11-06-2013, 08:51 PM
Weslie "Wes" Dallas was born on planet New London, Bretonia, and was originally named Vincent Camwell. He received a good education, thanks to the moderate wealth of his family. He then worked as a mechanic for 3 years. At the age of 21, he took to the stars, flying a modified pelican named 'Plucky-2'. He spent for years as a freelance Trader and escort for Bretonian convoys, once saving a BMM convoy from a hostile attack, and getting 56 kills during that time of his life. So, it wasn't an interesting life so far. But it gets better. He signed up for the BAF at the age of 25, and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant before a year was done. At the battle of Leeds, his ship, a 'hussar' light fighter, was crippled, and he was declared dead. But, after a month of sitting in his cramp cockpit with nothing to eat, he was finally rescued by a BAF raider. By now he was pretty annoyed. His ship was destroyed, his teapot was lost, and he felt ashamed of his failure to defend Leeds. As soon as the ship touched the ground at planet New London, he bolted, running into the shipyards. And that's where this story begins...
Chapter 1 ~ Amnesia
Vincent ran for his life, dodging workmen and crates that were scattered all around the crowded shipyard. He could sense the armed forces were after him, probably wondering why he'd bolted. He wasn't going to let them get him. He'd had well more than he'd signed up for, and lost much of his once-massive patriotism. That'd gone down with his ship, he mused. No one really acknowledged him, to his relief. These workers. they'd seen it all. He rushed round a corner. A huge transport was moored there, undergoing serious repairs. He ignored it, running towards the grey horizon of towering skyscrapers. The city. He could here shouting behind him. They were catching up. Soon they would be right next to him, tazers armed. He risked a glance behind him.
He wasn't conscious enough to regret it.
Mr Camwell slammed into a door at full pelt, smashing it off it's hinges.
When he woke, it was nearly dark.
He stroked his sore head. Then something important and annoying occurred to him...who the hell was he?
Where in the world was he?
Why in the world was he lying on a door?
He dragged himself to his feet, confused.
"Blimey..." He groaned. He checked his pockets. "Why in this bally world am I wearing this ruddy ol' uniform?" He pulled out some pieces of paper. "Maybe I'll remember what's going on if I look at these..." He said, quietly. He threw some coupons for weeping widows away hastily, and looked at the last card, hoping against hope it'd give him a clue of who he was. The only thing on the paper was a large phrase: 'Wes Dallas' and a large picture of a teapot. "Hmm..."He thought. Was this his name? It must be...He suddenly was aware of his lack of a good teapot, something all true Bretonians carried around...But then he thought, what if he wasn't Bretonian? Wes Dallas seemed entirely foreign... Libertonian. He was Libetonian? He didn't feel like it. But he did feel the need to get drunk on Liberty ale... So maybe he was.
He wandered out of the room he was in.
He saw a group of men, talking to each other. In Libertonian accents.
"Hey there" One called.
"'Ello" He called back, walking towards the group.
Wes and the gang then had a chat together. He soon found they were all quite money-less and confused, and had all suffered a similar problem with amnesia, though only two others out the six suffered the door problem. They'd soon all become good friends, and they all decided they should try and make money, so that they could buy a ship together and take to the stars. After all, that was the place to be.
So Wes, Michigan, Mississippi, Tex, Whiskey (a drunk) , Denver and Pittsburgh become a group of mates, each working in New London to make a stake, enough to buy a decent ship for them all.
Chapter 2 ~ to Liberty!
After just one day, the team had got a 'Condor' gunboat (Tex' had won the lottery), and taken off from the planet.It was christened 'Sherman', and the whole team loved it. Together, they managed to fly the thing, each finding they had one skill or another needed for flying it. They met a trader in a ship called iZen, and escorted it to planet Manhatten, New York. However, on the way, at the California system, they encountered pirates. Thanks to the skill on Michigan, the radio guy, iZen flew right above them, and made it safely to New York, and eventually Manhattan. That didn't stop the team from attempting to leech off the pirates' efforts, trying to look like part of the gang so that they could get some Rheinbier from the Rheinlander they were pirating at the time. Unfortunately, they failed, and flew off to regroup with iZen. iZen payed extra for their efforts, a handsome sum of just over 3600000 credits. So Wes got all the Liberty ale he wanted that day (5 gallons). Whiskey beat him though, drinking 3 gallons of whiskey, and an amazing 6 gallons of Liberty ale. He was out cold for the rest of the day, so the team had a well deserved nights sleep in Sherman,
//Don't post on this unless you are in the unlikely position of being given permission from me. You can throw your abusive comments at me via PM, where they will be thoroughly ignored. Thanks.
Chapter 1 ~ Amnesia
Vincent ran for his life, dodging workmen and crates that were scattered all around the crowded shipyard. He could sense the armed forces were after him, probably wondering why he'd bolted. He wasn't going to let them get him. He'd had well more than he'd signed up for, and lost much of his once-massive patriotism. That'd gone down with his ship, he mused. No one really acknowledged him, to his relief. These workers. they'd seen it all. He rushed round a corner. A huge transport was moored there, undergoing serious repairs. He ignored it, running towards the grey horizon of towering skyscrapers. The city. He could here shouting behind him. They were catching up. Soon they would be right next to him, tazers armed. He risked a glance behind him.
He wasn't conscious enough to regret it.
Mr Camwell slammed into a door at full pelt, smashing it off it's hinges.
When he woke, it was nearly dark.
He stroked his sore head. Then something important and annoying occurred to him...who the hell was he?
Where in the world was he?
Why in the world was he lying on a door?
He dragged himself to his feet, confused.
"Blimey..." He groaned. He checked his pockets. "Why in this bally world am I wearing this ruddy ol' uniform?" He pulled out some pieces of paper. "Maybe I'll remember what's going on if I look at these..." He said, quietly. He threw some coupons for weeping widows away hastily, and looked at the last card, hoping against hope it'd give him a clue of who he was. The only thing on the paper was a large phrase: 'Wes Dallas' and a large picture of a teapot. "Hmm..."He thought. Was this his name? It must be...He suddenly was aware of his lack of a good teapot, something all true Bretonians carried around...But then he thought, what if he wasn't Bretonian? Wes Dallas seemed entirely foreign... Libertonian. He was Libetonian? He didn't feel like it. But he did feel the need to get drunk on Liberty ale... So maybe he was.
He wandered out of the room he was in.
He saw a group of men, talking to each other. In Libertonian accents.
"Hey there" One called.
"'Ello" He called back, walking towards the group.
Wes and the gang then had a chat together. He soon found they were all quite money-less and confused, and had all suffered a similar problem with amnesia, though only two others out the six suffered the door problem. They'd soon all become good friends, and they all decided they should try and make money, so that they could buy a ship together and take to the stars. After all, that was the place to be.
So Wes, Michigan, Mississippi, Tex, Whiskey (a drunk) , Denver and Pittsburgh become a group of mates, each working in New London to make a stake, enough to buy a decent ship for them all.
Chapter 2 ~ to Liberty!
After just one day, the team had got a 'Condor' gunboat (Tex' had won the lottery), and taken off from the planet.It was christened 'Sherman', and the whole team loved it. Together, they managed to fly the thing, each finding they had one skill or another needed for flying it. They met a trader in a ship called iZen, and escorted it to planet Manhatten, New York. However, on the way, at the California system, they encountered pirates. Thanks to the skill on Michigan, the radio guy, iZen flew right above them, and made it safely to New York, and eventually Manhattan. That didn't stop the team from attempting to leech off the pirates' efforts, trying to look like part of the gang so that they could get some Rheinbier from the Rheinlander they were pirating at the time. Unfortunately, they failed, and flew off to regroup with iZen. iZen payed extra for their efforts, a handsome sum of just over 3600000 credits. So Wes got all the Liberty ale he wanted that day (5 gallons). Whiskey beat him though, drinking 3 gallons of whiskey, and an amazing 6 gallons of Liberty ale. He was out cold for the rest of the day, so the team had a well deserved nights sleep in Sherman,
//Don't post on this unless you are in the unlikely position of being given permission from me. You can throw your abusive comments at me via PM, where they will be thoroughly ignored. Thanks.