musical group, "Death Grips". They sound very aggressive to him, lyrically and instrumentally.
The Dominion. Their policies remind him of Kurresh's culture.
Killing demons. Despite the fact nobody else likes demons enough to be scared as a result of a successful warrior, some races like the humans keep a competitive edge on killing as many as possible. Hence, Hruska is driven to ensure he will fight the best.
Dislikes: Time wasting. Wasting time on not improving your combat ability or stabilising yourself for potential combat is risking everyone else's lives.
Humans, with all their impulsive behaviours and unnecessary emotions. He finds many of them dishonest and others weak.
The culture of the Confederacy is not something he hates so much as he finds eerie. There is a facade he cannot take apart, he is too busy to investigate his commanders or politics, and yet he feels as if something above him is constantly watching. He dislikes how freely he can walk, as if the humans are postponing their hatred of him.

Fears: If the Onslaught destroy the system, his race is gone. If the system destroys the Onslaught, there will be an unfortunate aftermath, and Hruska does not wish to see his people be brought down in the name of becoming subservient to humans or other inferior races.

Background: Hruska'gaatar roughly translates to something like "stalks in the grasses" in human English, and Hruska by itself would mean "stalker", though in a very broken way. Previously he was only known as a Cleanjaw, an unblooded newborn, but within a (again, converting to human measurement) year, tore open his first real prey- a mammal in a field.
Hruska's first year was spent mostly in a spacecraft, travelling to Ythlir. Unlike most adult Kurresh, this made him quite familiarised with spaceships, and he sought out the few engineers present to talk to. He read a Kurreshian flight manual on the journey, and although it did not in fact make him at all capable of spaceflight, the terms made more sense to him with time and overall sparked an interest in the craft for him.

There were little opportunities on Ythlir to fix spacecraft, but infrastructure was in demand- the lack of daytime prey meant the Kurresh hunted underground, and sustained energy using photovoltaic technology to help them- solar panels on the top, driving mines underneath and helping generate power for industry. Though the nights were cold for the hunters, they were not harmful, and so they developed a tolerance wherein efficiency of producing new weapons, armour and other materials superseded comfort.

Hruska found his fierce melee training in the caves, where reclusive beasts lived, many blind, and often large in size. The slugs and worms that lined the crevices did not appeal to the Kurresh, and so began an attack on the small mouse-like prey, and the existing predators. When not helping with such hunts, he developed a rough understanding of the operation of machines- they were necessary in an increasingly hostile universe, both to sustain the species in a long term with supplies on Ythlir, and to give some edge against the Onslaught.

After this routine, of daily assistance on keeping his particular tribe sustained and the existing machinery working, only left study under some higher Kurresh- what was known of the demons, the way to victory- and that was making peace with the humans, if only to be backstabbed upon winning. Usually, strength over other species was easily established by an invasion. The networks of old demonstrated this, when a planet could fall to highly skilled Kurresh fighters.

Now, they had to adapt, the highers said. Discipline in restraint. To accept the humans as a temporary ally, and to think of the other Kurresh first before the pride of being one. Learning common human language was considered imperative. When the fateful day came that the Confederation asked for troops, Hruska was one of the few to serve as a pilot. At the very least, he would defend Ythlir 1 and the Kurresh, he vowed.

Training and integration into the humans occupied enough time for him to take up flight as second nature to his existing instincts. He learnt of several cultural artifacts, and would take a brief period of rest every other day from training to explore these. Music from around the universe, and human non-factual literature. He learnt of the ancient human Voyager spacecraft, that recorded history for potential other species. He discovered the notions of humanity's questioning existence and the electronically produced Library of Babel in which random letters gave possibilities to potential knowledge, if only it could be sorted through.

Although sometimes irritated by the ideas, Hruska combined his military training with a quiet study of human philosophy, and fully understands the struggles of humanity overall- not individual ones, but many of their desires and inbuilt limitations. Some Kurresh would call him weak, but he feels honour-bound to fight the war for the other races too, if only in respect for the kinds of hunt they chase.



Skills: Spacecraft maintenance/basic engineering, basic first aid for humans, programming (mostly theory/conceptual due to the abundance of languages), melee combat, and standard fighter training
Strengths: Highly durable psychologically and physically. His range of abilities gives him a good amount of
Flaws: Hruska's individualistic obsession with improvement puts him at odds with tactical requirements of teamwork. He also prioritises the war effort to the attachment he may inexplicably develop to a pilot, as taught by his society.

Hruska's spacecraft, externally unmodified:

 

[idalie]

"Fools make feasts and wise men eat them,
The wise make jests and fools repeat them."​

Name: Camhlaidh "Scottie" McTavish
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 7
Race: Human
Faction of Origin: Dominion
Homeworld: Terra 41
Age: 28
Gender: Male

Appearance:
A large, broad-shouldered figure, wide yet physically fit and athletically muscled. Dark ginger hair tops his head, cropped short at the sides and longer on top whilst a thick groomed beard frames a strong jaw and dark, mellow eyes. Tattoos spiral his arms and torso with a mermaid on his bicep, intricate sleeves of incorporated design on his forearms; depicting his background and hearty humour. Often wearing his flight suit or old, blue overalls rolled up to the elbow with his trademark tool belt or box he carries on the station and behind his pilot's seat. Due to being raised a Dominion worker's boy, he's missing the top of his pinky due to an industrial injury besides scarring from his life in the slums. Nicks and scratches are prevalent over his face, hands being calloused and well worn -- covered in plasters to protect the fingertips, although the engineer's knuckles are hardened from his recreational sport of boxing. Looking at him straight on, it's also recognisable that the Scotsman's nose is slightly crooked from being fused wrong.

Height: 6'5"
Weight: 215 lbs

Personality:
Whilst Camhlaidh can be a raucous and boisterous man to his fellow teammates, he's got a heart of badly polished gold. Raised as an honest man by his father, McTavish retains a knowledge and respect to those who can make it in the world without resorting to desperate measures. Patient and well-meaninng, he's devoted to those he deems his friends often putting them before himself and his own inner demons. A sinner doing his best to make the world a brighter place for the people in it, and still he doubts he can find redemption in this lifetime with the Dominion still active. Resorting to unhealthy habits such as alcoholism and drug abuse in his youth, recovering from the latter and still suffering the effects of the former, he's knowledgeable to the destructive tendencies of life when all hope has been erased. Scottie, nevertheless, has been called a Red-Ragger for his belief in a fairer system of those still trapped in the slums and the poor working classes. Never averse to lending a helping hand where he can, the exception being one gets on his bad side. Finding yourself as someone he dislikes can have McTavish angry, rude and hesitant to make amends depending on what it is that brings his disdain to a certain person or situation. In battle to have the Scotsman enraged or thoroughly focused is a blessing, for he'll tear down the walls of Jericho.

Likes:
+ Having a cigarette off duty.
+ Boxing or wrestling when the challenge is issued or rather, issuing his own challenge to other squadrons.
+ Haggling a good price or perhaps even swindling a few inexperienced merchants.
+ Stargazing and recognising the new constellations as a novice astronomer.
+ Tinkering with new items.
+ Heavy metal and rock which can usually be found blasted in the depths of the station whilst he works.

Dislikes:
- Undeserved authority among his superiors which may have Camhlaidh act out.
- Having his mother or father mocked, whether or not a lighthearted joke it's an easy fuse to light. Harder to put out.
- Leaving men behind during missions where he aims to bring as many as he can, back alive.
- Betrayal and disloyalty amongst each other, forced to trust their teams he expects there to be some level of honour.
- Dominion rule.

Fears:
- Being captured as a Prisoner of War, or suffering a long and painful death.
- Oceans and vast areas of water.

Background:
McTavish was born in the last days of Terra 40, to a young mother and a teenage father as their first child. He was handed to his father who managed to get him aboard an evac ship, although his mother never made it on and was lost tragically. Thus, moving to Terra 41 he was raised by a single labouring father. Wearing rags and peeling boots, before sent into the factories himself at the age of eleven, after having been taught to read and write in basic form at the Dominion state schools. His father by that point already harboured ill-will toward the Dominion for losing his wife and began to engage in circles of those who had seen outside of the Dominion and into the Confederation besides other planetary governments; none of them perfect but paradise enough to make a wish that his only son could be given the same freedoms and opportunities of every noble. The donkeys leading lions.

At twelve, Camhlaidh lost the top of his pinky after it was half torn off and de-gloved by a machine, costing them a week's wages to have partially reconstructed so the bone wouldn't be permanently exposed for the rest of his life. After that accident especially, his father upped his underground politics. McTavish watched his father beaten and bagged, dragged off never to be seen again -- whilst he was given residence at a workhouse. Remaining until he was thirteen, the little Scotsman made up his mind to leave. Smuggling himself aboard a merchant's vessel, the universe was his oyster and his father couldn't haunt him with frothy bloodied lips nor bruised eyes on this endangering adventure.

He ended up Faeron Z, the slums. Being handy with a spanner he managed by some fortune to get work with one of the engineers as a Greasemonkey. Except the engineers would undertake jobs from criminals and law keepers alike. Re-painting and resetting stolen ships, or giving a spruce-up to the lacking police force who had all been corrupted in one way or another. From his work in the mechanics, Camhlaidh began drinking around age fifteen and got mixed up in narcotics. Getting thrown in the slammer on a regular basis, he only managed to keep his job due to being one of the few promising apprentices. Yet even that came to the near-end of its tether, forcing him to stop with the harder stuff and instead use alcohol as a further replacement for it.

Raised among felons, prostitutes, and bobbies who were comfortable with bribery, there was nothing he cared about except getting food in his stomach and keeping the peace. He managed to inherit quite a bit of the garage, being well-known in the underground bare-knuckle boxing circles as a fair player and having more morals than half of Faeron Z combined. He never did forgive the Dominion for what they'd done to himself and his parents, however. It's a rage in his blood he can't seem to rid.

Respected in his community, it came to an end when he was charged with aiding the escape of a prominent criminal. The coppers' new management didn't last long after that, but it was enough to put McTavish away for a few years. He didn't take kindly to it. Once in prison, he managed to get picked up by the conscription program who put him through flight training, basic military skills, and tested his engineering enough that it was deemed army grade. Still, the large Scotsman feels it'd be better fighting a war rather than waiting for his years to be up. Since arriving he's one of the go-to men for 'finding' certain items, although won't accept requests which he believes are suspicious and counterproductive. Nevertheless, his alcoholism isn't letting him up anytime soon, and since going through the largest stage of withdrawal still gets the shakes occasionally.

One day, he hopes to be remembered as more than the son of a factory labourer. But the son of a fighter for the rights of the working man.

Skills:
+ Professional engineer with the ability to adapt and change, besides knowing some underhand criminal techniques and being able to spot them in others handiwork. He can fix practically anything or pull it apart after a good long look.
+ Bareknuckle boxer and wrestler from his time in the slums, his unarmed combat is good and packs a punch.
+ Basic flight and military training.
+ Haggler with a knack for persuasion.
+ Can play the guitar; an old beat up instrument held together with repairs but still sounds as sweet as a dewdrop.

Strengths:
+ Physically a strong and intimidating man, able to utilise it effectively.
+ Level-headed and patient most of the time, although if one makes it their mission to get a rise out of him it won't be a pretty sight. This anger usually appears in battle during desperate fights which involve the injury of a teammate.
+ A moral compass of steel, set by his rough origins which detests corruption and waste of life, yet sees no reason why execution should be abandoned as punishment for the worst.

Flaws:
- Values life above victory.
- Stubborn and set in his ways/opinions.
- Puts others before himself in endangering situations.

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter

Unique Modifications: (Any modifications you've made to your craft) N/A
Unique Visuals: The name "Betty" written in black cursive with a stencilled rose half behind. Plans to get it expanded with the help of someone who can paint the human figure better than he can.

 

[Pavan]

All is as the Collective Wills.​

Name: Duraal Runn
Rank: Cadet
Race: Rantara
Faction of Origin: Rantan Collective (The Collective is Currently Aligned with Confederation.)
Homeworld: Rantan Colony 5-48. (also known as The Blue.)
Age: 18 Cycles (25 Terran Years.)
Gender: Male

Appearance: Height: 1.8 Meters
Weight: 160kg

Personality: Duraal Runn is professional, polite and humble. As those attitudes fit his current assignment. He is a servant of the collective and acts as there instrument in the coming conflict. He is what they wish him to be. All is as the Collective wills.

Likes: Duraal finds pleasure in the simple things, But has also recently come to enjoy much of Terran culture. The works of Beethoven and Vivaldi are most enjoyable as are there old earth films such as Rambo and Robocop. While he finds there refusal to fit within there place somewhat confusing he does enjoy the fiction. The idea of the Confederation also brings Duraal enjoyment. The onslaught has done more for universal peace than it knows bringing together all these desperate species into one collective.

Dislikes: Disorder. It unravels the treads of the universe. The peace must be maintained. The Aavklari, agents of disorder. Their Gift of Assenscion is a perversion and they use it as an excuse for barbarity, But the Aavklari are, at least for the moment, aligned with the collective. The Onslaught. While it is ruled by A "god of order" is has brought much chaos to the universe and must put down.

Fears: Duraal's fears should be for the collective but his deepest fears are far more selfish. He fears being abandoned. The universe is large and much of it is empty. So much filled with so little. And the worst possible fate for part of a collective, is being alone.

Background: Duraal was born into the collective on Colony world 5-48. He spent most of his life working in the planets Sensor station Gathering Data through large orbital scanners. That was until the collective met the confederation. The leaders of the collective met with these travelers and formed a bond with them despite the presence of the Aavklari in their numbers. Duraal believed this to be an oversight, but this he kept to himself. As the collective prepared to flee the onslaught Duraal was recruited into the Madj-Ire the Rantan Military Intelligence Branch. During the training he showed an affinity for piloting and sensory analysis. He rose through the ranks as an agent of the collective. His latest assignment has deployed him to Hanger Platform JZ-342 as a cadet in a newly formed squadron. The Collective knows that the onslaught will be here soon and that if the Aavklari betrayed them at this crucial moment that all could be lost. Agents have been deployed to many outposts and units in order to prevent this. The Collective must be preserved.

Skills:
-Sensor analysis. Due to his former career Duraal is able to use advanced sensor to track enemy ships, gain access to enemy communications and collect large quantities of data.
-Martial arts training.
-Advanced interrogation Techniques.
Strengths:
-Calm. Duraal Does not let his emotions control him.
-Professional. Everything can be achieved with a bit of planning.
Flaws:
-Focused. The mission comes first even at personal cost.
-Curt. Duraal finds interaction between most races confusing and often ignores social graces.


Unique Modifications: Advanced Sensors
Unique Visuals:

 

[idalie]

"No one is the victim of aging, sickness and death. These are part of scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change.
This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being."
​

Name: Seirye "Stitches" Yllagwyn
Rank: Corporal (Medic Corps)
Callsign: 17
Race: Aiur
Faction of Origin: Aiur Union
Homeworld: Ythlir 2
Age: 112 (Young adult)
Gender: Female

Appearance:

Seirye is of a tan complexion, blemished by light freckles smattered over her button nose and gentle albeit mischevious features. Lips a dusky shade of rose to compliment the slight flush of her features. Cheekbones curve in a soft fashion, yet her jaw remains slender and pixie-like in it's upward slope. Thick ginger locks have been chopped into a bob above the shoulder, tamed down by pure will of brush and water. Pointed, elfen ears poke out prominently as a racial quality once adorned with earrings and delicate gold clasps -- all but gone for military duty. Large, blinking emeralds take up her eyes, setting her appearance with a glimmer of passion and lively character. The young elf often wears her fatigues around the common rooms as everyone else may, yet indulges in a familiar silk dressing gown, peach in colour that she wears before bed. Luxuries of home, so to speak. Her battle-wear sports a familiar 'red cross' nevertheless, identifying her as medic.

Height: 5'7"
Weight: 140 lbs

Personality:
A fairly naive yet hot-blooded woman, Seirye was raised in what some might call paradise. The pacifistic and civic culture of the Aiur had been deeply ingrained into Seirye as a child, where anger was used to fuel passion instead of conflict, the arts being revered and logic praised beside the mysteries of the arcane. Logic comes to the elves in various forms, being as you will, elusive and hard to grasp to those raised without a philosophical embrace. Desperate to make a positive change in the world, Seirye attempts to dedicate her positivity and optimism to others. Compassionate and empathetic, the elf can seem a rather sweet, easy target to make. This should be remembered as a gross underestimation of Seirye as a person, for an elf her temper is positively sharp, stern, and not lacking in forcing guilt upon those who dare tempt the creature from it's cage. Even with her occasional snappy or even bratty behaviour, Stitches can't help but bottle herself up until an inevitable explosion, usually in the form of crying in the engine rooms and hiding from the problem at heart.

Likes:
+ Giving a helping hand whether that's around the medical bay or amongst the team.
+ Raising morale by doing her best to help patients and her team either medically or securing them extra rations.
+ Holodramas and documentaries.
+ Geodes; due to her magpie liking for shiny, interesting stones.
+ Sweets and pastries, with a ridiculous reaction to anything that may be sour or bitter in taste.
+ Hot showers and silk dressing gowns.

Dislikes:
- Inner conflict within the squadron.
- Losing soldiers on her watch.
- Being caught emotionally vulnerable in trying to appear a better fighter, proving herself.
- Rude individuals.
- Being teased, especially about her ears.

Fears:
- Dying alone and cold.
- Failing the team.
- The dark or rather, the unknown.
- Being an outsider.
- Losing people she loves.
- Having her hands mutilated or marred beyond use.

Background:
Raised comfortably in her home, one of the glowing cities of Ythlir 2, Seirye was the second child of two mages alongside her older brother. Both were given affection and all the love in the world a child could need, brought up as polite and law-abiding, forgiving Seirye's passionate enthusiasm which could strongly hop from one emotion to another. Whilst her mother attempted to cool off the temper which her young daughter was possessed by. Whilst it partially worked, Seirye was always far more prone to having outbursts and took longer to learn the social customs into the heights of elven society albeit a forced front to keep herself in good graces. One didn't want to be outcast and such is the pressure on the children borne of successful heritage.

Over one hundred years of peace became a nostalgic lull for when the Onslaught was first murmured of. Situation building, further and further whilst she had only just begun to mature into an adult with aspirations of medicine and proving her parents proud. Yet the war changed her sights as a practitioner of medicine within Ythlir 2, toward being an aid to the forces fighting the impending doom of demons and those beyond. Against her parents' wishes, she took her fresh medical degree and applied. Her position, due to the shortage of fighters, was altered to battle mage, medic being a good second, However, not forgotten as she was delivered a red-cross uniform to signify her position amongst the pilots of the squadron.

During her training with weaponry, Seirye managed to slip and fall more than once in the early stages, earning bumps and bruises before smacking her head against a particularly nasty table corner in the mess hall. Thus, after having it stitched, she was nicknamed for her early clumsiness as 'Stitches'. This being in coincidence to her current work as field medic.

Seirye was moved to her current squadron a month before, although hasn't seen any action thus far. Getting comfortable in her dorms and medical bay instead, meeting few of the earlier conscripts such as Blakemore, a superior, and McTavish -- a mess of motor grease, alcoholic shakes, and disastrous music taste.

Skills:
+ Healing magic: Able to use the arcane to sew and alter flesh. The size of the wound or condition will determine how exhaustive it'll be to cast. If the battle or field surgery takes too much out of her, Seirye can turn to her medical kit and training. However, Seirye cannot bring back the dead or those too far gone with their wounds, neither can she aid those who are fated to die.
+ Defence magic: Giving her the chance to again alter the fabric of the universe and create barriers. These need concentration and cannot be done whilst shes preoccupied. Keeping this up will exhaust her, thus giving a balance between choosing defence or physical aid.
+ Academically educated, knowing a handful of languages.
+ Basic military know-how besides flight training. Her role as a pilot is put before her role as team medic.

Strengths:
+ Care and consideration for others forge loyal bonds and strong friendships.
+ Light on her feet and strong enough to perform heavy surgery.
+ Generally a chipper force of optimism.
+ Taking advantage of the so-called 'womanly charms' her mother once spoke of. Still working on it after many an awkward sitting.

Flaws:
- Being exhausted of magic can be detrimental depending on how depleted she is. Oft starts light dizziness or for heavier spells can cause burst blood vessels, fainting, and nausea.
- Heart before head affects her decisions and actions.
- Plenty hotheaded and easily provoked.

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter

Unique Modifications: (Any modifications you've made to your craft) N/A
Unique Visuals: A small bouquet of flowers fits across a majority of the left wing.

 

[lilcherrykitten]

Name: Angrissi Lirta
Rank: Cadet
Race: Volpyr
Faction of Origin: Faeron Z
Homeworld: Faeron Z
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Appearance: Angrissi is small for her race, giving her an advantage when it comes to stealth and hiding. She displays the fox like features typical of her race, covered head to toe in pale burnt orange and white fur. Her large and sensitive ears allow her to hear things that many other races may not be able to and her nose is exceptional when she is hunting. Her eyesight is not the best in the sunlight but at night she is able to see fairly well. Although it is more natural for her to walk on all fours, she has adapted to her surrounding creatures and now walks on her hind legs, using her large and powerful tail to help her balance. She is most often seen only wearing a simple armoured chest piece to cover her vital organs and she always has a small dagger hidden within it however during battle she is in full military grade armour/spacesuit.
Height: 5'1
Weight: 120lbs/55kg



Personality: Angrissi is fierce and always down for a fight. Her brash and quick fire personality causes many clashes with the ones she works with however it usually serves her well. She often gets what she wants from sheer determination and her drive to be in control. Angrissi is not above using anything at her disposal to get her way no matter how questionable the means may be. Years of merchant and trading skills have garnered her much respect when her team is stuck in a bind as her hard earned skills allow her to haggle, argue and weasel her way out of non-physical disagreements. As aggressive and confrontational she may be, when she forms a bond with someone whether it be family or not, she is fiercely loyal and protective. She clashes with other often but ultimately she is willing to fight to the death for the people she loves and has pledged her allegiance to.

Likes: Angrissi has a certain fondness for human made chocolate, it is a high end luxury in their current world but any time she is able to get her hands on it she will do anything she can.
She loves her race, she is proud to be a Volpyr and is ready to argue or fight anyone who says anything negative about her family. Her race worked hard to get to the level of success they are within their trade and she displays that hard work wherever she can.
Although she dislikes loud noises, Angrissi has always been partial to soft, gentle music, no matter the origin. During her free time she is often found training while listening to calming music. It helps her focus on her training and her aggression.

Dislikes:
Angrissi dislikes humans, they are brash and rude and always attempt to steal from her. She also dislikes loud noises and has to ensure she is wearing her helmet when in a battle zone. As a general rule she is wary of other species, her encounters with them have not always been positive and she is standoffish and aggressive when she meets a creature of a different species.

Fears:
Volpyr as a collective are afraid of many human animals, dogs in particular as the scent of these animals trigger their fight or flight response.
Angrissi in particular is afraid of open water as well, her biggest fear is her ship crashing into a water planet.

Background:
Raised in the market place of Faeron Z with a litter to 6, Angrissi learned early on how to care for herself and how to manipulate the tricks of the marketplace by being trained and working in her family's stall. The bustling and crowded markets proved to be home for her. Angrissi is not unused to living in areas where she has to fight for a spot at the table, the most common of luxuries to some is a fight for her. Volpyr, while loyal and protective of their kind, are prone to fighting within themselves and this was not unseen in Angrissi's tight knit family unit. Although covered by her thick fur, her skin is covered in a multitude of bite and claw marks.

From her life on the streets she learned many valuable skills. Her stealth and her hearing, whilst being typical traits of her species, were heightened by her need to keep herself hidden and quiet whilst she was not 'on duty' working for her family's market stall. She often used these skills to aid her family by pickpocketing some of the more well off creatures in her area and discreetly selling off the items that she found in their pockets. At the age of 15, there was an attack by the Onslaught in the faction. As a result of the attack her parents and many of her siblings were killed. Angrissi rose to the head of her household at that moment however many of her family's wares were broken or lost in the attack and the following commotions that ensued. This led Angrissi to a life more reliant on pickpocketing and bribery. This in turn often led to her being caught and put in prison, nothing enough to be put away for longer than a week at a time.

Skills:
Due to her size and her species' nature, Angrissi is highly skilled at hiding and sneaking up on her enemies. This is a bit more difficult when she is in her ship however she has been able to gain the hang of surprising her enemies while they are distracted.
Trading. Due to her profession and nature she is able to help her team with trading to ensure they have the best quality at the best price of whatever they buy.

Strengths:
Navigation.
Better hearing than most other species.
Her exceptional vision at night time allows for good aim during the dark.

Flaws:
She is often too quick to react with aggression in out of battle scenarios. It is not uncommon for Angrissi to fire the first shot whether that be for better or for worse.
Doesn't always believe it to be necessary to listen to her superiors.

Unique Modifications: Unmodified
Unique Visuals: To aid her stealth, Angrissi's ship has been fully painted a dark shade of green, appearing almost black when in the air. The only visually identifying mark on the ship is the white M-842 painted on the side.

 

[High Moon]

WIP
]Name: Archduke Lucius Edgar Colbert Elten Blakemore The XX
Rank: Staff Sergeant
Callsign: 8
Race: Human
Faction of Origin: Terran Dominion
Homeworld: Terra 40
Age: 44
Gender: Male

Appearance:
Height: 1.81cm
Weight: 79kg

Personality: (Few sentences)
Likes: (Atleast 3)
Dislikes: (Atleast 3)
Fears: (Atleast 1)

Background:
Skills: (Atleast 1)
Strengths: (Atleast 1)
Flaws: (Atleast 1)

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications: (Any modifications you've made to your craft)
Unique Visuals: (Anything you've painted on. You all have M-842 painted on in white about where the numbers are in the picture above)

 

[DarkianMaker]

Name: Noramar Seddu-Xaa
Rank: Staff Sergeant
Callsign: 2
Race: Xii-Marth
Faction of Origin: Xii-Marth Hegemony
Homeworld: Clanship Choto
Age: 45
Gender: Female

Appearance:

Spoiler

Height: 2,11 meters
Weight: 92kg

Personality:
Noramar is a caring and gentle person although she has a very tough exterior as she's a firm believer that someone must first be hardened properly before they can be trusted in the field. On-duty she is one of the toughest bitches this side of the Confederation but outside of duty she can be a relaxed friend with whom you can have a laugh and talk about art and ridiculous holo-dramas although others better don't try to flirt with her unless she initiates the flirting first. She's also very rational and is usually the voice of reason with conflict situations and dealing with her fellow NCO Lucius Blakemore. She gives nicknames to those who survive their first combat without being absolutely worthless.

Likes:
- Holo-dramas
- Slow Jazz
- Tea
- Discipline
- Eager students
- Being massaged
- Giving newcomers a hard time
Dislikes:
- Bigotry
- Cowardice
- The Dominion
- Bad hygiene
Fears:
- Being captured by the Onslaught
- Seeing the Hegemony be destroyed
- Losing a full squadron of friends again

Background:
Noramar was born on Clanship Choto, one of the numerous Clanships of the Hegemony, into clan Seddu as one of the twenty children that her parents had during their fertile years. She grew up in the tight-knit communities of the Clanship and was instilled with a great sense of diligence and duty to the Hegemony and the Confederation. At the age of 12 she enlisted with the Xaa (warriors) class of her clan whilst most of her older siblings had instead enlisted with the Yuu (workers) class. She trained for years and remained steadfast throughout her trials making her a full Xaa class warrior at the age of 15. She was stationed on one of the Hegemony's Cruisers, the Adamant Fury, as a Marine. She was 16 and on duty when the Onslaught's assault broke the defenses of the Krogi system and she had to fight for her life as the Adamant Fury was boarded by demons. They managed to fend off the boarding party but with great casualties, they disengaged from the fight as most of the weapons systems were sabotaged and more ships were needed with evacuating citizens from the nearby world. After the evacuation and the jump out of the system she was hospitalized for the wounds she had received during the fighting. She received the Hegemony's Blade of Honor for defeating two demons in close combat and the Confederate Purple Heart for wounds sustained in the defense of the Confederation.

During her recovery she met a man with whom she would have 3 children as she spent the first 5 years after the destruction of Krogi in a non-combat role at Hegemony Marine HQ. Even though she loved her children she mostly left them in the care of their father from whom she became estranged as she enlisted to join a fresh squadron of Xii-Marth fighter pilots which were to join the Confederate Armed Forces directly. She trained and lived with those men and women for years whilst she would spend every moment of shore leave with her kids. At the height of their prowess her squadron nicknamed 'Crimson 506' was ranked as the 12th best performing Xii-Marth squadron in the Confederation. That all changed rapidly when in 5785 CY, at the age of 38, she and her squadron were one of the many deployed to fight the Onslaught when it came to the Terr system in force. During the heavy fighting the squadron took heavy losses and Noramar was promoted to Acting Sergeant as no other officer or NCO was left alive in the unit. Despite the best of her abilities she ended up as the last surviving member of her squadron and was put in a temporary squadron where a lot of lone survivors were bunched together in an attempt to be a unit again. It wrecked heavily on Noramar to have lost so many comrades in arms that when they landed in their Carrier moments before the escape jump out of the system she just collapsed besides her fighter and had a mental breakdown. She received the Hegemony's Star of Heroism for protecting a civilian vessel at all costs, the Confederate Ace Medal for downing 39 demon fighters in total and another Confederate Purple Heart for wounds sustained in defense of the Confederation.

She was admitted to a mental ward on Clanship Choto for a few months during the long trek to find a new home system as she needed some help and time to recover from the horrors of war that she had relived for a second time. Afterwards she was yet again put on a non-combat position for the rest of the year on Clanship Choto as a recruiter for the Confederate Armed Forces. She got to spend a lot of time with her children around that time and guided them through the hardships of finding the way as an adolescent with the class choices and trials. She then spent another year as a trainer for rookie pilots Before serving a term of two years on the Hegemony Cruiser 'Ja-Naad's Vengeance' as a gunnery sergeant. Then she finally volunteered to be part of the Confederacy's Reserve Fighter Squadrons as she believed that she could be a great influence and teacher to the new blood before the Onslaught inevitably finds them again. At this point she's effectively been in military service for 27 years when her time in hospital and on maternity leave have been deducted.

Skills:
- Veteran fighter pilot
- Advanced combat training
- Experienced gun calibrator
Strengths:
- Strong physique, maintains her Spartan-like life style as is customary to the Xaa class
- High pain tolerance, delivering babies makes you realize what pain can do
- Nerves of steel
Flaws:
- Has PTSD which gives her night terrors at times
- Often cares too much about her comrades
- Needs quiet and calmness to recharge, goes ballistic if others hamper her ability to recharge

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications: Calibrated and accelerated auto-cannons, her cannons have near-perfect accuracy adjusted for her fly and fight style and they also pack a heavier punch at the cost of heavier wear and tear of the auto-cannons themselves.
Unique Visuals: Has a crimson heart with the number 506 painted next to her cockpit on both sides; has her amount of confirmed kills painted on her wings in the form of small white demon skulls; has the words "Furious Momma" written above her M-842 writing.

 

[Braddington]

Name: Augustus Oswald George Friedrich de Courtney
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 4
Race: Human
Faction of Origin: Dominion
Homeworld: Terra 41
Age: 18
Gender: Male

Appearance:
​

​

Height: 5'10"
Weight: 165 lbs

Personality:
Augustus is everything the Dominion rejects about it's nobility. He is passionate, rebellious toward the system, kind hearted and Pro-Xeno. It is still a mystery to this day how he wasn't sent to certain death sooner, or rather, it's a mystery how his father managed to protect him for so long. Whilst his heart is in the right place, this doesn't mean he isn't out of his depth. August is extremely naive, believing the lower classes should have more rights and freedoms whilst at the same time having no interaction with them or any idea what they actually go through on a regular basis having lived an extremely pampered life as the son of one of the richest and most powerful nobles in all the Dominion. Augustus is an artistic soul, able to play the piano, an adept painter and avid drawer and was, before being conscripted, about to enter the Royal Academy of the Fine Arts. One of the most prestigious places of education that was on offer. His mind often dances and forms great images or visions of what something could be or how something could be interpreted. He also has many insecurities about himself, however. It is not hard to knock him down, all it takes is a single comment or event and his self esteem crumbles to dust. Especially when relationships are brought up or his family is tied in to discussions of duty and honour.

Likes:
+ Playing the piano.
+ Drawing
+ Magazines of scrupulous origins
+ Listening to classical music or trying his hand at making a new piece
+ Swimming and bodies of water in general
+ Solitude away from arguments or disagreements

Dislikes:
- Arguments and confrontation
- Tough situations where hard decisions are necessary
- Disappointing others or getting something wrong
- The current system of the Dominion, believing reform is needed

Fears:
- Pure and simple death, in any form.
- Letting down his family and since some form of the Dominions warped honour clings to him, being disloyal beyond simple speeches and arguments.

Background:

Augustus Oswald George Friedrich de Courtney, normally simply referred to as "August", was born on Terra 41 some 18 years ago in the de Courtney Estate. It was no modest upbringing to be sure. His mother came from the powerful Cornwallis line with it's own special brand of military power, holding Admiralities in abundance, whilst his father, Hadrian de Courtney, was and is one of the richest nobles in the Dominion and more than that he is the Deputy Minister of Propaganda. A position that grants a huge amount of political power. Being an only child to the pair gave him their sole attention and the sole focus of the entire household was on him, everything he wanted he was given and the best tutors in the all the Dominion were hired for his education before he had even uttered his first words.

This early life did little to shape him into who he actually was. The tutors, his father, his mother and the household had no tangible effects on him. Sure his intelligence benefited and his status in society increased but it was the moments of rebellion which had the truly lasting effects on who he was. It started with a simple piano, an old dusty object hidden in the attic of the manor, sealed away. He would go to it every night and every morn, in secret, teaching himself it's beauty and capabilities. This continued over years and years, as his parents pushed him towards the military with all their might, he pushed back and pursued the arts and other such areas. Eventually he was chosen for the Naval Academy at his fathers request, but that idea was scrapped when the foreseeable once again occurred. Terra 41 fell. Augustus can remember the evacuation to this day, this abandonment of all that he knew and the destruction of the planet of his birth. When Terra 42 was discovered life seemed to return to normal, a new estate built in the image of the old one popped up seemingly overnight and everyone carried on as they had done before. What else could they do?

Academy life was a new awakening to him. Ideas which he had never even considered were thrown around as if they had already been around for centuries, casual treason among students, a disregard for authority. Augustus loved it all. He immersed himself in student politics, becoming an adepts speaker on the matter of so called "prole" rights and formed a large group with like minded students such as James Willamore. It was also a time of other awakenings of a personal effect, as he found himself more attracted to his male friends than female ones, something that if discovered would almost certainly have been enough for his expulsion from the academy if not expulsion from his entire family. Naturally, he kept it secret. As the years advanced and the group grew it was becoming more and more clear the next generation of nobles was different than the previous, that maybe just maybe, things could change.

As his graduation drew near, things seemed to be on the up and up. Two official letters arrived, he had been selected for a position in the Royal Academy of the Fine Arts and been given an elusive seat in the Dominions place of governance, the Senate. The joy didn't last long. A third letter arrived. The need for conscripts was dire and nobles with contrary views were now the newest source of recruits for the all consuming war machine. Looking back on it, his father had obviously arranged his conscription, who can tell why? To save him from his own mouth? To punish him somehow? It matters not. All that mattered is he was now on his way to certain death in a rag tag squadron made up of expendable recruits. All....For the Emperor.


Skills:
+ Has a surprisingly capable mind that surprises most when they first meet him.
+ Has studied the internal designs of most Dominion ships, so whilst terrible at getting his hands dirty, he can at least recognize problems with ships and how they need to be repaired.
+ Is very athletic and able to perform most physical tasks
+ Can play the piano with ease, having studied the instrument practically since birth


Strengths:
+ Able to think outside the box and use his mind when needed.
+ Can get along with most and hard to make angry.

Flaws:
- Naivety in abundance
- Easily manipulated and easy to emotionally hurt in some way
- Untested in war and wholly unprepared for the death and destruction coming his way

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter

Unique Modifications: N/A
Unique Visuals: The de Courtney family sigil emblazoned on the side, painted on by him.

 

[Hextremus]

Name: ‘Calidus’, true designation unknown
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 77
Race: Automated
Faction of Origin: The Confederation
Homeworld: Gamorr-B
Age: Unknown but probably only a few years old
Gender: Male (technically)
Appearance:

The picture with the purple darker and the yellow v-fin coloured white. His optics glow either white or red
Height: 6’4
Weight: 275 lbs

Personality: Unstable is a good word to describe Calidus, but he is a simple being. The Automated has a burning passion for weapons and battle, almost always attempting to turn any conversation he engages in to either of those topics. He still appears to have some control over himself as he maintains an air of professionalism and favours flair and tactics over mindless slaughter, despite his sometimes completely insane battle plans. However, this isn’t always the case. On occasion his optics will shift from white to piercing crimson and he will appear to fully descend into complete insanity, forgoing any professionalism and becoming incredibly aggressive and condescending towards anything that breathes around him. He still doesn’t harm them, though, a remnant from his past life’s programming to consider only the Onslaught as his true enemy. These ‘fits’ only come in bursts, rarely lasting for more than a minute. More often it will just be glimpsed for a second or two.
All in all, Calidus is not a fun guy to be around.
He also refers to most organic creatures as ‘meatbags’.

Likes:

• Weapons and battles of any kind
• Piloting his Fighter
• Killing and murdering
• The Onslaught (killing them)

Dislikes:

• Humans and other organic creatures (meatbags)
• Talking for extended periods of time with no mention of weapons or death
• Materials such as sand or acidic liquids that erode his chassis or hamper his joints
• The Onslaught (everything other than killing them)

Fears: Calidus claims he has no fears but sometimes wonders what would happen if the Onslaught were to triumph. This unforeseeable outcome is the only thing he somewhat dreads, as he has no fear of termination and wishes to perish in glorious bloody battle.

Background: Calidus is unaware of how he was created or where he came from. His memory begins after activating aboard a ship bound for Hanger Platform JZ-342, his name somehow added to the list of members for squad M-842. The only beings that know his past are the other Automated that cast him out.

Calidus began life as just another Automated on Gamorr-B, one of many. He was assigned to Oplyss with many other Automated to aid in the production of the Confederation’s ships and armaments. However, after an unknown amount of time, Calidus suffered an unfortunate accident involving the spontaneous detonation of an unstable fighter ship core. His tough external armour was only slightly damaged by the explosion, but it released a low intensity EMP that damaged his internal circuitry as well as a unlucky piece of shrapnel that buried itself in his chest, damaging his core through a weak point in his armour.

The damage ruined Calidus. Not physically, perhaps, but certainly mentally. He became ‘faulty’. He was meant to be scrapped but the other Automated decided that the mad, bloodthirsty droid would be better served facing off against the Onslaught. This is why they erased his memory, adjusted and recoloured his chassis to adopt a more menacing visage with better protection, decorated him in white decals that gave no hint of where he had been created, and implanted a new designation in his memory units before shipping him off to join the Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842 aboard a random supply ship.

Calidus exists only to fight the Onslaught. And he’s not exactly great at it.

Skills:

• Thorough knowledge of battle strategy and almost all forms of combat. Experience is practically nil, however, as is capability in close quarters combat
• Adept at engineering and repairs, having been programmed to work on Oplyss prior
• Fluent in every language within the Confederacy

Strengths:

• Extensive knowledge of weapons, ships, and the Onslaught
• Unrelenting passion for battle gets him further than his actual knowledge of combat
• Can actually be a good tactician and strategist when his logic circuits decide to function
• Always follows orders even if loudly complaining about them
• Actually very strong with a durable chassis that can protect him from otherwise fatal damage

Flaws:

• Most other living creatures find him grating and obnoxious
• Knows absolutely nothing about social keys or etiquette
• Constantly condescends and criticises plans if they don’t involve death and battle
• Is probably the worst at stealth aboard the entire station
• Not very quick or agile, and that’s both physically and mentally

Aircraft: Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
Unique Modifications: Modified cockpit interior to fit Calidus’ frame; seat modified with slots for the extended sections on his back to connect him to the Light Fighter, securing him directly and foregoing the need for a harness
Unique Visuals:

 

[Unicorn666]

Name: Raz’velios, but prefers to introduce himself as ‘Raz’.

Rank: Cadet.

Callsign: 51.

Race: Nafaras.

Faction of Origin: The Confederation.

Homeworld: Uevruno.

Age: 26.

Gender: Male.


Appearance: Raz has light blue skin, muscles and bones exposed, and sharp teeth with fangs. He has broad shoulders, but beneath the ribcage he's particularly skinny. His eyes lack pupils leaving only a white glow and their hands resemble digger-like claws, much like the rest of his race. In comparison to human fingers, Raz's claws are essentially two fingers in one. He also has claws on his feet - two large claws instead of the toes. They're clunky, yet extremely sharp and act somewhat like fingers. Raz'velios is one of the rare exceptions, and has black short hair with two strands firmly popping out at the corners of his forehead. He too has wings that are nothing more than flaps of skin. (if you'd rather have a picture, check this out. it's what i described with a few changes, basically)

Regardless of what clothing he wears, he’s always wearing one thing - a mask that also acts as a cloak of sorts. This brown piece of cloth covers a large piece of his torso, covering the shoulders, the front and the back, as well as his neck and mouth. This cloak also has two glyphs on it, which mean ‘truth’.

Height: 175 cm.

Weight: 34 kilo.


Personality: Raz is a very upstanding and moral character, with a strong sense of self-righteousness. Curious about the world, history and technology. If he finds himself interested in a subject, will often ask for further explanations and details. 'What is bravery without a dash of recklessness?' is a question Raz doesn't have to ask himself, because he believes no matter what he's going to do it's the right thing to do. It may end up being 'evil' in some eyes and 'good' in others, but if he thinks it's right, there's nothing that can change his mind. Of course, he's not suicidal. Despite his limitations, he still tries his best to come up with unique ways to use his skills and strengths.
Believes that he's right in pretty much every situation possible, which is accompanied by the glyphs on his cloak, and will stand by his opinions.
Often Raz can be seen reading a book that can be about pretty much anything - literature to instructions, inspecting objects he finds himself interested in or glyphcrafting. Is also a pretty chatty fellow.
The culture of his race is important to him, and he abides it's traditions and keeps himself within the box it provides.

Likes: Exploration.
Learning new things.
Piloting.
Pretty much every genre of music.
Glyphcrafting.
Technology.
Engineering.
History.

Dislikes: Being ‘left in the dark’.
Being proven wrong.
Shy people.
The Minions.
Yee.

Fears: Being left and forgotten.
Having memory problems.
Mist and fog.
Very bright lights.


Background: Raz’velios means ‘strength’ in the language of his people, and he always considered himself a strong person. Be it physical strength or willpower, Raz never thought of himself as a weakling. The Nafaras settled qualms with fights in an arena to find out who’s right and who’s wrong, and Raz rarely ever lost. Everytime someone thought of him as wrong, he ended up being right in the end, which led to his extremely strong sense of righteousness.

He was known for not only his wisdom, but also for his curiosity. Raz’velios never stopped when he knew he could gather more information, learn new knowledge, gain more wisdom. When he was introduced to the concept of ‘glyphs’, he took it upon him to become a glyphcrafter. With time, he got better and better, but he’s still far from a master.

Eventually, he had to flee to another planet with the rest of his brethren. And, as the coin finally landed on it’s edge, the Nafaras stumbled upon the Confederation. He couldn’t contain himself, and started a new quest to gather even more knowledge. An entire world he has never even expected to see has just been revealed to his eyes, and not even a hundred soldiers could contain his thirst for knowledge. Figuratively speaking, of course. And, to see the world with his very own eyes, he has decided to join the reserve squadron.


Skills: Raz’velios possesses quite the knowledge of glyphs and is striving to learn more history and become an engineer. He’s extremely efficient with any sort of melee weapon, as well as ‘hand to hand combat’, and is able to utilize his claws as both tools and weapons. Raz is also able to climb plenty of places with ease. Has great memory, and is a decent pilot.

Strengths: Raz has all of the strengths of his race. Almost supernatural physical strength, agility and dexterity, night-vision and generally enhanced senses.
Usually stays ‘calm under fire’, and is rarely ever one to panic. He’s also patient when it comes to waiting for something or someone.

Flaws: Extremely stubborn. Proving him wrong will be one hell of a tough challenge, and if someone actually does it, he’ll probably challenge them to a duel.

Has a moral code, and will never break it. Because of this, Raz sometimes refuses to do certain things. The culture of his race is also set in stone for him, and he won’t betray the traditions of it. Because of that, he has a code of honor, which may end up backfiring in plenty of situations.

Semi-blind and doesn’t have good vision when in light areas. He may have great night-vision, but day-vision ain’t so good. Due to the nature of his race, is also not able to consume certain foods and drinks.

Can’t use firearms, and has trouble utilizing smaller buttons. Due to the size of his claws, he’s unable to use a weapon unless it has an absurdly large trigger and grip. Refuses to use ranged weaponry if it doesn't fit his code of honor.

While items such as money barely have any meaning to him, knowledge can be used to easily bribe him.


Aircraft: Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter



The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications: N/A

Unique Visuals: At each side of the 'wings' Raz painted large splatters of brown with white glyphs that resemble a barbed hook. These glyphs are the exact same ones he has on his mask.

 

[Archon]

Name: Julith
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 44
Race: Human (Cyborg)
Faction of Origin: The Crusade
Homeworld: Terra 41
Age: 25
Gender: Female

Appearance:

Height: 6'0
Weight: 80 KG

Personality:
Headstrong and confident, Julith is a product of her harsh and unforgiving environment, trained from the earliest age to trust nobody, she finds it difficult to connect or relate to others in a normal manner, always enclosed in a protective shell, not out of fear, but a way of life. It's this same focused survivalist mindset which bleeds through the edges in often volatile and impolite ways. It's no surprise even, she's a hammer to which everything is a nail, taught violence is the answer to everything has lead to an isolated and stubborn outlook which often results in petty vindication, rudeness, hypocrisy and extreme provocation. She's not all demon, however. Having suffered through the worst pain imaginable, she is a hardened and strong individual with a limitless work ethic, who'd gladly camp out in the worst hell imaginable for weeks without complaint so long as it furthered the mission, she will even go to great lengths to protect her fellow crew members even at personal cost. Not out of love, but because the concept of a team means something to someone who's been alone all her life. Even if she would never admit it. However having experienced firsthand the disastrous pit of despair that is Faeron Z, no stone heart or protective shell will ever replace her empathy and sorrow to the poor who're unjustly subjected to the whims of the nobles. Similarly, no calming wind or therapeutic healing can dull the scorching rage and contempt aimed at the Dominion's ruling classes and oppressive Regime.

Likes:
+ Anything physically demanding, from working out, sprinting, mountain climbing, to sparring. Action and adrenaline is it's own reward.
+ Violence and intimidation, not in an overly malicious fashion, but she gets a kick - or a power trip - out of instilling fear in others.
+ Experimenting with the bionic implants she has, despite not having the ability to modify herself, she's always interested in saving money for personal upgrades.
+ Being on land, the dynamic weather and the changing seasons, snowfall and crisp winds, furious storms and the beating sun, it's all so alien to Faeron Z, magical even.
+ Animals, similarly to her rooted love for nature, the luxury of pets and contact with wildlife doesn't exist on the floating prison. Only food. Which leaves her infatuated with all manner of creatures across the stars.
+ Military stratagem, though no genius herself, a sure way to earn the sharpshooter's grudging respect is a proficiency for commanding. She finds military theory fascinating, despite being hopeless at it.
Dislikes:
- The Dominion, pure hate would be a more apt description.
- Authority figures and nobles as a whole, growing up on Faeron Z breeds a certain aversion to the spoon-fed highborns of the galaxy.
- Recklessness and overconfidence, a rogue crew member or plan gone awry could get them all killed.
- Weakness, both in the moral sense and in combat. Julith detests cowardice and those who can't - or won't - do what it takes to survive or further the mission.
- Overbearing actions or disregard for personal space and privacy, she's not the greatest people's person.
- Demon scum, The Onslaught is the only thing more detestable than the Dominion.
Fears:
- Being stranded alone, physical and mental fortitude be damned, the idea of being alone - truly alone - is perhaps Julith's greatest fear.
- Claustrophobic, tight spaces are a great way to unleash repressed memories of her experimentation.
- Death, as someone who stakes so much of her self-worth on being a survivor, dying in her mind would be the ultimate failure.

Background:
A child robbed of all innocence, Julith's life started within the inferno of war and desolation without ever really knowing why. Following the destruction paved by the Demonic Hordes, humanity's oppressive war machine saw fit to shove its fleeting citizens into a floating prison. Those without the means to survive, the good-hearted, the weak-willed, the ill, handicapped or otherwise disadvantaged, be it physically, mentally, or those who were just unlucky, quickly found the ill-monitored and unimaginably overpopulated Faeron Z nothing more than an early grave. The Law existed as nothing more than a formality to enforce Dominion will upon it's oppressed subjects, within a decade the floating steel cage was ruled by the wicked and the evil, crooked business men and ruthless killers. Warlords, mob bosses, and naturally, corrupt Officials. Julith's mother was nothing more than a liability, an extreme drug-addict who'd sell her own daughter if it'd net her a quick fix. Fortunately it never came to that, her father, a high-ranking bruiser in the local mafia was able to secure the safety and bare sustenance of his family. Perhaps they'd enjoy more full meals if the ill-gained funds her father dragged back weren't almost entirely poured into her mother's addiction. Life was, to say the least, a spiral of negativity. A blur, best suppressed and forgoteen for the woman's current survival. She went the natural course of life on Faeron Z, idling away the days within a gang of miscreants, occasional chases from the Enforcers, and on several occasions a shave with death at the hands of rival gangs, sadists, or just those who were bored and looking to entertain themselves.

At 18, Julith's father was butchered brutally in a display of dominance by a rival gang - the gang boss got the honour of receiving his head - but Julith and her mother received the body. The horrific after effects of the event were... non-existent, Faeron Z bred iron wills, or shattered them. There was no inbetween. But without protection or funds, Julith - without any care for her mother - was on the verge of being buried under disaster. Desperation lead to foolishness, and she desperately sought work within the underworld. The allure of potential power, a disregard for her own life, and very large numbers, was more than enough to entice her into a highly experimental backwater experiment. One of three volunteers, the fatality rate for the procedure was 93%, but someone with nothing left to lose was prone to stupidity. Blindfolded and wheeled off to a strange militaristic lab, Julith was systematically lobotomized, dismembered, and reforged in the fires of pain and steel. Surviving through no real reason aside being in the lucky 7%. When next she woke through the haze of mind-rending agony, her sanity not only remained intact, but her body, upgraded, perfected. A blend of machine and woman. Her arms were industrial and strong, her senses keener, and speed lightning. The scientists present seemed overjoyed by the development, and after having Julith perform numerous physically selective tests, a further job offer came forth. She'd expected it, of course, whatever organisation she let rebuild her in their visage would be just as happy to dismantle the parts and sell the data rather than let their pet project and experimental success go wasting away in the slums. She'd anticipated saying yes to any offer they put forward, but when they revealed themselves as Crusaders - murderous hunters of the demonic hordes - she was overjoyed , not by their sport, but by the cash flow that came with such a job description.

For several 3 years, Julith trained in all manner of warfare, from marksmanship, CQC, recon, driving, piloting, even leading on occasion, until the day of reckoning came. On her 21st Birthday, the Crusade became her identity. Indoctrinated and accepted, she devoured their teachings as gospel, so when cleared for combat against the Horde in various interstellar skirmishes, her life took a spike in enjoyment and meaning. For years she doused her metal in the hot blood of the Devil-spawned star beasts, rending and tearing aside fellow crusaders, and for many more if she had her way, but the Dominion gets what the Dominion wants. When the Crusaders received a missive for able conscripts, those present who were unwilling to leave or force their brethren to go, drew straws, flipped coins, and otherwise let fat determine their destinies. Julith drew the short straw.

Skills:
+ Cybernetic implants which increase physical abilities, greater strength, speed, endurance, reactions and calculated accuracy.
+ A killer glare and an experienced bully, she's good at fearmongering and intimidation. A trick of the trade from Faeron Z.
+ Julith's ability with firearms is very advanced, through use of a cybernetic eye implant she's able to pinpoint and calculate precise shots across complex terrain, hazardous conditions and long distances with some observation, if scouting a given location, the implant is able to record and predict hostile movements given at least an hour of data is gathered and nothing throws off the calculations.
Strengths:
+ Extremely hard-working with unstoppable determination, no matter how bad things get she will never stop looking for a way out or fighting to survive.
+ Cybernetically enhanced, Julith's physicality makes her ideal for most demands a hazardous mission would entail.
+ Regardless of other flaws and individual grudges, Julith always keeps a second eye to the winds, scanning and preparing for any threats that could catch her and the team off-guard, she'll do her most to keep everyone alive no matter how much she dislikes them.
Flaws:
- Cybernetic implants and everything that entails, otherwise mild electrical attacks can short-fuse circuits, EMP blasts of any kind can disable the mainframe entirely, and, embarrassing as it is to say, high-powered magnetic attacks will immobilize with little effort. Additionally, damage to any cybernetic part can interfere with the rest due to the interconnected mainframe. A strike to the arm could lead to hazed and blurry vision, a.k.a an artificial concussion.
- Provocative and extremely proud. In a tense situation with emotions running high, you can expect Julith to be at the forefront of the trouble picking fights and instigating things further.
- She has no qualms with briefly going rogue to do something that could further the mission, even if it's not in the plan.

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter

Unique Modifications: N/A

Unique Visuals: "Scrap" and "Metal" emblazoned along the left and right wings respectively, written in a messy blood red font.

 

[Hextremus]

Name: Mackenzie J. Capelli
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 16
Race: Human
Faction of Origin: The Dominion
Homeworld: Terra 41
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Appearance:

Spoiler: Appearance

The first picture but with the helmet of the second picture and no cloak. The tri-dot on the left side of the helmet’s visor is the Capelli family logo. The third picture is what she looks like under the helmet; she looks young and is short for her age, ironically
Height: 5’4
Weight: 140 lbs

Personality: Incessantly cheerful, impressively stupid. Capelli can be best compared to an infant capable of speech. She is dumb as a brick, failing to grasp basic concepts and things that everyone else takes for granted while displaying a childishly unrelenting loyalty and care towards the people she cares about.

Likes:

• Her gear and helmet, the gear belonging to her mother and the helmet being something passed down her family
• Being a part of a team, and it’s members
• The large scale game of space paintball everyone’s playing
• Lollipops

Dislikes:

• Being alone
• Long explanations, plans, and generally long expanses of words
• Dancing
• Heights and falling
• Large bodies of water

Fears: Capelli fears the deaths of others more than she fears her own death. Losing her friends is something she cannot handle. She also fears swimming due to her near death experience in her house’s pool.

Background: Born to two siblings into a family with a history of intermarrying, Mackenzie J. Capelli was saved from abortion thanks to bribery and influence. Capelli was never the brightest. Even at a young age, she seemed far behind other children her age mentally. By the age of 16, she still acted like someone almost half her age. It was around this time that her bad luck streak began taking place.

First she got her leg stuck in a pool drain, leaving her stuck underwater for an indefinite amount of time. She was rescued by one of her maids, but the damage had been done. It was the first strike to her already struggling mental health.

What followed was a series of unfortunate accidents up until she turned 18; everything from running into walls and tables, falling off things, heavy things falling on her head, and more. At one point she was even discovered to have been drinking gasoline for a good few months. All of this continued to chip away at her intelligence, declining it.

Soon after turning 18, her father passed away due to her accidentally sneezing into his dinner and infecting him with a cold that he was unable to overcome. Without her father’s protection the government was quick to discover the secret of her birth, and she was exiled to Hanger Platform JZ-342 very quickly. The only thing she took with her were the clothes and gear her mother wore and an old helmet passed down the Capelli family.

She still believes she has been sent there to attend someone’s birthday party.

Skills:

• Capelli is, for whatever reason, incredibly strong. She can easily lift 300 lbs
• Is somehow a fantastic shot in terms of both handheld firearms and weapons on her Fighter Ship
• Can hold her breath for around ten minutes
• Can play the drums and dance very well despite her proclaimed dislike of dancing

Strengths:

• Unwaveringly loyal to her friends and her team
• Goes to great lengths to impress or help her friends
• Relentless in pursuing goals
• Can sleep both on command and while standing up

Flaws:

• Dumb as a sack of potatoes
• Often misunderstands orders and plans. Scratch that, always misunderstands orders and plans
• Doesn’t actually know how to use a gun or pilot a fighter and only manages to do so effectively by complete accident
• Can’t sing
• Generally has no idea where she is or what she’s doing there
• Can’t spell her own name

Aircraft: Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
Unique Modifications: An extra weapon to the Fighter that fires out confetti
Unique Visuals: Large bullseyes painted on the wings next to the M-842 and behind the cockpit. They are uneven and coloured blue and orange instead of white and red. The simple electric blue Capelli tri-dot logo is also present just below the front viewscreen of the cockpit

 

[Pacificus]

"You know that facility we weren't supposed to shoot at? Theoretically, what would happen if it doesn't exist anymore?"

Name: IA-888 "Arty"
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 88
Race: Automated
Faction of Origin: Confederation
Homeworld: New Magellan II. Formerly an uninhabitable, yet resource rich, hell hole. Now an uninhabitable, abandoned, hell hole.
Age: 8 Human Years
Gender: Masculine Programming

Appearance:

Height: 5'11"
Weight: 130lbs base weight. Up to 250lbs when equipped with removable counter weights. (For counter balance when working with heavy objects.)

Personality: Arty is of interesting character. He possesses a predominantly joyful demeanor pockmarked with quips and jokes, but occasionally interrupted by weird or even dark moments. He is slow in difficult situations but bounces back from defeat very quickly and not much phases him. Most of his negative feelings are buried deep in his operating system where he refuses to acknowledge them, but they're there. He takes great care in performing maintenance on his ship. He does not wish to die due to some faulty system and does not see himself as expendable.

Likes:
-Flying
-Explosions
-Human History

Dislikes:
-Demons
-Pity
-Sadness
-Anger

Fears: Dieing a useless death.

Background: Arty was constructed on New Magellan II right before the planet was laid seige to. He was quickly pressed into the infantry and was assigned to an artillery battalion. Due to the rush to get him off the assembly line, he never received formal behavioral programming. As such, he learned from the mixed species crew of the heavy field gun he serviced. This resulted in a mode of thinking that greatly diverged from a normal Automated.
Arty survived the battle and was evacuated in the last dropship to leave the planet. He was reassigned to a reserve fighter squadron due to manning issues. Though, his time in the infantry was brief it left a deep impact on him. He fulfilled his new role as a pilot superbly and was assigned to M-842.

Skills:
-Diligent technician
-Excellent marksman
-Decent tactician

Strengths:
-Teamwork
-Mentally fortified
-Strong back

Flaws:
-Poor at in-atmosphere flying.

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter

Unique Modifications: Arty has had his fighter fitted with a larger, auto-loading, 50mm cannon mounted on the centerline, forward of the cockpit. The weapon was added for hunting bombers and ground targets, but decreases the ships effective turn radius when flying in-atmosphere (Or anywhere gravity takes effect).

Unique Visuals: Shark jaws have been painted on the fuselage around where the cannon is mounted.

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

Name:
Bio-Mechanic Defense Innitiative 087 (BMDI 087)

"Please do not call me that. It is far too long and I do not wish to be a burden. Call me Bodii, instead."

Pernounciation: Bow-Dee

Rank:
Corporal

Callsign:
087

Race:
Automated

Faction of Origin:
The Confederation

Homeworld:
ISO 03

Age:
Manufactured 7 years ago

Gender:
Male Programming

Appearance: (Picture/description or both)

Spoiler

Bodii has lights in his face display that light up, change colour, and form different patterns to display his emotions.

Height:
10ft

Weight:
1850 kg

Personality:
Bodii is a very unique automaton. His very large, burly, and intimidating appearance does not reflect who he is at all. If you don't believe that the automaton have soul's, then you will once you have met Bodii. He is very kind and helpful, and incredibly curious about everything around him, particularly other species. He finds the rituals and social cues of other cultures very cool and is always looking to learn more. The simplest things often astonish him as he is incredibly easy to please. He laughs at every joke and will always listen intently to any story you tell. Because he is fairly quiet, his silence can often be interpreted incorrectly. If he isn't saying anything, the key is to look at his heads-up display which shows his emotions in patterns, rythems, and colours. Bodii is always looking to make new friends even if they don't want to be his friend. Bodii is also incredibly optimistic, sometimes to a fault. He occasionally does not pick up on hints that people don't like him or don't want to be around him. Finally, due to the nature of his rogramming, Bodii cannot tell a lie. His honesty is usually a blessing but can also be an issue.

When it comes to fighting and killing, Bodii is very conscious of his programming. He is designed to kill enemies in the name of protecting his allies. While most soldiers would kill anything that moves on the battlefield, Bodii follows precisely what he is programmed to do; he only kills when absolutely necessary in order to protect a fellow soldier. He does not hate killing, however, he also does not seek it out or have an unquenchable bloodlust. His need to protect is very strong and will always sacrifice his own body for the sake of others. He is very robust and can take a lot of damage anyway.

Likes:
-People/ other species
-Jokes
-Music

"This is my collection of old human music. It is very extensive. I hope to one day listen to it all!"

Dislikes:
-People getting hurt
-Small spaces
-When his friends go through small doors and he is unable to continue to walk with them

Fears:
-His friends dying
-Being decomissioned/dying before he has heard all the best songs or learned everything there is to learn about his friends

Background: (Paragraph +)
Created for the sole purpose of fighting against Aggeron's armies, Bodii is a seasoned veteran. After fighting for nearly seven years, Bodii is the only one remaining of his make and model. It is unclear how he has survived after all this time, but it is definitely extraordinary. In his most recent battle prior to coming to the squadron, he took heavy damage and was believed to be irreparable. However, Bodii somehow managed to continue operating despite all the missing limbs and holes in his body. During his repairs, he found that he had lost a bit of weight as they updated some of his parts to carbon fibre rather than a thick metal; however, the federation was unable to upgrade anything else and much of Bodii's software and central core functions are outdated and quite frankly a little beat up.

BMDI's were designed as a heavy duty player on the battlefield. They are able to both deal and take a lot of damage. These very large machines are incredibly strong and powerful. They have the ability to lift, throw, and move heavy objects. BMDI's are also described as an immoveable object as it takes a great force to knock them off their feet. Their primary objectives are to defend living organic (living) soldiers and protect valuable assets. This usually means that they are on the front lines as they draw most of the fire and are capable of severely damaging enemy forces. Due to the expensive and expendable nature of the BMDI's, the Confederation is no longer making them. They have instead chosen to use them until they die out. Other than Bodii, the final BMDI died out three years earlier.

His fellow soldiers gave him the nickname Bodii at around his second year of being commissioned. He is typically a highly valued member of his teams due to his kind and protective nature. Bodii recently signed up to be a pilot after he was inspired by a human to "try something new".

Skills:
-Heavily armored
-An excellent defender with an acute awareness of defensive strategies
-He has many small/minor funtions that are quite useful during combat and survival situations
-Equipped with top-of-the-line shocks allowing for him to do oribtal drops
-Incredibly strong

Strengths: (Atleast 1)
-Brave
-Optimistic
-Considerate
-Honesty
-He has the most recent pilot software uploaded to his core making him a very good pilot.

Flaws:
-Honesty
-Small spaces
-Stealth
-He is pretty slow and not very agile
-His software is relatively out of date

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications:
The cockpit in Bodii's aircraft has been adjusted to have more space, he has also had the whole ship gutted with the exception of mandatory functions (does not include life support). All-in-all, Bodii looks very strange in his aircraft. It has increased an increase in thrust/engine power and has the addition of several other engines in order to accommodate for his very large size and weight. Finally, he has a built-in stereo where he can play the very large selection of music that is uploaded to his core.

Unique Visuals:
His aircraft is red and black to match his own paint job. On the left-hand side of the aircraft "BODII" is written in orange with his handprint.

 

[DarkianMaker]

KhazTheGiraffe 2500kg is two and a half ton, even for a Reserve Squadron with lax entry requirements THAT IS QUITE TOO HEAVY

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

KhazTheGiraffe 2500kg is two and a half ton, even for a Reserve Squadron with lax entry requirements THAT IS QUITE TOO HEAVY

I have taken your words into consideration and have reduced the weight slightly. That plus the major modifications to his aircraft should be ok. But if you think about it, he's only the size of an adolescent elephant...

 

[DarkianMaker]

I have taken your words into consideration and have reduced the weight slightly. That plus the major modifications to his aircraft should be ok. But if you think about it, he's only the size of an adolescent elephant...

Mate, we've actually come to the conclusion that with the modifications necessary to have your guy fly around the ship has essentially turned into two strap-on wings with guns on them that he slaps on before taking off. Make something out of it, later on there will be ships your guy can actually fit and sit in without it needing to be heavily modified

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

Mate, we've actually come to the conclusion that with the modifications necessary to have your guy fly around the ship has essentially turned into two strap-on wings with guns on them that he slaps on before taking off. Make something out of it, later on there will be ships your guy can actually fit and sit in without it needing to be heavily modified

I'm confused... do you want me to change the weight of my character, or have him not be a pilot, or something else entirely?

 

[DarkianMaker]

I'm confused... do you want me to change the weight of my character, or have him not be a pilot, or something else entirely?

He's fine as he is right now but just keep in mind that as he goes into battle he doesn't have a cockpit but he is the cockpit himself.

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

He's fine as he is right now but just keep in mind that as he goes into battle he doesn't have a cockpit but he is the cockpit himself.

Oh ok! That's what i was hoping for >:3

 

[CkSmalling]

Name: Robert King
Rank: Corporal
Callsign: 27
Race: Human
Faction of Origin: The Venus Coalition
Homeworld: Terra 41
Gender: Male
Age: 33

Appearance:

Height: 6'1
Weight: 240lbs

Personality: Robert is a pretty chilled out dude. No drama kind of man. If yo bring him issues that have little or no effect to his life, he will give you the proverbial piece of advice, " Don't worry dude, all will work out well." If you don't see him making minute adjustments to his ship, you will fond him deep reading novels, mainly paperbacks since they are mind of hard to come by.
Likes: Reading, Eating, Sleeping.
Dislikes: Disloyalty, drama, people with inflatable ego
Fears: Losing his life in the worse kind of way i.e popping

Background:
Robert was born on Terra 41, living a normal life on the Planet. His father was a military strategists and his mom worked at the shipyard as a ship engineer. Since joining his father in the "Bring your Son to work day" was frowned upon by the military, he often joined his mother in the shipyards. That was where his passion and love for ships began. Everyday, he would follow his mother to the shipyard and interacted with different kind of ships from squadrons to Warships. He then decided that he will someday pilot a warship.

He managed to join up with the Squadrons so at he can be able to get the experience and the recognition to be able to pilot one of the large ships. His dream was not to be torn away fro him. Or so he thought. Years later, there was an invasion by the Onslaught, a species hellbent on restoring law and order into the galaxy by enslaving the occupants. This sends the whole planet into chaos and a number of the civilans were able to vacate the premises. His squadron was commissioned to provide the civilians with protection as they cleared from the planet. The safety of the civilians came at a heavy cost and most of the squadron were wiped out by the Onslaught.

Skills:
Excels well in Hand-to-Hand Combat
Excellent Marksmanship
Grade A pilot
Also a good chef

Strengths:
He has the art of charming almost anyone to his way of thinking
He is good at giving commands and instructions
Unquestionable Loyalty
Unwavering Trust

Flaws:
Trusts waay to easily
Combat PTSD
Insomnia

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.
Unique Modifications: (Any modifications you've made to your craft)
Unique Visuals: Ship has been painted Matte Black

 

[Best Trekkie.]

Name: Rain Hues
Rank: Cadet
Callsign: 076
Race: Human

Faction of Origin: Umbrella Division (originally stationed practically everywhere)

Homeworld: Originally stationed on Neptune in an underwater research facility
Age: 29
Gender: Male

Appearance:

Height: 6' 4"
Weight: 134 LBS

Personality: (Few sentences)
Likes: (At least 3)
Dislikes: (At least 3)
Fears: (At least 1)

Background: (Paragraph +)

Skills: (At least 1)
Strengths: (At least 1)
Flaws: (At least 1)

Aircraft:
Algon-Korr Corporation J-34L "Horseshoe" Light Fighter
The J-34L is by all means an outdated craft, having been used for fifty years by the Confederation. Although it was recently put out of commission and stored, they have since been brought back into service as the main craft for Reserve Squadrons. They are fast, but slow to maneuver, and their Conventional Autocannons are found rather lacking in firepower. No self-respecting pilot would choose this as their plane, but those pilots assigned this craft have no choice in the matter.

Unique Modifications: Cannons have been replaced with twin 30mm Gatling guns and two hardpoints have been added with each carrying two anti fighter missiles.

Unique Visuals: The fighter has been painted a void black. The engines have had their fuel source switched to nuclear fission to give them a bright blue glow and an emblem of an umbrella cutting through the wind had been painted on the sides of the wings.

(The Emblem)



WIP