Futuristic The Conflict of Agrris Zeta

[Soviet Panda]

Einherjar Jarl Torny of the Democratic States of Centrice sat patiently in the briefing room. Their last action, the Parmino Drop, had been met with stiff resistance. That was a very fancy way of saying it was an utter failure. Almost half of the elite Einherjar that dropped had been killed if the numbers were to be believed. He didn't believe them, he very strongly suspected that the number was much, much higher. And due to the sudden vacancies in many positions, they had to transfer in more soldiers and promote others to officers to lead the transfers. He was one of the latter, though to be fair he had been an officer before the shit show of Parmino, but that didn't mean he enjoyed having to get to know and gel with a whole new unit. And under strength one at that, with no heavy ordinance between the lot of them. Well, not like they needed it, if anyone thought they could stand and fight against a Blade one on one without moving he didn't want to be anywhere near to clean up the resulting bloody mess.

He looked down at the arrayed papers on the sole table of the briefing room. They were of his new squad, so new in fact they didn't even have a bloody call sign. They were all seasoned fighters, two of them being seasoned career soldiers. Though the suspiciously empty dossier of the borg and the turn coat story of the demo man worried him. But as long as they did what he ordered, or close enough to it, he supposed he couldn't complain to much. He'd get a read of them when they actually decided to show up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lord Commander Adelin, Knight of the Grand Cross, Slayer of the Despot Markeem, and Master Blade sat stately behind her desk, looking over papers she held in her hands. Parmino had seemed like such an assured victory, but she had pushed to far and to hard. The fight had taken place outside of the range of any anti-armor elements and she had gambled on the shock of the defeat upon the Centrice to be enough to allow her to shatter their defenses. She had gambled, and she had lost. Lance Damascus had been broken and only just managing to limp away. Thankfully there were those willing to lend her their strength until she is able to recoup her losses from within her own House and lands. In fact, she was to meet many of the noble houses that had so graciously accepted her plea for help in but a matter of moments.

As if the thought had summoned her, Adelin's Squire Arin slipped into the room, silently closing the door behind her. Clearing her throat to announce her presence, she waits for Adelin to look up and acknowledge her presence. "The Noble Dmitri of House Borisov, Tsesarevich Dimitri Grigoryevich Zimanov of Ursus, and Knight Sabastian Goo of House Fernsby have come to greet you. And no doubt judge their new leader." That last sentence she said quietly, to herself, well out of earshot for a normal human. Adelin, however, was not a normal human. But she let the slight against the others go, for she thought much the same herself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sir Marcus Halbert stood at relaxed guard outside the room that was to contain all the Nobles and the one Knight. He had expected there to be many honor guard, like himself, would wait outside as well. And he was not disappointed. The hall was lined with them, though the one that caught his eye was the one that stood beside him. A short, barrel chested man that, while appearing young, had absolutely no hair on the top of his head. He had no hair, from what Marcus could tell.

'Might as well begin building comraderies with them' he thought jovially to himself before taking his ceremonial helmet off and resting it on his hip. Tapping the bald man lightly on the shoulder, Marcus offers out his one free hand. "Sir Marcus Halbert, Guard of House Maret." He said with a smile. "I pilot the Half Blade Hand of Wrath, you probably saw the wreck of it on your way in. Skinny thing, thermo spear left arm, heavy auto canon with shroud on the right? Lots of red and gold? It's a pretty eye sore until she gets back on her own two feet again."

 

[YsFanatic]

It was difficult to resist the urge to sigh when this 'Marcus' offered a hand to shake. If this was anything like the other times, the handshake would soon be followed by the man acting like his hand was burned or another, similar, reaction. Unfortunately Jaste knew he couldn't afford to just, a snubbed member of nobility, even if it was just a Knight or Squire, could make his life more difficult than he'd care to deal with. Reluctantly he took the offered hand and gave it a brief shake like he would if it was another member of the construction crew, as while he had been taught at least some parts of etiquette for dealing with nobility, he didn't care quite enough to bother with a more 'proper' handshake. "I am Pilot Jaste Soolish, assigned to the Half Blade Sunburst."

He left it at that, figuring that would be plenty for Marcus to identify him as being the token commoner amongst the various Blade pilots. Or at least Jaste was assuming the others here would have been briefed about that. If not, well, they'd find out soon enough.

 

[shadowz1995]

The large Chiropteran male gave himself a final look in the mirror. His uniform was freshly washed, pressed, dyed and trimmed in the colors of his country. The medals and accolades he had gained over his near two decades of service pinned across his chest, where they always sat. It obviously needed to be custom fit to Eyvahn's body given the slight differences in anatomy. The black fur poked out from underneath the collar of the tight fitting suit in an almost comical fashion and it obviously lacked sleeves. As there was no real way to stick his winged limbs into such things.

Still, it was as formal as he could afford to be. He even put on dress shoes for the occasion. Which was a rarity in and of itself given that he didn't exactly have toes.

Eyvahn was lucky that he was born into a wealthy, respected family and even luckier that he relied on none of it to make his own living in the higher ends of Centrice Society. The walk to the meeting was an uneventful thanks solely to that fact. No sideways glances. No whispers in the alleyways. No one deciding if it was worth tangling with a 7 foot tall bat man in a military outfit for the possibility of a few credits. It was a not-so-disguised blessing that Eyvahn certainly did not take for granted.

The large creature stood in front of the door he was tasked with reporting to. Behind it sat his new CO. His ears allowed him to detect the man's breathing. Definitely male but the sound and smell of him. Eyvahn had no idea who this man was going to be but the Chiropteran's connections clued him in on why he was reassigned. One of the previous drops had gone badly. Horribly so, and they needed fresh bodies on the frontline. Eyvahn was anything but a fresh soldier. He was a seasoned veteran of war and still active duty. So his reassignment came as a surprise initially but after hearing what happened, it made sense.

Still, it made man worry about the future of his new team. Were they all fresh combatants for the meat grinder? Or was this a new outfit of seasoned warriors like himself and their new CO, no doubt.

"Only one way to find out..." The fur covered mutant muttered under his breath.

His clawed fingers found the doorknob and gave it a soft turn. It opened with a slight creak and the Chiropteran ducked underneath the frame and folded his webbed appendages in as much as he could to fit through the door. Once through, he stood to attention and gave his identity to his new superior officer.

"Sir. Eyvahn Tal'Nor reporting." He stated formally with a well practiced salute and stance.

Soviet Panda

 

[Worthlessplebian]

A conspicuous buzzing began to fill the room. No, not the room where the meeting place is underway, but someone's quarters. It looked as though a pig in a neat tux occupied this place. Orderly and messy at the same time, the buzzing transformed into a drawn-out beeping. At which point the occupant of this... Questionable abode began to groggily awake. The progressive alarm clock—its purpose is to gently raise a sleeper from their dreams—began to irritate the occupant. It is normal for people to be mad at their alarm clocks, but this man is already gritting his teeth. His hand instinctively reach for a magazine on the small nightstand next to his bed. The pages flapped like a bird as they flew into the alarm, muffling its' screams. A singular eye gently opens, the darkness of the room eases any strain. A silent notion of thankfulness to his past self for turning off the light. From the same nightstand where he acquired the magazine, he grabbed a cloth patch with an elastic band and fit it around his head. A simple whiff of this room disgusted him. Luckily, smoking will alleviate the smell although his eye might sting a bit.

"Sh**, today is the meeting day." He said aloud whilst leisurely holding the lit cig betwixt fingers. No use to sitting in darkness anymore though, Ian had just about enough of it anyway. From memory, he smacks the light switch and painfully illuminates his modest living quarters. "F*ck!" The man yells out, spreading ash around and some on that magazine with pictures of women with exceptional forms.

Minor stun effects aside, Ian had to get ready for the meeting: his new CO might be one of those stick in the mud! Though he just thought that, he is taking things lethargically. Cleaning himself up, gargling mouthwash—though it won't remove the smell of booze entirely, his beard is not under regulation but screw that noise, and finally assembling his attire. A long-sleeved shirt with one breast pocket with the sleeves rolled up, a camo-patterned coat, jeans, and boots.

Instead of a walk, Autumnall had the pleasure of a ride to the meeting place. In the form of a taxi; if his room smelled bad, then this vehicle was worse. The small blessing was that his nostrils could be assaulted by the outside air instead of the interior.

It was maddeningly boring but par for the course.

That is until he smelt the corridors of the meeting place and right before the door. "Ah... Bats... I should've known." Mumbling to himself, Ian twisted the doorknob and swung open the door with his fourth cigarette in hand. Taking a big breath of smoke, Ian silenced his complaining sense of smell. Exhaling the smokey vapour, Ian examined the bat. He and his medals and properly tidied uniform. Looks like somebody has something to prove. "Sir." He nonchalantly replied to the CO. "What a beautiful day to smell flying vermin." An off-handed comment while he found his seating.

Soviet Panda shadowz1995

 

[Wandering Grim Hollow]

Dimitri G.Zimanov
Okhotnik Blades
Location: Damascus Lance HQ​

"They should have requested our help sooner. These Nobles and their pride." Sir Artyom scoffed, reading from his datapad as the forward convoy headed for the Damascus Lance' forward HQ. The vehicle column drew eyes from the local troops due to the Ursus livery and the flag of the Okhotnik Blades flew proudly from the vehicles as they passed through the checkpoint and stopped.

"You shouldn't talk too badly about our allies, Artyom. I believe there was more than pride at play here." The Tseservich said as the medved's rear hatch slowly opened. Dimitri got up from his seat and disembarked from the vehicle. Dressed in a neat Dominion Officer's uniform, he cut a dignified figure among the other men dressed in combat uniforms. Well everyone except for two more, one is a sheepish looking Artyom who was busy scratching the back of his neck. The other is a steely eyed woman who looked like she was glaring at everything. Although in this case, she was glaring at someone.

"You of all people should know that, Artyom. Or should I say, son of the Ursus Prime Minister and holder of the honorable title of Blade of Ursus." Lady Alina, the Shield of Ursus, retorted, causing the other Knight's stature to shrink. Dimitri smiled softly at the sight and loudly cleared his throat. The two immediately snapped into attention, along with the other 4 Ursus soldiers dressed in grey body armour.

"We best watch our behavior. We represent not only the Okhotnik Blades but also our homeworld and the Tsar. It would reflect badly for our host to see us squabbling like children. So if you must, let's leave it until we are by ourselves."
"Da!"

With that settled, they proceeded into the HQ. After a brief introduction and the usual security checks, Dimitri went alone while his entourage waited at the visitor's lounge. His mind now focused on the usual etiquette when conversing among Nobility. Even if he is by definition, a Prince, the Noblewoman he is about to meet will be his Commanding Officer and Host. Command of the Okhotnik Blades will be deferred to her.

If she proves herself capable.

Soviet Panda

 

[Pilgrim59]

BELL
Undesignated Unit, DSC Einherjar
Briefing Room, Undisclosed Site

Interacted: Soviet Panda
Mentioned: shadowz1995 Worthlessplebian ​

The locker slammed shut behind the lone Einherjar as his back faced the haunting mirror that painted his past endeavors. In this uneasy solitude of his own making, the reticent jingle of his dog-tags reminded him of his purpose. Olive-drab shirt fell upon his form with purpose, concealing his standard-issued tags upon the final tug by his waist. He drew a sharp breath, still recovering from his recent kitchen raid. In this metal coffin, there were little room to breath, despite the short-handed hallways. It seemed that the war effort spoke for itself just how meticulously haunting it was to be a surviving jumper. Quartermasters often find themselves in awkward situations where they had to redistribute provisions that were close to expiration for the newer faces. Among them, it was perceived to be a welcoming sight at first, but those that managed to survive their first drop would say that they were given extra rations for they were effectively sentenced to death on their jump. In certain cases, some would not speak at all. The survivors were absent of service and disgraced while those that survived their baptism of fire often develop some sort of psychological issues.

Between the greenhorns and seasoned officers that flooded the installation was the oddball that was the Ninety-Fifth's specialist Bell. Having returned from Parmino Drop with a few chunks of stray metals in his back, the man was quite reluctant to sleep upright. Even with the standard-issued blockers, the withdrawal effects can be irritating at times. Bell, however, had taken his time to cope with his current state of mind by tending to the smallest crease upon his bloused boots. Donning his solid-colored covers, the man buttoned his sandstone jacket. Among the other jet-black Einherjar, his sandstone battle-dress uniform stood out as a rare perception. Rather than a fully-fledged combat Einherjar, Bell graduated from the rear-echelons and somehow managed to survive longer than most of his counterpart. His uniform was a testament that he was someone with adequate skill to be on an installation full of frontline regulars. It was only a matter of time before he found himself being folded into a high-risk commando unit - of which was the very reason he had been given the eyeballs of his peers ever since he arrived in the briefing room. Clearly, a rear-guard specialist did not deserve such recognition. To Bell, the uniform was all but a reminder of his origins, before he was shipped to the front from the staggering casualties that churned out more scraps than victories. A testament to Centrice Armed Forces' brilliant use of manpower and resources.

Bell on the other hand, was not exactly an inexperienced jumper given his long-record of being able to return home without losing much but a small fraction of his soul. Alas, the man was cleared for duty since his extraction process. Among the immediate faces plucked for the details, Bell took note of a regular-line bat trooper and a brusque man with a sense of caustic wit. Surely, this would bode for a swell rallying of a newly-stitched detachment. But any sense of unit cohesion would follow suit with the distinguished jumper before them. Bell studied the name tapes well enough to recognize that he was in the presence of a well-celebrated Einherjar of his time. For a brief moment, Bell could almost feel his soul leaving his body, for he knew just what this meant. It seems that with each passing mission, he was one step closer to worming his way towards the Dominion without the urge to defect. On the bright side, maybe he will not have to die from overconsumption of MREs, he contemplated, maintaining his optimism regarding the mess hall's menus.

Without a word, Bell simply snapped to a salute like his predecessors, with his cover concealing most of his face. His sleeve insignias and unit patch should be more than enough to convey his role as their functional field engineer. Besides, if he was plucked for the occasion by the dossiers on the desk beside Torny, it would be redundant for him to induct himself.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Dimitri
Interaction: Soviet Panda​

Damascus Lance HQ was the destination of s single large vehicle that looked to be some kind of scuttling APC moving on many legs as opposed to more traditional wheels even without any heraldry adorning the vehicle it's origins where obvious Tendorius sector and thusly the area of house Borisov influence. Upon reaching its destination the vehicle lowered to allows the precious cargo to exit 3 men wearing identical combat uniforms there helmets adorned with horns that seemed to sprout form inside them almost. While normally a noble and blade pilot would stand out Dimitri had made concious efforts to not to hid personal guards being almost exact doppelganger of the noble they served only once they had entered the safety of the HQ did it become apparent Dimitri was Infact Guard to the left of the center one. Pulling a small tab on the armor more regulation officer like uniform almost sprouted over the combat armor Dimitri removing his helmet to observe those he'd be working with more closely. Hopefully there would be no arrogant children ready to charge in at a moment's notice... in fact, that exact brashness ness had caused the situation to begin with.

 

[slim]

Centrice

Zatara M̶a̶n̶o̶o̶r̶

location:

Briefing Room

tags

centrice homies

For the seventh night in a row, Zatara had woken up flailing and her body slick with a cold sweat. The same nightmare always plagued her, and she still didn't understand what it meant or why she was getting them in the first place. Her dreams had been peacefully uninterrupted before, back when it had been all so peaceful. Her life had been train, train fight. Train fight. Fight, fight, fight. Perhaps with her old instructor on the run she was forgetting his teachings. Becoming weak again. She certainly didn't miss that crazed old man with his ramblings and volatile moods, but he had turned a clueless girl into a fighter, someone who had purpose. Without him yelling into her ear that she was nothing more than a tool for battle, her head had become a breeding ground for actual human thoughts she didn't force out like before. But now she was afflicted by the dreams of fire and the smell of flesh—not exactly a fair exchange.

It was always zero four hundred hours when she woke up, and just like all the other times she changed the thin cotton sheets of her cot and took the sweat-filled ones to the utility room. She had ample time before the meeting with Einherjar Jarl, and so she headed to the training room where she shot and punched her thoughts away as did nearly everyone on the base. However, as of recent it was her new pondering activity, and she had lots to think about. The dreams, the brief that would be happening in a few hours, and that doctor.
Zatara had missed the Parmino Drop—much to her displeasure—due to the damage of her cybernetic arm. Half of it had been blown off thanks to Zatara's rare lack of diligence, and she had paid the price. She sat in her quarters for days until the doctors finally arrived. According to some order the higherups refused to inform her about, Zatara's cybernetics had to be replaced and operated by a specific team of cybernetic experts. Zatara had seen them a few times out of the five years she had been stationed, and they were as professional as they could be. They arrived, did their work, and were gone before Zatara had awoken up from the anesthesia. But this time, she could have sworn she remembered one of the doctors saying her last name before she went under. Perhaps it had been on a medical sheet, but it just didn't seem like common knowledge. Apparently last names were family ties and had deeper meaning. Zatara Manoor had been just Zatara until she had received that letter, consequently sending her on a spiral of doubt about her own existence that she usually ignored but sometimes just had to be set free. Perhaps those thoughts were the reason she had been stupid enough to get herself that injured in the first place.
Zatara let loose one more careening kick into the side of the dummy's head as she snapped herself back to reality and headed back to her quarters to get ready.

Zatara's room was bare and therefore neat, as was everything relating to her was. Her uniform was already washed and ironed and she was out of the door in minutes after a quick shower. There was some activity in the barracks, but still was too early in the morning for even men of the military. When she arrived to the briefing room, she was the first one to arrive. The Jarl looked up from his stack of papers as she approached his desk and announced herself before retreating to the far corner of the room as she waited for others. If the Jarl had been annoyed of her quite punctual arrival, he didn't show it and continued staring holes into the files. Finally, the door creaked and a giant figure squeezed their way into the room. Her eye zoomed in on the glint of the medals on his uniform. Clearly he was a seasoned fighter, what was she doing with the likes of him? Zatara had proved her worth on the battlefield many times, but this creature obviously had been in this profession for far longer than her, and somehow they were in the same room. She didn't know if that was a good thing for him.

Zatara hadn't known what to expect upon hearing the news of this brief and didn't think much of it, but now her interest was piqued. Two more men came in, but by then Zatara's interest had been lost as she mulled over what exactly she had gotten herself into.

code by @Nano

 

[Soviet Panda]

Marcus held on to the hand for a brief moment as the name registered with him. "So you're that fabled commoner given a Half Blade. Well, you must be good at piloting it if you're still alive. From what I hear, your Lord throws your kinsmen into the meat grinder almost regularly. I doubt you're an exception to him." His had indeed shifted his stance upon knowing that this was a commoner he was standing with, but it was somewhat different. He did stand up a little straighter, knowing full well he was the superior by rank and by blood, but that did not diminish the small look of respect he gave the man, the look of one Half Blade pilot that knew the fine skills to survive in a Half Blade as it loped across the battlefield.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Adelin made no move to get up from her desk while the pilots came in, exercising her status as Lord Commander as well as Master Blade as she did so. Etiquette would have required her to stand had they been her equal, which for many of them they were and then some. But as the circumstances were, she was the highest ranking of them all. She did not even look up from the mess of papers detailing combat from other sectors until Knight Goo, trailing in the rear as he rank dictated, entered and her Squire closed the door.

She was the picture of stately serenity, not a hair out of place and obviously surgically changed phase expressionless. "Before we begin, I would like to thank each House present personally. It takes time to recoup losses from my ranks with those from my House and lands, especially when combat takes me far from it. I would not be able to continue serving until their arrival if you had not answered my call." Once she finished, she finally stood, the desk and chair quietly sliding away with the assistance of some unseen devices. "I have done some quick reading about each of your specialties, but reports and a history of actions can only give me so many pieces of the greater image. Knight Goo, I thank you and your liege for coming to my aid, and thus will give you the honor of answering me first."

Giving a crisp salute, Sebastian stood to attention before beginning his report. "Knight Sebastion Goo of House Fernsby. I command a Lance of ten Partial Blades equipped with a wide array of weaponry and able to be quickly retrofitted to match the expected combat conditions. We will be best used as a scouting or screening force." His report given, he gives another crisp salute before being waved at ease by Adelin, who herself turned to the next person in line to speak.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jarl Torny acknowledged each of them as they came in with a quick nod. Once they were all assembled, he began to speak. "None of that saluting stuff now. My CO didn't have me do any of that, and I won't be having you lot doing any of it either. And none of that 'sir' shite either, my name's Torny, not 'sir'. Anyways, I'm sure you all already know why you're here. Congratulations, you're now the proud members of whatever we decide to call this circus act. Paper says we're an 'elite formation', meaning we get the jobs that most other people don't want. Our demoman here," he said nodding to Ian, "is probably familiar with these operations. Now, without further ado, I'm gonna go over why you were chosen. Ian, as I've said, is an explosives expert. Eyvahn, the large bat, is the designated reconnaissance and marksman. Says here you're from a distinguished military family, good to see you're not just riding the name. Bell here will make sure all our stuff keeps firing nice and smooth. A few red marks on yer sheet saying something about getting caught pinching something from the quarter master. Seeing as you got more than one on here, you're either stupid or there are many other times where you weren't caught, a bit of sneaking about never go awry. And lastly, we have our borg. Distinguished record, took part in several key victories across several theaters of war. Nothing but the finest. Any questions so far? Am I speaking to fast for any of you?"

 

[shadowz1995]

Eyvahn Tal' Nor

The other members of the squad trickled in slowly one after the other. One in particular, the soldier called Ian, was one that Eyvahn had worked with in the past in joint operations. The man was crude, borderline insurbodinate with his words, and always smelled of some kind of vice. Which was surprising to the Chiropteran considering that Ian's senses were as good, if not better than Eyvahn's own mutated perceptions.

Like the man in question, Eyvahn smelled him before he entered. The large man's nose twitched slightly but went completely unnoticed thanks to his less-than-human appearance. The turncoat gave a snide comment causing the bat to roll his eyes in response.

Anyone could say whatever they wanted about the demolitions expert's personality but he was a damn fine soldier and everyone knew it. There weren't many in active duty with his level of expertise and competence in the field and while they never really spoke more than a few words, there was a mutual respect there for one another's skill sets and competence. It was a comfort to the flying veteran to have him on the team.

Once the rest of summoned team members arrived, the leader of this newly assembled squad gave his brief explanation. Surely to everyone's relief. If everyone here was as experienced and skilled as their new CO described, then they have all had their fair share of speeches and introductions to new commanding officers.

"No Si- uh Torny." The veteran responded when prompted for questions or confusions. The briefing was simple, honest and to the point so far. A brief scan around the room revealed that Eyvahn was probably the oldest member here. It's understandably hard to tell given his mutations but if he looked more stereotypically human, he would probably look older than Torny.

Age was not equivalent to wisdom nor experience. As Torny suggested, there are many officers that piggybacked off of their family names to their current positions and enjoyed the luxuries of those positions without the struggle to earn it. But Eyvahn was definitely not one of those people. Every scar, every mention, every accolade, and every rank he earned in battle. If he wasn't the most experienced, he was among them. The young-looking cyborg girl in the corner caught his eye during the briefing. She appeared to be in her early 20s but her alleged brief time on this world looked like it was enough to harden her to tussle with Centrice's finest. She wouldn't be here otherwise. Appearances can be deceiving but Eyvahn couldn't help but think that it was a shame. It was an antiquated way of thinking but at a glance one could tell that her enhancements weren't willing. Heavy scarring poking out just underneath the metal revealed she was injured rather severely and she needed them to survive and function somewhat normally. He wondered what pushed her into the military of all things.

The final member was a handyman. A role that often went underappreciated given its critical importance. A man experienced enough to warrant a spot on this "elite" team despite that fact is a man that Eyvahn definitely wanted on his side. Experience and knowledge were dangerous and anyone that has survived enough drops to not only be here but also the punishments for getting caught stealing more than once was a force to be reckoned with. Eyvahn was the poster child of a model soldier and while he never got in trouble, the troublemakers were always the most reliable of the bunch. Probably because they were always so deep in shit that their experience in it allowed them to survive anything hell threw at them.

Soviet Panda slim Pilgrim59 Worthlessplebian​

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Ian Autumnall​

Despite Ian's off-handed comments, he does reserve a modicum of respect for the flying rat. He's handled sniper rifles before, but to say that the rodent outclassed him in that area would be an understatement. And he didn't deal in false truths. Still, the prospect of having a rat in a tin-can suit dealing death from above isn't a foreign concept to him. In the midst of another entree into this crowded team, Ian lit his cigarette with the steel-box of a lighter. He passively recognized him from that one time on a battlefield, was it Nostromo-10 or Augustus Prime, Ian did not remember. Hell, it didn't even need to be a battlefield, could have been word of mouth. All he knew was that the man was a mechanic and darn good at it.

Ian is a simple man in the Centrice fighting force: show up, look at the building, blow it up with expertly calc'ed explosives. Well, that and using a grenade launcher to blow infantry apart. Ah, the joys of smelling Comp A5 from an exploded 45mm nade.

The Borg that arrived was spared Ian's thoughts as their fearless CO had instantly decided to speak up. He dispelled any notion of respecting rank which played to Ian's whims. From his one eye, he stared through the smoke at the cybernetically enhanced woman. Until he heard his name leave the Torny's lips. He listened completely to the breakdown of the team's composition—so far it was balanced. The second the CO finished, Ian spoke up with his fingers around the cig to the side. "Tsk, It's the same thing," Ian said while turning his head clockwise. "Go there blow that up to stop enemy reinforcements, blow up that wall to make a blockade. Occasionally, you might get a sneak in this compound of half-blades and blow it to kingdom come." Ian blowing the smoke in the area then turned his head towards Bell. "Oi, you. Keep your mitts off my bombs, or I'll stick one where the sun don't shine. If you can keep to that, we'll be good."

"Torny, who signed off on this anyway?" The boisterous bombardier asked, dropping a bit of ash on the floor with a tap.

Soviet Panda shadowz1995 Pilgrim59 slim

 

[slim]

Centrice

Zatara M̶a̶n̶o̶o̶r̶

location:

Briefing Room

tags

centrice homies

Jarl's deep voice reeled the borg out of her usual internal mulling and into the present as she was finally told what her and this odd mix of people were to do. It wasn't the most detailed brief she had ever encountered and gave her more questions than she had before, but she was a soldier and a soldier was not meant to pry. Jarl had asked if they had questions but she was quite sure it wasn't out of politeness or the need to tell them more than what was already said.

She finally allowed herself to fully take note of her new "circus act" since they were going to be in close quarters for a while now. Zatara usually didn't mingle with her fellow soldiers, especially since even if she were one for conversation, they weren't the kind of people she would enjoy having around on a daily basis. The bat-man was fine, he looked like he just wanted to do his job and then fly back to his bat-man family back home and call it a day when this was all over. She had already honed in on his complete opposite, the extremely talkative demoman who had made such a lovely icebreaker. The disgusting smoke from his cigarettes had finally reached her corner and it was taking all of her willpower to not pluck it from his fingers. As if he was reading her mind, he turned to stare at her while he let a stream of smoke out. She met his gaze for a few moments until the egotistical prick heard his name and his head swiveled sharply back to Jarl. She handled annoying characters such as himself all the time, but it never stopped being tiring. Regardless, they were here to win wars not braid each others hair and tell jokes. He was here for his capabilities as was she. While the "Ian" character went on a tirade of some sorts, Zatara's attention finally settled on the other man. He hadn't said anything so far either which felt like a good omen. Just like the bat, his uniform also sent a message of experience and hard work. All in all, it seemed like a pretty functional group. She felt confident putting her life in two out of three of their hands if it came down to it—not bad at all.

Ian of course had to question Jarl which felt imprudent but who knew, maybe the commander would find him entertaining or simply not care and spill the beans. She clasped her hands under her chin as she practically leaned forward to see what Jarl's response would be—she certainly wanted to know who was behind this as well.

code by @Nano

 

[YsFanatic]

There was a small ‘hmph’ from Jaste at the mention of his commander’s way of using commoners on the battlefield. “I find that most nobles will generally favor helping each other in battle then paying much attention to me, and as you say that is especially true for my superior.” There was a small pause while the Thrall pilot considered his next words, but he quickly decided to just speak his mind, not particularly worried about if he offended the other man or not. “I’ve stopped caring about it however as I've realized that nothing I could do will change that. I'm simply waiting until my time is done and I can go back home."

Soviet Panda

 

[Pilgrim59]

BELL
Undesignated Unit, DSC Einherjar
Briefing Room, Undisclosed Site

Interacted: Worthlessplebian
Mentioned: Soviet Panda slim ​

Blood is thicker than water, by the literal sense of its delivery as well as its metaphorical inclinations. Bell knew this as well as everyone that survived their first jump. As such, he never felt the need to judge anyone else for their virtues or their vices. He could go on to write about honor, but they are already beside him here and now. Trivial things often outshine the main focus. Objectives intertwining with one another that their missions often become indiscernible by the time they were done. With a unit of this size, it was pretty clear that they were tasked with something that required minor developments than the robust galore of combined arms. That settled that discussion as to what he needed to know about his new fireteam. When their team leader relinquished the formalities that preceded any semblance of compartmentalized procedures, it gave Bell the notion that he would not have to worry about any fault coming from the back when they deploy. Often times, it is the indecisive or sluggish ones that tend to bottleneck the flow of combat. It all spiraled down to a game of numbers.

Despite these ramblings, Bell was keen on his objective to nonverbally flesh out who was calling the shots and who would be receiving them wholeheartedly. Admittedly guilty when Torny called him out for his minor dereliction, the prior had nonchalantly brushed it off. Perhaps there was some truth to what he said, enough to spook Bell quite a bit when such things were brought to light. Then again, what will become of those brilliant crimes if no one take credits for them? Although truthfully, Bell felt foolish enough to snatch things when those very things would augment the survivors of every disastrous drop anyways. Dissuaded from his salute, the specialist transitioned his straightened palm into a falling motion - smoothly adjusting his cap with a suave movement as a way to acknowledge his superior's words.

Bell turned to his neighbors, eyeing them to see if anyone else had a voice to put in their concern before they could be seated down onto the assorted details that awaited them. It did not take long for the demolitionist to raise his interests. His induction did not deviate from his service detail by the way he lit his cigarette so haphazardly. Bell learnt, there and then, that it would be prudent to keep Ian at a distance while laying down explosives. If his nicotine addiction does not kill him, then the visibly-irked cyborg next to Bell will, he reckoned. But the specialist would also digress. Before long, Ian's remark stirred Bell to respond with both his hands up and leveled by over his shoulders as a nonverbal gesture of compliance.

"Fine by me." Bell answered with a dry chuckle to follow.

He would keep his own question to himself for the time being, awaiting for Torny to respond to Ian's inquiries.

 

[Soviet Panda]

Torny cocked an eyebrow at Ian's request. "General Arquiel. They're the one that 'lead our forces to victory' on Konnerth IV." He threw air quotes around the words, knowing full well the ball of blubber that was the general was no where close to the fighting. "He's got a sharp mind, if nothing else. Sees things others skip over, that's how he cracked Konnerth. Who'd have thought that with all the scanning they did, Konnerth was felled by cavalry coming over some mountains." Once finished giving his background check on their general, he pointed to where the soot at landed from Ian's cigarrete. "And I'm gonna be expecting you to clean that up. Don't be a prick, you left those behind to come fight for us."

 

[Wandering Grim Hollow]

Dimitri G.Zimanov
Okhotnik Blades
Location: Damascus Lance HQ​

Dimitri quietly listened to his host introduce herself and explain the situation. Lord Commander Adelin of the Damascus Lance, a well known name within the Dominion. Who wouldn't know of the Slayer of the Despot Markeem nor a famed Knight of the Grand Cross. Tsesarevich and Commander of the Okhotnik Blades he may be but his own achievements aren't as grand as latest Commander. Still, what she said was in play for her too. Those are only tales and reports, who knows what happened on the day itself. Once Knight of House Fernsby has introduced himself, Dimitri stepped forward and saluted.

"Tsesarevich Dimitri Grigoryevich Zimanov of House Zimanov reporting as requested. I command a total of 8 Blades and 21 Partial Blades of the Okhotnik Blades along with Ursus' 31st Shock Army. We specialize in scouting and long range bombardment. Lastly, the Tsar of Ursus wished for me to inform you." Dimitri's emotionless visage shifted to slight frown before he continued. "The Tsar believes this campaign to be a lost cause and forbid me from bringing over more reinforcements. As his scion and on behalf of House Zimanov, I humbly apologize for the limited reinforcements."

Soviet Panda Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Ian Autumnall​

With his question satisfied, Ian scrummaged around in his coat for a napkin. He had to lean over to fully reach into the pocket since he had decided to drape the coat over his chair. The handkerchief was a white fabric base with golden embroidery around the edges. He nonchalantly stained it with soot from his cigarettes. It was also at this time that he threw a look towards the Borg woman, he knew she has been watching him. Most likely irritated by his presence. "Got anything else to clean up, Torny? Preferably a building? With high yield explosives."

Soviet Panda

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Dimitri
Interaction: Soviet Panda​

with the others introducing themselves and there specialisations there was the awkward moment of knowing there were 2 Dimitri's this would certainly become confusing straightening up his stance a little bit Dimitri expression remained fairly neutral as he listen to the other, scouting and bombardment, dimitri would nod quietly before stepping forward. “ Dimitri of house Borisov, the galiron full blade can provide a verity of support from bombardment to melee combat if the need arises, even suppressing fire“ hed‘d explain sternly giving a side eye to the others. “sadly… it is just myself… we are dealing with internal matters that requir much of our houses attention i personal volunteered for assisting in this operation.” He’d add

 

[Soviet Panda]

Torny chuckled softly at the explosives experts question before answering it. "Maybe not buildings, not yet. Blades aplenty, though. Now I hate to cut this short, but we're being shipped back up the the Cwellere by the end of the day and be prepared for our next drop. Get your things, equipment will meet you on board the ship. We got a long war in front of us, so make sure to pack extra. You will all be informed of our designated call sign when we get one. Dismissed." With that, Torny waved them off, staying behind in case anyone wished to ask him any further questions, though he doubted they would. In the meantime, his mind was preoccupied with finding a way to keep all four of them alive long enough to see the end of the war. Hopefully, if everything went well, they'd send them in for reconnaissance and sabotage, some sneaky beaky work was perfect for such a small unit. However, he very much doubted that, was was more likely in store for them was to eliminate priority targets by any means necessary. Which meant taking on Blades, big Blades, the kind that carried generals and officers in them. He had seen one take on an entire armored battalion from the Auruta Praetorians as if they were children's toys. Though perhaps they wouldn't draw as much attention as an armored battalion, and a few well placed shots and explosives.... If they were fast, they'd survive, by Urt, they'd survive.
slim shadowz1995 Worthlessplebian Pilgrim59
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Adeline gave a small, understanding smile for both of the Dimitris. She addressed the Tsesarvich first. "Your father isn't the only one that thinks though. I do not fault him, this was not the quick, clean victory many wanted. But, sadly, that is not what occurred. I thank the House Zimanov for giving any of their forces in support. And to you, Dimitri of House Borisov. I know how... complicated, internal House politics can be. One Blade, especially one as prestigious as your own, is more than enough considering your circumstances." She spoke carefully, doing her best to navigate the dangers of the political landscape arrayed before her. She did not want to assault those that came to her assistance, for they could just as easily leave.

"I do have plans to end this war, plans I shall be putting into motion within these coming weeks. But, until then and as my surviving Blades and Half-Blades are repaired, I have arranged what accommodations I could for you and your regiments. They are not the most prestigious of abodes, but they serve their purposes well. I leave you to manage your men and Blades as you see fit. I will keep you informed on developments on the front as best I can, and will seek your advice as necessary."
Huntertabbysandshark3 Wandering Grim Hollow
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marcus looked at the smaller pilot, a small smirk on his face as Jaste mentioned returning home. "You know as good as I, that we aren't going to be going home. Once the fighting here is done, there'll be fighting somewhere else that needs assistance. And we'll be the ones that are sent out to assist. No, I've given up seeing my home, that I'm going to die on the field of battle. But I'm going to make sure I've left my mark, that the noble House Maret recognizes my deeds and sees fit to elevate my family. And, if I were to tell you the truth, it is simply fun piloting the Hand of Wrath." As he finished speaking, the doors to the room filled with Nobles opened, and Marcus quickly snapped back to attention.
YsFanatic

 

[Pilgrim59]

BELL
Undesignated Unit, DSC Einherjar
Hangar, Undisclosed Site

Interacted: N/A
Mentioned: Soviet Panda shadowz1995 Worthlessplebian
slim ​

Like a good soldier, Bell went about his way after a slight gesture of his locked feet rather than a salute that would otherwise be discarded by Torny himself. Perhaps it was a good habit to get into. The last thing the handyman wanted was to get his commanding officer killed due to an unsolicited salute that tends to invite headhunting units like flies to dung. Shaking off these thoughts, Bell tipped his field cap slightly, with his nonchalant and polite smile barely visible beneath the shadows of his headgear.

The one thing the military taught Bell that proved helpful thus far was that he should simply nod and do his job. After all, they did not pay him to think, for that was a luxury that only his superiors had the privilege to afford. As the chain of command goes on, the only way to improve their laborous conditions was to gripe to their team leader, their platoon commander, and so on. Often times, this got Bell and his comrades what they wanted. The only drawback was that favors were often called in. But before these favors were returned in kind, the debt-collectors have all but bought themselves acres of fertile lands beyond the cosmos. Bell was not exactly the type to carry the weight of a survivor's guilt, but these thoughts did made his bunk beds colder and stiffer with every passing day. Being bumped up to a frontline special unit made it clear that Bell's numbers have been bumped up a little. While he was wary of his ultimate demise, it did not distract the man from his principles.

Without any further remarks, he made it back to his living quarters and began packing. There were little effects to consider but his extra dungarees, some personal souvenirs and self-procured tweaking tools. As a man of light luggage and translucent conscience, Bell had chosen to carry only himself anywhere. There were some well-hidden contrabands of Dominion cigarettes that Bell was rather fond of, despite the fact that he does not smoke. He then pondered upon the recent cast that he had the pleasure of acquainting himself with. Maybe he could bribe the demolitionist with the cigarettes when needed. As for the marksman, Bell would have to rely on them should he finds himself cutting through a minefield or some similar details that would leave him exposed. As for the cyborg woman, Bell could only speculate their skill sets were on the other side of the spectrum in respect to their chiropteran gunner. If anything, Bell felt out of his element, being the only one assigned to the group for his luck, when his records are compared to the others. How odd it was for a mundane technician to be given a shotgun ride alongside the more accomplished members of the team.

Zipping up his duffel bag as well as his thoughts swiftly, the specialist made his way towards the hangar, where he awaited the flight control group to announce the boarding process of their shuttles to the Cwellere. Within his grasp was a foot-long sandwich that he managed to swipe from the messhall earlier, alongside a fizzy soft drink. He would enjoy his last meal before they were sent on their way. Staring out at the void of space beyond the reinforced frames, Bell muttered to himself.

"I should have joined the Navy." He said, while gulping down a sizeable amount of his sandwich.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Ian Autumnall​

Mentions: Pilgrim59 Interactions: N/A.​

With the briefing finally over, Ian had stretched out of his chair. He hates it when he must sit in one place for too long. Though there is one thing that he missed from his life in the Dominion. One crucial aspect: a chauffeur. Yes, that thought ran through his mind as he taxied back to his apartment to prepare for departure. While Autumnall is a turncoat, the benefits of being one certainly aren't that glamorous. Both from Centrice and on principle. It doesn't matter. Flinging open the door to his four by four apartment with no separate W.C. and creaky floorboards. In spite of his living, Ian would still prefer this to be choked with formality and honorifics back home.

A grey duffle bag would be used to store most of his belongings. Not that he had much, mind you. Clothes, "reading material," a bullet with the initials I.A, and another carton of cigarettes. He was already dry by the time he got home. Briefly, Ian removed the black patch over his eye. He needed to inspect the interface nodes that connected to his E11-5 helmet. They appeared fine, there was no dirt, grime, or degradation due to sweat. Still though, he remained diligent by wiping them clean using skin-friendly cleaning alcohol, frequently used for various cybernetics.

Before he departed, Ian knelt and lifted his bed. He acquired a particularly long combat knife with three dimples near the guard.

Arriving at the hanger, Ian grasped firmly a cup of lime ice tea with a hint of apple. The demolitionist preferred tea to coffee, at times he finds the stuff too bitter for his taste. "Let's get this over with." He spoke aloud whilst sipping his tea. He noticed Bell easily with his unique sense of sight due to his mutation. Might as well wait with the handyman. Casually strutting over to Bell's side, the fragrance of the sandwich tipped Ian off what he was eating. Causing him to gently wafted the air.

 

[Pilgrim59]

BELL
Undesignated Unit, DSC Einherjar
Hangar, Undisclosed Site

Interacted: Worthlessplebian
Mentioned: Soviet Panda shadowz1995 slim ​

Bell gave his nonchalant team member an eyeful of curiosity, as he chewed softly to himself. "Want some? Not this one, obviously. You can have the barbecue chicken sandwich." Bell offered, pointing towards his duffel bag. For someone that thrives on explosive details, the demolitionist seems to be packing some hefty equipment. Bell, on the other hand, only choose to grab whatever the quartermaster could spare before a drop. Keeping to his principle of travelling light on one's feet, the technician held little attachments for any sort of configuration. Yet, there was the matter of his wrench, of which had seen a fair share of use on the field, yet the piece of iron has yet to relinquish itself from Bell's possession. By some strange and almost supernatural account, the man could have sworn that the wrench is haunted. But that was another story for another day.

"So what's your story?" Bell asked nonchalantly, rolling the sandwich wrappings up before tossing it in the trashcan right around the terminal. An exemplary law-abiding citizen. The man sat himself back down, taking a sip of his soda. It was not everyday Bell gets the chance to roll with some of the most toughest troopers of Centrice. The fact that they even made it out of their first jump was a great feat in and of itself. Like the cyborg and the bat, they obviously got something up their sleeves that got them here. Especially their team leader - Torny. The only piece that did not add up was Bell. Obviously, it was not his wonderful personality that earned him a spot with these guys. The least the mechanic could do was try to get an understanding of their crafts and their accompanying persona.

 

[shadowz1995]

The large bat mutant gave a well-practiced salute on muscle memory, contrary to his new coworkers who gave a more informal gesture of understanding. It wasn't unusual for Eyvahn to be the most official member on any given squad. People tended to misinterpret his militaristic mannerisms with inability to adapt to his environment in civilian life and on the battlefield.

The reality was that it couldn't be further from the truth.

He was actually quick on his metaphorical feet and able to adapt to almost anything. Eyvahn just found comfort in his seemingly rigid mannerisms. They were familiar and uniform. Life, or at least life for him, was much easier to manage and maneuver through when everything was done a certain way everytime.

He prepared like he would for any other mission. The Chiropteran flew home as opposed to walking, Stripped and discarded his uniform, dawned the body suit that went under his flight gear, and quickly made his way to the area Torny had designated for them to rendezvous at via air travel. .

His equipment was waiting for him, as promised. Torny didn't provide any additional details to what the next drop was going to entail but he did order them to prepare for it. Eyvahn decided to go with his standard, all-round equipment set up. His VK DMR rifle sat upon its usual perch beside his Armored Widow Flight Suit. Five magazines worth of standard ammunition hung neatly in a row beneath along with two mags loaded with armor piercing rounds.

Two satchels sat to the right of the armor. Demolition charges for a controlled detonation.

Finally, his Liberator sidearm sat just underneath the charges along with three mags worth of ammo. No one else was around at the time and he quickly got to assembling his equipment. The mutant chose not to bring his demo charges this time around given that they had a specialist with them. A specialist the Eyvahn had worked with before and trusted. Instead, he grabbed his rifle, pistol, ammo, and had the crew in the hangar assist with his putting on his flight suit as they had done so many times in the past.

His helmet clicked in with a satisfying hiss before the first of his comrades arrived. Bell followed closely by Autumnall. Bell seemed to be enjoying lunch and Ian was idling near him. Everyone had their pre-drop rituals. Eyvahn's was to meticulously check through his weapons and ammo for any potential issues.

He walked on over to where his new coworkers had decided to settle and sat down, his armor making an audible "thunk" as it made contact with his makeshift seat.

"Gentlemen." He said sternly with a nod before beginning his weapons check.

Pilgrim59 Worthlessplebian

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Dimitri
Interaction: Soviet Panda Wandering Grim Hollow​

"its perfectly understandable miss Adeline nothing ever goes according to plan those that think so are simply fools" Dimitri replied his tone serious as this was something he took very seriously.. those that thought this whole situation was a lost cause clearly didn't understand the nuance of war or combat enough, or perhaps they knew something he didn't? Dimitri wasn't one to rule that out either. "and thank you... the situation back home.. is.. tenuous at best but I'm glad to be off assistance here" Dimitri added. He'd shift his weight slightly ignoring mentions of accommodation whatever they got was good enough.

 

[slim]

Centrice

Zatara M̶a̶n̶o̶o̶r̶

location:

Hangar

tags

centrice homies

The cyborg tried to not look smug as Jarl made the man clean up his mess. The last sentence he said confused her for a second until she spotted the handkerchief. She zoomed in on the fine gold embroidery, something she hadn't seen before, especially in this place. And here he was, wiping ashes with it. It was quite clear he was still very much one with the so called "pricks" he left from wherever he came from. At least his entire persona was all making sense now. The two shared a silent glare for a few moments until Ian turned back to harass Jarl. If they were going to work in close quarters, he had to stop with these visual standoffs, especially considering they both were lacking in the eye department.

At last, they were finally dismissed. She hung in the back until they all departed, and finally made her way to the front and out the door. She saved the awkward dismissal, Jarl clearly didn't give a shit. As she made her way down the drab halls, she saw the others heading towards the exit. She watched the last of them hulk down to squeeze out of the door. The door shut with a resounding clang that echoed down the hallway.

To her annoyance, a heavy feeling in her chest swelled for a moment. Perhaps it was this suicide mission she was going on that would most likely be her last and the fact she had never been outside this military base. Well, this version of her, the one with such an empty mind and phantom pains. She had never really considered what was out there, just planets and different fights against their mortal enemy. She didn't know the people of this Centrice except for the ones who showed up here to fight for them. And she didn't even know the soldiers here except for what she unwillingly learned from locker talk and those few short minutes before they went into their drop ships. She lingered there for a few moments, but her mind was resolved and sinking back into its usual state. Her group would be coming back from whatever lives they had outside of these walls to do their job. And she would be right here waiting on them.

After an ice cold shower just to numb her body and get her head into the game, she got everything swiftly packed and her suit painstakingly put on. She gave her room a once-over before she left. It looked like no one had ever even inhabited it. At least she saved some trouble for its next owner. She turned off the light and headed to the hangar.

Surprisingly, she wasn't the first one to the hangar despite living a short distance away. The three members of her group had already settled down, and Zatara stiffly sat down on the opposite side of the bat, who was already hard at work doing upkeep on his gear. The mechanic on her right had crumbs everywhere and was looking too chipper for her taste, but he was probably smart to already have eaten unlike her. She had nutrition bars in her bag and was sure there would be rations on the ship. She'd eat when she felt it was necessary. The group sat in silence, with the occasional click or rustle from the bat. She could tell that the Bell character was going to combust if he didn't speak soon, however.

code by @Nano