Quote:The basic point of this thread is to provide the community with quick updates regarding all the characters I play. These might be ideas I have floating around, continuations of current stories, or updates regarding encounters ingame. I hope you enjoy it and if anyone has any feedback - Please do get in touch.
Quote:Fergus Campbell is a character I have a lot of fun playing. Mainly because he's the complete opposite of me and yet includes many of my traits. Yes he's Scottish and enjoys a drink, much like me, but he's also heavily violent, a nuisance and highly unreasonable. In the presence of friends, he comes across as a man terrifyingly happy in his own violent world. In the presence of enemies, he comes across worse. He is steely determined to save Bretonia using any, and all, means necessary.
Fergus Campbell
The Sgean Dubh, tattered and charred, limps its way back to the Tau-23 Gate Construction site. Another run in with the ever expanding Gallic forces was taking its toil on the aging ship and tired crew.
"We made it oot Fergie. Nae chasers." "Wish 'ese lads would just sod aff y'know? Hard enuf as is tae get stuff aff these miners wi' tha' IMG wings in full flow. Now Gallics n'all! Can ye get tha' starbard engines fixed Dougal?" "I'll try boss, thing is - tha' regulators are all duffed. Best bet is tae hit a couple o'Kusari transports - Nick a few engine components n'stuff aff them." "I sense a'but comin'." "We're in nae even a fit state tae attack a nancy boy's backside if we 'ere drunk enough n'had the inclination."
Dougal was a good friend of Fergus's. Loyal, trustworthy and great with a wrench - He hardly let him down. He was also, rather frustratingly, good at telling things matter of factly. If they were screwed, he would say so.
"I gotta fightah on tha' station - Whit if I went after it mysel'? Withoot the Dubh?" "If ye can fit a whole new power core intae yer dratting Templar go right ahead pal. Look - If I patch 'er up a bit, I'll take yer Templar n'you take the Dubh. We just need a lucky break wi' tha' right convoy, the right parts n'tha right place n'time. Hopefully it's nae well defended either." "N'if it is?" "Yer nae even gonnae have a chance tae pull yer pants down."
Quote:Major Han Xu requires few words to describe him. Cold, calculating and vicious. He displays all the characteristics required to survive in the battlefield that is the SCRA fighter corps. Ridiculiously uncaring, it is not uncommon for the rest of the fighters in his patrol wing to either die - Or be left behind. The only men he respects are the ones who don't die near him and can keep pace with him.
Han Xu
The latest refit was complete. He stroked the console as he slowly lowered himself into the new leather chair. The ship had a that new smell again and Xu was happy for it. The touch-screen interfaces chirped as he tapped in commands. All new sensor equipment, a heavily advanced computer core, total redesign of the interfaces - The Xi'an was once again reaffirmed as the most advanced Gunboat in the fleet. The smile on his face was promptly ended by a young boy holding a wrench.
"Why aren't you dead?" "The Social Credit isn't a death trap Moron, I can fix it you know!" "Yes it is Cruz, every time you go near it - I wish that a console would just explode in your face. At the very least, something could do me the pleasure of smashing onto your little head"
The former Scout of Troop 2-14 laughed, which riled Xu more. Cruz was one of a dying breed. In fact, there were only two of the original number of Troop 2-14 left. Cruz and the equally annoying brat that was Alvarez. There would be times that Xu was so annoyed he would simply wish for a quick painless death to the idiots. He shook his head, No.. If the brats were to die - He wanted a front row seat, popcorn and it to involve copious amounts of blood.
"Well.. Why are you annoying me and on my ship?!" "Our ship dude. Our. Guess who's your new engineer! Oh yeah oh yeah!"
Rage upon disappointment upon anger upon confusion swirled around the head of the fiery Major. He looked around.. Nothing heavy and blunt within arms reach.. Except the wrench in the Scout's hand, but before Xu could even think of grabbing it off him and smashing his face in - Thomas Cruz had skipped merrily out of the cockpit. Xu stared upwards.
Quote:Matt Smith is my first and original character. Basically, he's me. The nice Scottish guy. He's had a rough time of things though - From heartbreak to home-wrecking, he's all alone in a heavy job at rubbish pay. The war has pretty much killed his soul, but there is always hope.
Matt Smith
He slumped down on his bunk, another day of patrolling done. From pathetic pirates who didn't know when they were outmatched, to idiotic trade captains running aground in the trade lanes. He'd had enough, and the bottle of whisky next to him seemed ever so appealing.
"C'mere darling. Least yer on me side eh?"
He poured himself a glass and leaned back against the wall, his feet hanging over the side of his bunk. His Captain's quarters on the Missouri weren't spacious or grand, but they gave him a place to relax and unwind. Two things that Matt was getting less and less opportunities to do. A picture on his desk caught his eye. Four figures stood outside a grand house in the Denver Highlands, covered in snow. He sighed.
"Dad'll be oot soon. Now where tha' hell are ye John?!"
He powered on his desk computer. His father was due to be released in the next couple of months and released early for good behaviour as well which irked Matt. His mother was still missing, and the same could be said for John, his brother. Matt still had no idea what assignment he was on, and no-one in high command was taking his calls on the subject. Again - no messages, no reports, nothing. He hit the desk in frustration.
"Got more bloody luck wi' tha' Communists than findin' me own damn brother n'mother. How's that fair!? Argh!"
Annoyed, he finished his glass of whisky and dropped his head onto the pillow of his bunk. He dreamed of better times, of Angelina, of home and prayed that tomorrow's nightmare wouldn't be as difficult as today's.
Quote:Chun Ki Ling is my first SCRA character, and most of my characters stemming from my time in the SCRA are of Chinese descent. Now that he has risen to the rank of Commandant, Ling is highly centred around his fighter corps and will do everything in his power to protect them. This has put him on collision courses with the Commissariat on numerous occasions. Especially Commissar Mendal.
Chun Ki Ling
The Commandant stared at the heads up display, scanning the heavens for any hint of trouble. Corsair attacks along the borders were increasing, their insertions into Dublin intensifying and trouble was looming everywhere. His observation deck in the Kremlin Dome was his temporary home while Gorodok was being repaired following the TALOS incident.
"A small build up of forces in Omega-49 Commandant, looks like several Correo freighters." "My my, aren't they getting bold. Alert the Mollys and dispatch our closest strike patrol. Are they defended?" "No Commandant." "They're probably picking the bones of some corpse, do not allow them to do so."
He turned on his heel and left the room. He preferred to never say if he was entering or leaving a room, purely to gauge the reaction of his staff and pilots. Do they say things behind his back? Or do they purposefully leave out details when speaking with him? He found his favourite balcony spot and looked out across the Domed City. The air was bitingly cold, Volgograd had just entered it's heavy winter phase. On an ice planet, it did not mean much to normal person - However the residents of this planet could tell. Ten degrees Celsius less than usual meant the heat generators were now working overtime. Something that Ling would monitor. He sighed and headed back towards his tactical displays - Awaiting the next crisis.
The two beasts of the Coalition, The Havana and the Karl Marx sat idly by as two workforces slowly worked along their hulls. Bits of missiles, shrapnel and broken hull platings were all removed and replaced with new heavy palladium hull panels. Two identical umbilical chords draped down from the repair yard to connect with the battleships to provide the necessary power. Inside the ships, small teams made their way up the decks tearing out old and outdated equipment. A second team followed them, recovering the material for recycling. A third team followed the first two and replaced the computers and consoles, electrical grids and relays. This formation kept a high pace, working all through the day and night to meet the strict deadlines of General Rhade. Weeks of planning meant that the Battleships would only be in dry dock for three days. The upgraded Storms and XKR fighters stood guard, while the ever present Kurt Eisner, Trotsky and Dongfeng held the higher line at the Omega-5 jumphole. One of the Storms patrolling the area was the Xi'an.
"Lieutenant Li, I'm still getting an unnecessary tug to the starboard side. Re-set the engines again." "I got it, I got it!" "No Cruz, stay focused on the SPAI arrays. I'm still picking up interference. Li can handle it." "Man, I'm a full Lieutenant now! I can fix stuff! That's why the Commandant sent me here personally!" "No, the Commandant sent you here to either have you killed or...." "Or....?" "He has a developed a terrible sense of humour."
The Major turned to his Co-Pilot who obliged in moving aft to the engine room. Since the new EVO refit, the Engine room was much smaller with a completely redesigned H-Fuel reactor. It doubled the maximum time a Storm can stay out in space and now that the bugs with the AI TALOS were slowly being ironed out - A whole new generation of Storms were beginning to take shape. It was truly an exciting time to be in the Coalition. Cruz moved up to sit in the Co-Pilots chair.
"What do you think you are doing?!" "Dude, he's gone back there. That means I come up here... Duh. You can't fly the ship yourself." "Oh can I not?" "Yeah, it's some rule. Besides, look - With these fancy consoles.. I can get "Commissars gone Wild."
Xu twitched and tightened his grip on the joystick. His teeth gritted and he snapped his head to the right.
The small BMM base in Tau-23 wasn't much to look at. On the last frontier of Bretonia and surrounded by enemies, it stubbornly held a light for Bretonia against the darkness. On board the station, the docking bay was dark and quiet. A lone figure emerged from the shadows to meet a man leaning against an Eagle fighter.
"You have my money?" "Aye, ye got me goods?" "Round the back, show me the money." "I'm nae daft pal, if ye want tae make it oot 'ere in one piece - Ye'll dae as I say an' show me tha' goods afore I gi' ye yer cash." "Don't get funny with me sir, I know you guys out here are desperate but boy, in Liberty we do things different - And you show your.. suppliers.. with some more respect y'hear son?"
Fergus looked at the man menacingly. This Southern Libertonian was far from home, yet he gave no indication of fear or of someone who didn't know what he was doing. He tried to remember some Libertonian Expression.. It involved Rodeos.. He took out a small packet from his overalls and threw it at the man.
"It all here?" "Ye doubt mah honour!?" "There ain't no honour boy, there's money and business. I have what you want, you've now paid me for my excellent services. Now, look here - See? Exactly to your specifications."
He walked around the back of the fighter to see localised power units, flow regulators and a brand new power distribution matrix. Exactly what he needed and on closer inspection, all with their serial numbers worn off to prevent identification.
"Now if you're happy, I have a client in Kusari who needs some lovely..."
Fergus swung and the man hit the deck. It was quick and effortless. A blaster or a gun would have set every alarm on the station off, but a metal rod and enough force were enough to smash the man's skull. He quickly picked the limp body up from the deck and repossessed the packet he had thrown at the man. He was murmuring and still breathing, but not for long. Setting the man down in the cargo bay of his Eagle, Fergus then climbed into the cockpit and launched. He moved towards the Neutron star and checked that no-one was within scanner range. He opened the cargo bay.
Omega-52 was fast reaching a new hive of activity. The new Trotsky cruisers were nearing completion. Select numbers of XKR fighters were buzzing around their KSD variants while the orbital drive-yards continued to pump out updated Storm gunboats. The Havana and Karl Marx, fresh from refit, were conducting shake down cruises and weaponry tests at the edge of the Siberian Ice Fields. Major Xu looked on from his small vantage point onboard the Xi'an and smirked. Patience, he told himself, These new machines of war would only be the tip of the spear. His fingers danced over the touch screen interfaces and he mumbled to himself.
"Galactic revolution requires subtlety as well as force. A boxer is both graceful and powerful, but above all is patient - He will calmly wait for an opening to strike forth." "Dude, what you on about?"
Xu smirked to himself again. The idiot Cruz may well have an annoying lucky streak that so far meant he had avoided the Major's traps, but he did not see the intricacies of the grant plan. He turned to him, pointed at the door and make the galactic "Get lost" gesture. His patrol pattern took them away from the Battleships and deep into the ice fields. A few minutes later, A beep on the sensor panel demanded his full attention. Suddenly, he was puzzled.
"What? That can't be right..."
Higher than normal neutrino counts. It could mean a number of things, after all this was the general location that the then Major Ling exploded out of a time vortex. He was about to push on for a closer look when the Xi'an was hailed, by none other than the Commandant himself. He smiled, it had been a while since they had last spoke.
"Ah, Chun! What can I do for you?" "Turn around Major." "I'm sorry?" "I know where you are Major Xu. Turn around now and head back to base." "Of course sir, but I think we've..." "Found nothing. Lest you want the Xi'an obliterated, you will follow my orders. All I will say, is that it is not yet the time Major. Turn around and speak nothing of this."
The transmission abruptly ended. The strange readings where another 20k into the ice field, but he did not dare to disobey direct orders from the Commandant. Especially not with the Havana and Karl Marx skirting around the ice field. He spun the ship around. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that the four man cockpit only contained himself and sighed disappointingly. If Cruz was about, he'd have shot him for overhearing the conversation.
It had been a long time since Fergus or any of the crew of the Sgean Dubh had seen the bright reddish glow of Bretonia. Days had turned into weeks, and weeks into months as they fought and stole and scrapped - All for Her Majesty. Fergus stared at the screen in front of him. They had lost sight of what they were actually fighting for. Fresh orders, if you could call them that, had come in and he grinned from ear to ear.
"This is tha' best damn thin' tha' eejit Moore has done. Lads! We're aff tae dae some cleaning!" "Whit we hittin' boss?" "Everythin' tha' Queen wants dead and tha' oor troops cannae take oot." "Well.. Where we daein' that Fergus?!" "Hame Dougal. We're gowin' hame."
He sat down in the tattered chair while his team worked around him, the Dubh was still in a beaten up shape but somehow, the ship - a mere inanimate and lifeless object - seemed to know what was happening.
"Cruise Engine system online - First time as well!" "Aye? Ach, tha' boys right! Temp's all in tha' green. Shield grids good.. We're nae gonnae fall apart taeday." "Heh, good girl. Stay like tha' eh? Set coorse fae Dublin! If we beat all tha' other boys gettin' down 'ere, whisky's oan me!"
Fergus stroked the fabric on the side of his chair, as if to be gently caressing a horse as whoops and cheers echoed through the ship. The Sgean Dubh lurched off into the horizon, heading home
The Xi'an sat peacefully and quietly above the Omega-5 jumphole in the Coalition's home system. Two weeks of non-stop patrol duty at the edges of Omega-52 was nearing an end. After taking on a few more supplies from the Kurt Eisner, Major Xu was monitoring their unloading and storage.
"Crate 1b1 goes there. 1b2 there." "Man this is bone dead boring stuff, can't we go shoot somebody or something!?!" "Oh? You would like to disobey direct orders from the Commandant? Perhaps you would like to take the ship on a merry jaunt to.. Oh I don't know.. Crete?"
The boy was seriously pushing his luck today. Two weeks cramped on this ship with little action had frayed nerves and Han was desperately close to throwing Lt Cruz out the airlock. He stared at the sheepish kid, who turned and finished placing the crates onto the shelves.
"Thought not. Finish up with 1b3 and 1b4, oh and try to be careful with 1b4. It contains some lovely experimental munitions, screw up and drop the box and it'll explode on you and take the cargo bay along with it. Oh and it has to go on the top shelf there. For your own safety Thomas, I'm going out the room and locking the door. That way, if you screw up - You'll only kill yourself." "Hang on.. what?!"
The Major joyfully locked the small cargo bay shut and proceeded back into the cockpit. He sat in the pilots chair and turned on the security feed to the cargo bay. He grinned to himself as the poor boy sweated and panicked. Looking at each box in turn, Lt Cruz seemed confused over which box was which, where they were going and how to accomplish the task. Han sat back in his chair and grinned, even bursting out laughing as the poor boy delicately picked up the box marked *CAUTION*. There was nothing experimental or dangerous in 1b4 at all. Han, merely, was having some fun. He hit the record button.
"Oh please drop it, if only to see how brown your trousers go. Please..."
The Xi'an was moving towards Freeport 1 at a near impossible rate, with the engines taxed beyond their safe maximums. Two red entrails started at the EVO-Storm gunboat and trailed plasma behind it along it's flightpath before eventually fading into space. Major Xu stood to the back of the gunboat with a comm uplink to the Commissariat, the communication was nearing its end.
"..and I swear to uphold the very fabric of the Katz Manifesto. Spirit and word." "Do not fail us at this conference Commissar-Major. That will be all. *click*" "Dude - you look totally pimped. Can I, like, slow the ship down now before we go Ka-boom?!" "Should I be worried at our excess speed Lieutenant? After all, you are the Chief Engineer. Are your engineering skills too poor, or the ship too frail to do what is asked?"
Cruz gulped. A genuine fear for his life set in. The title and uniform bestowed on the Major now meant that he was almost beyond reproach. While the Commandant still held the rank and privilege of commander of the Fighter Corps - The Commissariat were his enforcers. Their reach and influence was above the Commandant, above the Premier.. The boy's imagination ran wild.
"It has taken a long time for you to fully respect me Lt Cruz. You shall do so now and forever more. Otherwise, I do hope you enjoy that last breakfast of yours before you choke to death on your own tongue." "Ummm...?!" "There are just so many unique ways in which to kill you!"
The Commissar-Major gently pulled his ceremonial uniform down at the sleeves and checked his cuff-links. Today was a very special day indeed. Albeit late, the Coalition was attending a certain conference - And Commissar-Major Xu was their delegation. Cruz looked at the overly smug and evil Major and thought to himself - "They couldn't have picked anyone worse to deliver a message."
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