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UnseenShade
Guest
Original poster
So, all melee weapons used by mechs utilize oscillating particles? So, my falcata and whip would likely have oscillating particles on the edge and barbs?
A
Asuras
Guest
Original poster
U
UnseenShade
Guest
Original poster
K
Ko T'suno
Guest
Original poster
D
Daws Combine
Guest
Original poster
Character Name: Gerald "The Reckoning" Sinn
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gerald holds his ground at 6'3" with the lack of muscle mass to capitalize, on the intimidation front. His medium length hair is a light brown that generally hangs over his blue eyes. His pale skin has several deep and pronounced scars, the most prominent one being a large and jagged facial scar that extends through his left eye and wraps around to the back of his head, able to be seen through his hair due to the fact that no hair grows over the scar, leaving it exposed. Most of the time, he can be seen dressed in a generic grey hoodie with black leather gloves. His blue jeans are worn and weathered, with several rips and tears along the lower parts of the legs.
Personality: Gerald could be called a Sociopath. Of course, Gerald could also simply be called an observant man. With a talent for reading the faces and body language of people with such pinpoint accuracy that mist simply say that he's psychic. Most of the time, he can and will take advantage of this, seeing anything he can do to gain an upper hand as fair. He tends to talk to himself, not caring who listens to his rambles or what they think of him.
Biography: There were three of them. One on the roof, two patrolling the ground. Their patterns were simple and easily documented. If two teams of four assaulted the compound from the left side, they could have the entire place blindsided and take the building in thirty seconds, tops. He smiled. It was pitifully simple, documenting these human's patterns and crushing their defenses. This war was becoming less of a fight and more of a beating. As the Alien stood, he took one last look over the building that they were about to take. He felt like this might just be what got him out of this job. However, just as he was about to start making his way back to the base, a bullet flew through his head, taking the plans that would have destroyed the outpost with him.
Gerald sighed as the body dropped, sliding the derringer back into his waistband. So the outpost WAS under suspicion. Or, at least, surveillance. Either way, they had caught wind of what was going on, there. The young Gerald would have to tell his parents, the commander, or at least someone of SOME sort of authority. Of course, compared to Gerald, the janitor was practically a general. He turned around and walked down the hill. When he got back to the outpost, he waved his usual hello to the guard on the roof, who unlocked the blast door for him to walk through. When he heard the door close behind him, he rose his hands into the air. "The front of my waistband. One shot derringer, used." The lights popped on and several guards lowered their weapons, having been on alert due to the gunshot heard in the mountains. Gerald smiled. At least these people wouldn't have gone down easy....
Ten years later
The barrel of the pistol was a little heavier then usual. Gerald would have to find a way to get that fixed. He would have to have Francis look it over. Of course, the official gunsmith on base might be able to do something equally as good without the sarcastic comments about how the gun's barrel and Gerald's both looked a little small. Francis was a master at keeping a straight face. If Gerald hadn't known him for nearly seven years now, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between when he was joking and when he wasn't. But he knew, and that's what made Francis so goddamned hilarious. Because most people didn't know when he was joking, and some of the reactions that the apprentice gunsmith got were priceless. Gerald ejected the empty clip from the pistol, letting it hit the ground with the kind of echoing thud that told him that the other soldiers had already left. If they were here, that thud would have been drowned out in the sounds of gunfire.
His aim was still not as good as it could be. As Gerald reviewed the target he had been shooting at, he was already critiquing rudimentary things, such as his breathing pace and his heart rate, all of which were monitored by the medical implants the doctors made him wear. In all honesty, he shouldn't have even been shooting. He wasn't a soldier. He was a profiler. His job was to analyze the enemy, not shoot at them. But he knew that the outpost was going to be attacked, sooner or later. They all knew. Of course, none of the grunts knew why this was, and the support staff like Gerald had only heard rumors. Something about the project going on in the basement of the facility. The kind that only the top brass had clearance to know about. They say that this tiny little place marker of an outpost had stumbled across one of those "God Shell" things that everyone had heard about. The ones that were tearing up the battlefield, on the front lines. Gerald was skeptical. Even if they had found one, what use would they have of it? It's not like any of them knew how to use it....
It was then that the door was blown open, filling the range with smoke and shrapnel. Gerald immediately grabbed his pistol and hopped over the barrier, pressing his back against the concrete that would normally block people from entering the range itself, but was now providing the only cover between him and whatever was attacking him. He then realized that all he had was the pistol. He had left the ammo in his bag on the other side of the barrier. He peeked over the concrete for a split second, taking in a rudimentary outline of the situation. it was a team of three, each armed with some sort of rifle, and each in the exact wrong positions for him to get to his ammo. He couldn't bluff them. They were too high strung. They knew that someone was here, but none of them were sure who it was, or how good they were. Rookies... Gerald thought. These were new recruits. Probably on their first deployment. He could probably find a way to distract them, if he had his ammo. Of course, he could probably kill them, if he had his ammo. Either way, he didn't have his ammo, so he didn't have a plan.
He pulled back the slide, seeing the single round he forgot to eject from the pistol. This one time, he thanked god for his forgetful nature. He held the weapon in both hands, taking a peek over the barrier once more. Two aliens were inspecting his bag, while the other one was watching the door. he looked to be on some form of communicator. While Gerald couldn't understand the language spoken, he assumed that the creature was calling an all clear on the room, possibly getting another task to perform. That would have to mean that there was some form of authority on this project. Something like a commander might have been on site. Gerald sighed inwardly as he dropped back out of sight. Hopefully, they would leave soon. At least then he could get to his bag.
Roughly thirty minutes later, the three had left the room. Gerald was rooting through his bag, pulling out all the essential supplies he could find. He was glad that he had brought his silencer with him. He had intended to use it for target practice, seeing as the added weight would have affected his aim. He fixed the attachment onto his weapon, frowning at the obvious weight difference. The way he held his gun, this was going to be a problem. He would have to rely on stealth over all else, a field of study he hadn't quite learned. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching the door. He spun around and aimed his pistol at the entryway. His silencer hit Francis directly in the head. Gerald sighed with relief while his friend reacted to the pain, whispering exasperated shouts at Gerald. "The fuck did you do that, for?! Do I look like one of those freaks?" Gerald snickered. It was too easy. "It depends on the light."
After a punch to the arm and a quick rundown of the situation, Gerald sighed in frustration. There were at least 5 other teams, all with three aliens. The identity of the guy in charge was uncertain, but it was clear that, whoever it was, they weren't exactly dollar store stuff. This attack was perfectly planned and coordinated. They somehow knew the key points to strike at to get the maximum effect. They supposedly knew exactly who to kill to cripple the operations of the base. There were two possibilities. Either the commander was giving enemy scouts in depth tours of the facility, or they had a traitor among them. But they could worry about that later. They had to fix some shit....
Gerald peeked around the corner. He spotted two. He wasn't sure where the third was, but he was sure that it was close. The two of them had gotten two other teams, so far, leaving three teams left to go. He looked back to Francis, holding up two fingers. Francis nodded. Gerald turned the corner and aimed his pistol. A single shot hit the first creature in the head, alerting the second to Gerald's presence. That's when Francis turned the corner and popped the second guy. They both relaxed, sighing heavily. Gerald soon slipped his pistol into his waistband. That was his first mistake. He felt the metal against the back of his head, his eyes widening as he turned around. It was a gun, if you could call it that. It looked more like nothing more then a hunk of metal on a stick, twisted and broken looking in ways that seemed entirely dysfunctional. Francis turned and tried to hit the Alien with the butt of his gun. That was the second mistake.
The shot came from behind the Alien pointing the gun at Gerald, driving Francis to the ground. Gerald turned and watched as his best friend fell to the floor, a gaping hole in his chest. He shouted, only to get a hard hit to the back of the head. Gerald dropped to one knee, watching as several Aliens started to circle him. Was he going to die? Was this the end, now? One Alien walked forward, grabbing Gerald by the chin and forcing him to face the freak. This guy seemed bigger then the rest. Gerald could see that all the other aliens cringed in some sort of fear when he jerked Gerald's face side to side, looking him over. Roughly thirty seconds later, what Gerald assumed was the commander let go of his head and pulled a pistol looking thing from his waist, placing it against Gerald's forehead.
This was the third mistake.
The floor seemed to fall out from under Gerald, dropping him down to the basement just as the commander fired his weapon. The energy round skimmed over his face and curled around his head, searing off a large portion of the hair on his right side. As he fell, he was caught by a large, metal hand. When Gerald looked up, he saw it. It was a God Shell. Suddenly, he felt that he had to fix the pronoun, in that statement. It was HIS God Shell. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that this was his, now. He stood up and watched as the shoulder plating rose to reveal the way into the cockpit. He walked inside and sat at the chair, looking at the controls in front of him. He suddenly grinned widely.
This was going to be fun....
Six years later
Gerald sat leaning up against Seva, the butt of a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He didn't smoke the cigarette, but he was starting to wish he had. The battle in the distance was starting to drag on. He was tasked to let Seva Kiro sit on the horizon and intimidate the enemy. They both knew that his time was better spent on the battlefield itself, but the general wasn't happy with Gerald after he shot the general's car with Seva's Anti-matter sniper cannon. Said cannon could have been of use, here, but that asshole decided that this giant, useful, and incredibly powerful resource was better used as intimidation. Gerald tossed the butt aside and looked at the battle through his binoculars. Oh, look. Tanks. Gerald could already spot several high ranking officers that he could have easily hit with his sniper cannon. He just might, really. He had disobeyed orders before, and he had no reason not to again.
Fuck it. He thought. He knocked on the side of Seva Kiro, who lowered it's hand to let him get on. He climbed into the cockpit, cracking his knuckles. Seva then proceeded to extend it's right arm. The Anti-Matter Sniper Cannon materialized in it's hand. It was roughly half as tall as Seva itself and was colored very similarly. Seva's right hand transitioned from the grip on the top to the handle under a thick guard, while the left hand grabbed the top grip. Gerald's HUD lit up, showing the trajectory for the artillery shells that the cannon would fire. The left hand moved up and pulled back one of the two fins on the side, loading a shell into the chamber. It then pulled a black lever up, turning the safety on the cannon off. as the hand transitioned back to the grip, Gerald adjusted the aim on the rifle, aiming for one of the vehicles that obviously held one of the enemies commanding officers. Once the cannon was charged and ready, he fired the round. The recoil was a bitch.
Gerald smiled as the vehicle exploded. He loved it when things like that exploded. Not because they were the enemy, but because whatever fuel they were using burned in such beautiful colors. He re-positioned the rifle to aim for another obvious commanding vehicle. It also exploded in such a nice way. He continued this pattern for roughly thirty minutes, taking down vehicles one after another until he had exhausted his stock. Nothing was as fun as this. Like knocking down dominoes in a line. This was what he had lived for. This is what he had come to love. This is the reason he was honorably discharged from the service after failing a psyche evaluation. He was discharged as a war hero, having killed many, many important people in his long range rampage. He grew to hate them all the same.
Aspirations/Dreams: Gerald really has no true "dreams". He sets his goals as he goes, taking life in stride.
-------------------------
Mecha Name: Seva Kiro
Appearance:
Characteristics: Seva could be called a sniper mech, but is actually better suited for medium range combat. It's not an intelligent being, but is smart enough to know how not to kill it's own side.
Traits:
By the Power of Greyskull
Weapon Summoning x2
Sentient
The Undying
Ice-Rink
Equipment: Heavy Caliber Assault Rifle | Anti-matter sniper cannon
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gerald holds his ground at 6'3" with the lack of muscle mass to capitalize, on the intimidation front. His medium length hair is a light brown that generally hangs over his blue eyes. His pale skin has several deep and pronounced scars, the most prominent one being a large and jagged facial scar that extends through his left eye and wraps around to the back of his head, able to be seen through his hair due to the fact that no hair grows over the scar, leaving it exposed. Most of the time, he can be seen dressed in a generic grey hoodie with black leather gloves. His blue jeans are worn and weathered, with several rips and tears along the lower parts of the legs.
Personality: Gerald could be called a Sociopath. Of course, Gerald could also simply be called an observant man. With a talent for reading the faces and body language of people with such pinpoint accuracy that mist simply say that he's psychic. Most of the time, he can and will take advantage of this, seeing anything he can do to gain an upper hand as fair. He tends to talk to himself, not caring who listens to his rambles or what they think of him.
Biography: There were three of them. One on the roof, two patrolling the ground. Their patterns were simple and easily documented. If two teams of four assaulted the compound from the left side, they could have the entire place blindsided and take the building in thirty seconds, tops. He smiled. It was pitifully simple, documenting these human's patterns and crushing their defenses. This war was becoming less of a fight and more of a beating. As the Alien stood, he took one last look over the building that they were about to take. He felt like this might just be what got him out of this job. However, just as he was about to start making his way back to the base, a bullet flew through his head, taking the plans that would have destroyed the outpost with him.
Gerald sighed as the body dropped, sliding the derringer back into his waistband. So the outpost WAS under suspicion. Or, at least, surveillance. Either way, they had caught wind of what was going on, there. The young Gerald would have to tell his parents, the commander, or at least someone of SOME sort of authority. Of course, compared to Gerald, the janitor was practically a general. He turned around and walked down the hill. When he got back to the outpost, he waved his usual hello to the guard on the roof, who unlocked the blast door for him to walk through. When he heard the door close behind him, he rose his hands into the air. "The front of my waistband. One shot derringer, used." The lights popped on and several guards lowered their weapons, having been on alert due to the gunshot heard in the mountains. Gerald smiled. At least these people wouldn't have gone down easy....
Ten years later
The barrel of the pistol was a little heavier then usual. Gerald would have to find a way to get that fixed. He would have to have Francis look it over. Of course, the official gunsmith on base might be able to do something equally as good without the sarcastic comments about how the gun's barrel and Gerald's both looked a little small. Francis was a master at keeping a straight face. If Gerald hadn't known him for nearly seven years now, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between when he was joking and when he wasn't. But he knew, and that's what made Francis so goddamned hilarious. Because most people didn't know when he was joking, and some of the reactions that the apprentice gunsmith got were priceless. Gerald ejected the empty clip from the pistol, letting it hit the ground with the kind of echoing thud that told him that the other soldiers had already left. If they were here, that thud would have been drowned out in the sounds of gunfire.
His aim was still not as good as it could be. As Gerald reviewed the target he had been shooting at, he was already critiquing rudimentary things, such as his breathing pace and his heart rate, all of which were monitored by the medical implants the doctors made him wear. In all honesty, he shouldn't have even been shooting. He wasn't a soldier. He was a profiler. His job was to analyze the enemy, not shoot at them. But he knew that the outpost was going to be attacked, sooner or later. They all knew. Of course, none of the grunts knew why this was, and the support staff like Gerald had only heard rumors. Something about the project going on in the basement of the facility. The kind that only the top brass had clearance to know about. They say that this tiny little place marker of an outpost had stumbled across one of those "God Shell" things that everyone had heard about. The ones that were tearing up the battlefield, on the front lines. Gerald was skeptical. Even if they had found one, what use would they have of it? It's not like any of them knew how to use it....
It was then that the door was blown open, filling the range with smoke and shrapnel. Gerald immediately grabbed his pistol and hopped over the barrier, pressing his back against the concrete that would normally block people from entering the range itself, but was now providing the only cover between him and whatever was attacking him. He then realized that all he had was the pistol. He had left the ammo in his bag on the other side of the barrier. He peeked over the concrete for a split second, taking in a rudimentary outline of the situation. it was a team of three, each armed with some sort of rifle, and each in the exact wrong positions for him to get to his ammo. He couldn't bluff them. They were too high strung. They knew that someone was here, but none of them were sure who it was, or how good they were. Rookies... Gerald thought. These were new recruits. Probably on their first deployment. He could probably find a way to distract them, if he had his ammo. Of course, he could probably kill them, if he had his ammo. Either way, he didn't have his ammo, so he didn't have a plan.
He pulled back the slide, seeing the single round he forgot to eject from the pistol. This one time, he thanked god for his forgetful nature. He held the weapon in both hands, taking a peek over the barrier once more. Two aliens were inspecting his bag, while the other one was watching the door. he looked to be on some form of communicator. While Gerald couldn't understand the language spoken, he assumed that the creature was calling an all clear on the room, possibly getting another task to perform. That would have to mean that there was some form of authority on this project. Something like a commander might have been on site. Gerald sighed inwardly as he dropped back out of sight. Hopefully, they would leave soon. At least then he could get to his bag.
Roughly thirty minutes later, the three had left the room. Gerald was rooting through his bag, pulling out all the essential supplies he could find. He was glad that he had brought his silencer with him. He had intended to use it for target practice, seeing as the added weight would have affected his aim. He fixed the attachment onto his weapon, frowning at the obvious weight difference. The way he held his gun, this was going to be a problem. He would have to rely on stealth over all else, a field of study he hadn't quite learned. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching the door. He spun around and aimed his pistol at the entryway. His silencer hit Francis directly in the head. Gerald sighed with relief while his friend reacted to the pain, whispering exasperated shouts at Gerald. "The fuck did you do that, for?! Do I look like one of those freaks?" Gerald snickered. It was too easy. "It depends on the light."
After a punch to the arm and a quick rundown of the situation, Gerald sighed in frustration. There were at least 5 other teams, all with three aliens. The identity of the guy in charge was uncertain, but it was clear that, whoever it was, they weren't exactly dollar store stuff. This attack was perfectly planned and coordinated. They somehow knew the key points to strike at to get the maximum effect. They supposedly knew exactly who to kill to cripple the operations of the base. There were two possibilities. Either the commander was giving enemy scouts in depth tours of the facility, or they had a traitor among them. But they could worry about that later. They had to fix some shit....
Gerald peeked around the corner. He spotted two. He wasn't sure where the third was, but he was sure that it was close. The two of them had gotten two other teams, so far, leaving three teams left to go. He looked back to Francis, holding up two fingers. Francis nodded. Gerald turned the corner and aimed his pistol. A single shot hit the first creature in the head, alerting the second to Gerald's presence. That's when Francis turned the corner and popped the second guy. They both relaxed, sighing heavily. Gerald soon slipped his pistol into his waistband. That was his first mistake. He felt the metal against the back of his head, his eyes widening as he turned around. It was a gun, if you could call it that. It looked more like nothing more then a hunk of metal on a stick, twisted and broken looking in ways that seemed entirely dysfunctional. Francis turned and tried to hit the Alien with the butt of his gun. That was the second mistake.
The shot came from behind the Alien pointing the gun at Gerald, driving Francis to the ground. Gerald turned and watched as his best friend fell to the floor, a gaping hole in his chest. He shouted, only to get a hard hit to the back of the head. Gerald dropped to one knee, watching as several Aliens started to circle him. Was he going to die? Was this the end, now? One Alien walked forward, grabbing Gerald by the chin and forcing him to face the freak. This guy seemed bigger then the rest. Gerald could see that all the other aliens cringed in some sort of fear when he jerked Gerald's face side to side, looking him over. Roughly thirty seconds later, what Gerald assumed was the commander let go of his head and pulled a pistol looking thing from his waist, placing it against Gerald's forehead.
This was the third mistake.
The floor seemed to fall out from under Gerald, dropping him down to the basement just as the commander fired his weapon. The energy round skimmed over his face and curled around his head, searing off a large portion of the hair on his right side. As he fell, he was caught by a large, metal hand. When Gerald looked up, he saw it. It was a God Shell. Suddenly, he felt that he had to fix the pronoun, in that statement. It was HIS God Shell. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that this was his, now. He stood up and watched as the shoulder plating rose to reveal the way into the cockpit. He walked inside and sat at the chair, looking at the controls in front of him. He suddenly grinned widely.
This was going to be fun....
Six years later
Gerald sat leaning up against Seva, the butt of a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He didn't smoke the cigarette, but he was starting to wish he had. The battle in the distance was starting to drag on. He was tasked to let Seva Kiro sit on the horizon and intimidate the enemy. They both knew that his time was better spent on the battlefield itself, but the general wasn't happy with Gerald after he shot the general's car with Seva's Anti-matter sniper cannon. Said cannon could have been of use, here, but that asshole decided that this giant, useful, and incredibly powerful resource was better used as intimidation. Gerald tossed the butt aside and looked at the battle through his binoculars. Oh, look. Tanks. Gerald could already spot several high ranking officers that he could have easily hit with his sniper cannon. He just might, really. He had disobeyed orders before, and he had no reason not to again.
Fuck it. He thought. He knocked on the side of Seva Kiro, who lowered it's hand to let him get on. He climbed into the cockpit, cracking his knuckles. Seva then proceeded to extend it's right arm. The Anti-Matter Sniper Cannon materialized in it's hand. It was roughly half as tall as Seva itself and was colored very similarly. Seva's right hand transitioned from the grip on the top to the handle under a thick guard, while the left hand grabbed the top grip. Gerald's HUD lit up, showing the trajectory for the artillery shells that the cannon would fire. The left hand moved up and pulled back one of the two fins on the side, loading a shell into the chamber. It then pulled a black lever up, turning the safety on the cannon off. as the hand transitioned back to the grip, Gerald adjusted the aim on the rifle, aiming for one of the vehicles that obviously held one of the enemies commanding officers. Once the cannon was charged and ready, he fired the round. The recoil was a bitch.
Gerald smiled as the vehicle exploded. He loved it when things like that exploded. Not because they were the enemy, but because whatever fuel they were using burned in such beautiful colors. He re-positioned the rifle to aim for another obvious commanding vehicle. It also exploded in such a nice way. He continued this pattern for roughly thirty minutes, taking down vehicles one after another until he had exhausted his stock. Nothing was as fun as this. Like knocking down dominoes in a line. This was what he had lived for. This is what he had come to love. This is the reason he was honorably discharged from the service after failing a psyche evaluation. He was discharged as a war hero, having killed many, many important people in his long range rampage. He grew to hate them all the same.
Aspirations/Dreams: Gerald really has no true "dreams". He sets his goals as he goes, taking life in stride.
-------------------------
Mecha Name: Seva Kiro
Appearance:
Characteristics: Seva could be called a sniper mech, but is actually better suited for medium range combat. It's not an intelligent being, but is smart enough to know how not to kill it's own side.
Traits:
By the Power of Greyskull
Weapon Summoning x2
Sentient
The Undying
Ice-Rink
Equipment: Heavy Caliber Assault Rifle | Anti-matter sniper cannon
Last edited by a moderator:
A
Asuras
Guest
Original poster
It'd be the most viable option, really. Beyond a vibroblade you've got heat blades which are a tad bit slower.
Gerald Sinn is accepted. Awesome biography.
D
Daws Combine
Guest
Original poster
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- Female
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U
UnseenShade
Guest
Original poster
Which is stealthier, progressive or vibro? I need to keep that in mind for my mech
Also, editing my weapons to reflect a change from Gauss to railguns
Also, editing my weapons to reflect a change from Gauss to railguns
Last edited:
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Vibroblades and Progressive blades are the same if I remember correctly, just differently named.
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A
Asuras
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Original poster
Patience my friend. Most likely on Tuesday as Monday's are extremely busy for me.
Orion Caster is accepted!
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Please tell me you got the idea for the grey great cloak from Arpeggio of Blue Steel. In honesty I'm hoping you did because that may mean you like my favorite fast battleship.
lol.
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A
Asuras
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A
Asuras
Guest
Original poster
With 8 players currently accepted, one having stated they will make a CS in this thread, and another having talked to me through PMs, we effectively have 10 players. With that, I am closing submissions unless either one fails to submit their CS by the time IC starts on Tuesday.
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