TheMightyDRGN's supr spechul app

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TheMightyDRGN's supr spechul app Empty TheMightyDRGN's supr spechul app

Post by  on Wed Apr 20, 2016 5:37 pm

Spoilers: This is satire. In the sense that it's nearly 9,000 words. Probably. Kind of. I realize that the 1st of April was long while ago, but still. Some people might understand what I’m trying to do here yet still – also 4/20 lol. if this gets accepted, i'm going to suffer a moral crisis. If this gets denied, this is going to be the first denied app I've had in years and my head will explode.

Steam Name: TheMightyDRaGoN
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:19286320
Profile Link: rrerr
Age: 19
How long have you been RPing: A long time.
How did you find us: Destiny.
Have you been banned from Singularity Gaming: If this doesn't get me banned, then no.

Name: 'Piss Falcon Actual' or Kvar’ noskov.
Age: Born 2166. 20 years of age.
Species: Raloi
MOS (Military Occupational Specialty): Quartermaster/Armorer
You do understand as this is a private server and you have filled out a Application you can be removed from the Server or have your Character taken away within reason at any moment: jawohl mein herr
Two Paragraph Backstory (For Returning players it is only one Paragraph), Five to Seven Sentences per Paragraph:
Turvess, a particularly large planet within a previously uncharted system. Homeworld to the Raloi, an avian species who would eventually come to adapt to the harsh nature of living on within the galactic community that was host to rampant shifts in diplomacy. The so-called 'Raloi' were the product of this planet and its environment.

The year was Twenty One Sixty Six (2166), almost twenty years before the point of first contact with the Asari as far as the Raloi were concerned. So many years spent in the dark among themselves as a particularly sprawling species before they were unified under a common goal. A means for both the majority of Pirate and Militia groups which called the planet 'Home' to put down their arms and fight under the common cause of the bigger picture, that their own pockets would of been lined with profit that may as well have been purloined regardless. Society, at least on Turvess, was in an economic boom from pathfinders coming back from foreign lands with a wealth of exotic goods and trophies to call their own, a product of rampant colonization and efforts on the scientific front - at least as far as life on the surface went.

There were always constant fluxes of warriors starting their holy crusades against other established colonies on the face of the planet in a constant sprawl for power, just as there were individuals who would come back with their merits in tow. But sure enough, not everyone in this society was born to fight, but saw their place in the system of wealth regardless. In Raloi society, few courtesies were common-place. One, however, had reared its ugly face since times long ago. No matter what schism erupted from the premise of their colony, or the physical differences which accompanied such. Piracy was absolute. Thieves were everywhere. Each individual of the Raloi species could rightfully be anticipated as a single body who most likely harboured some form of malicious intent. But even this uncharted system, and Turvess in particular, had its own form of law. The Militia groups, although a shadow of their former selves, were far from being gone, and they would root out stolen goods where they found them. The Thieves and Pirates needed a place to perform an exchange of 'dirty' goods so they wouldn't make themselves targets for sanctioned brigands or minutemen. Somewhere that they might instead claim easily spendable currency to use instead, for money was easily laundered as opposed to your Captain's best cutlass. That's where the Fences entered the fray.

Kvar’ noskov was born among these Fences. Individuals who would take stolen goods in exchange for money, before simply offloading them again for a profit margin. A healthy business, but one that was just as malicious as the Pirate and Thief groups which plagued the planet. This particular region of Turvess, however, was a much quieter place. Few Militia lurked there, whereas the seedier people of society found themselves erecting great havens of scum and villainy on the various covens of the planet. The Raloi himself was an accidental product of a couple who were both engrossed within the business of being a Fence within the confines of one such major haven. This turn of events didn't deter his parents from continuing their line of work, but they did not hold spite for the fact that they had a child. Their concern stemmed from the idea of simply opting to have offspring which would grow up among Pirates and Thieves. Although it was good work, they would have never wanted their child to bury their noses in the dirty work that being a Fence was. It was, as any role in the cogs of circulating wealth among the desolate and downtrodden, a dirty habit. But in lieu of their mistake, they had no other choice but to raise him there and then amidst their work, regardless of whatever prior thoughts they may have had.

To say that they didn't love their child would have been a lie. Despite the circumstances, they still raised him as any parents may have sought to raise their young. But as with most Raloi, they were also harsh and unruly. Speaking in a condescending tone in order to erase certain aspirations. To drive them away from the idea of ever becoming anything but a Fence. They knew that the grandeur tales of piracy spoken by many recruiters were nothing but woven fabrications of glory made to spurn the young to give themselves for but a petty cut that they may or may not have lived to acquire. They knew that the stories of mysterious thieves and their awe-inspiring heists were all lies made to inspire the young to steal, so that those who were more experienced could have levied it from their naive counterparts - a simple law of thieves and their so-called hierarchy. They drilled these thoughts into the young head of Kvar’ kov, ultimately belaying or even getting rid of any particular desire to walk in these paths. He was to inherit their work, after all.

His parents pointed his visions not to Turvess, but to the Stars. Beyond the mere speck of their Homeworld that orbited the massive star within the center of the system. He was told that the best treasures sat among whatever laid out there, and to bring them back would be the fastest way to line one's pockets with wealth. To ensure one could earn their place in society and live to see another day. To the Raloi, this ultimately meant earning one's namesake. 'Those who live to grow old in a society where people die young. They're to be feared. To be respected'. And to some, this was the aspiration that trumped any other. His Parents had succeeded, and they taught Kvar’ noskov what he needed to know in order to ensure that he too could one day achieve such a feat in the Raloi society. Or, so it might have set him on the right track at least.

His Father introduced him to just a few of the treasures he expected his son to find after he became of age. Skirmishes with the other Raloi from other more scientific regions, and the resulting spoils of war, often yielded some rather interesting technology. Firearms quite unlike anything that he could ever imagine through design and function. He was shown the common patterns the weapons had. Bits that moved; parts which had other parts put inside; parts that if you took out, it'd all fall apart, and the end of the firearm that you should never point at anything unless you wanted it to be dead at that particular point in time onward. The younger Kvar’ noskov took a point of interest derived from intrigue in the premise of the weapons, but paid attention to what he'd been taught for the majority of his life. The precedent of the firearm's value came first and foremost in the eyes of a Fence, and he was keen to reflect upon that notion in order to impress his parents. Even with a relatively easy job, raising a child in a Pirate Utopia was a stressful ordeal, and he felt dedicated to the idea of making sure it would come to pay off.

Years rolled on, one after the other. Turvess yet still buzzed with activity, ranging from the Mercenary navies performing small-scale enrolment of fighters to fight in their wars, to the usual gangs of Pirates simply squabbling with merchants and among themselves - even the odd Militia group here and there. By late Twenty One Eighty Four (2184), Kvar’ noskov himself was in the seat of his parent's business, having taken a lion's share of the wealth they'd garnered and moving away from the Pirate Haven to another region on the Homeworld in order to settle down into a cosier life for their twilight years. Their hands were clean, and they were ready to pursue further plans between the two of them. That was all the new Fence was told before their departure. However, the seemingly daunting task of changing hands went smoother than he anticipated for almost all parties, to the point where any change in business was hard to tell outside of the face of the client who had otherwise ran the show beforehand.

The problem was posed was not in the business itself, but in the turbulent times at that particular point in history. A launched satellite saw an unfamiliar space vessel comb through the home system. First contact came with the Asari race, and by proxy – the rest of the galaxy would come to follow. Envoys were sent, and hands were shook. An exchange in disease saw to it that the Raloi used closed cycle suits where they could help it when it came to interacting with other Species and the likes.

Indeed, faces began to disappear from the Pirate Havens. One after the other, common clients were persuaded by recruiters who spoke the promise of a glorious war-path. A campaign which spoke of the vast amounts of wealth, enough that any Raloi mercenary could ever come to desire. These boasts were spoken by foreign, alien figures in clandestine armor, wielding bright technological devices which gleamed vibrantly in the light of day. The mere sight of such won over the hearts and minds of Pirates and Thieves, who swore down their lives into an uncommon chain of mercenary work. This went on for a long, long time - each drive becoming more and more invasive, until even this region of Turvess that Kvar called home itself was beginning to grow sparse. What was evident was the fact that it posed a problem. With less thieves and less pirates bringing in a constant flow of treasure. His business would soon dry up, and he only had funds to last so long. And the idea of a 'Campaign' would've probably taken longer than his funds would have allowed him to wait, or so he thought at least. Soon, he would either find himself starving and without work. Or he'd find himself joining the others in the ranks of the Mercenaries.

A job was a job. Both posed risks of succumbing to an early end. One proposed a means of pay if he lived to see the end of it. The choice was obvious, but it meant giving up his legacy and his home for the time being – in addition to waving goodbye to Turvess for the time being.

The Frigate whisked its contents back towards the Mercenary Cruiser which loomed eerily within the System. The small merchant vessels and pirate ships that were constantly at arms with one-another all stayed themselves before it, daring not to invoke whatever ire the ship might throw at them should they of not paid their respects. Its unique profile and size demanded some impartial amount of awe. To see it anchored within the night sky of Turvess was one thing, but that perspective betrayed just how big it truly was. Up close, the vessel was truly sizable. To the crowd of new recruits, its visage brought about many thoughts. Most felt a sense of dread accompanying the pride welling within them. The mere fact that they'd be stepping on that particular vessel, and not too soon either. If there was a flagship that truly represented the commendable strength of this Mercenary group, then this was it. This was just a preliminary step after all. A means of transporting the masses to the actual objective along the way.

There'd be numerous changes of hands along the way. The Raloi would board the Cruiser, as would the numerous other species that’d come to be picked up along the way - to join the masses of other races which had also been driven into the ranks of these Mercenaries, albeit through more of a forced draft than simple mercenary employment. Each species had its drive, and Kvar ‘Noskov’s drive was the idea of seeing through the turbulent patch of time so that he might have returned to his business one day in the future. Although part of him wanted to believe that he might have been able to take back a trophy to call his own as a result of his efforts. Not too farfetched a thought, considering most Raloi mercenaries who had enlisted before him were usually able to take some form of trophy back with them to boast with. At least as far as he knew. The gathering of the masses was, for the time being, still largely informal. The Ex-Fence largely kept to himself as the ship departed from the system, distancing him from both the aliens, the names of which he didn't know. He even found himself somewhat detracted from his own kind in the pursuit of looking out for himself.

The travel wasn't particularly eventful. There were a couple mishaps pertaining to certain species trying to communicate with each other, but nothing beyond a stern talking to by a perturbed stave-wielding guard. With each and every stop, more recruits were taken on-board - spanning over the process of a couple days. The Cultural stigma on the ship was truly something to behold, regardless of one's purpose. Daily assemblies and briefings took place in which the Generals of these Mercenaries would preach to the tens of thousands gathered within an immense chamber. Both the room itself and the military patrons were decorated lavishly with a cold and gold appearance, predominantly to show their importance throughout the various sects of this one particular faction. The Raloi made a point of opting out as far as the majority went. At some point, Kvar 'Noskov opted to jot down his everyday happenings as notes, for even for those without faith - the briefings often conveyed messages that they expected the warriors to take into battle with them. The inevitability of the draft being for war was indisputable, but that was clear enough the moment that the Mercenary group began its aggressive recruitment as opposed to its passive form, which'd gone on for at least a few years beforehand. Kvar himself was just a new opportunity that was taken advantage of.

One particular day was different however. There was no stop along the way in order to pick anyone up. ‘The Antelope’. That was the name of the vessel which Kvar 'Noskov was aboard. A name he'd no doubt come to curse in later years, but he was able to waive innocent through ignorance for the time being. Hindsight'd come later. For what was probably the first time, all of the Cruiser’s occupants were finally split into groups, mixed with different species and then herded back onto the Frigates which had picked them up in the first place. Nobody could say for sure why they were vacating the ship. Among the languages that his new translator had picked up, he caught wind of the fact that they'd arrived at their destination. He was among the majority of his kind, using nothing but a meagre pistol – the likes of which he didn’t know how to use at all, while wearing a relatively bland looking cuirass over his closed-cycle suit. In comparison to some of the other Raloi, he was somewhat lacking as far as equipment went, whereas they had full headsets with peculiar looking gauntlets. He had figured them for veterans who had served previously, which'd possibly explain why those with decent gear were a minority. From what he could tell, this premise applied to more or less every species he could see. Even some of the incredibly small and stubby individuals toted bigger weapons than he did.

Kvar 'Noskov, much like the others, received no formal training. He was expecting at least a crash course, but what he and the others got was one of the Turians dragging both a Raloi and a Human out to the front of a small crowd of his own kind, each one of the two adorning superior armor and headgear with matching weapons hoisted on their back. The whole process felt slightly rushed, as they only went ahead with the procedure when the Frigate they'd been crammed into had departed from the Destroyer. The makeshift instructors didn't seem all too enthusiastic despite the fact that the two were both flanked by Turians. Each one seemed to go through the common weapons that would be utilized on the ground. Particularly, how to fire them. How to reload them in some cases. More than that, they didn't really speak much on the ideals of surviving out in a warzone, which seemed to sow seeds of worry into quite a number of folk's minds. Between the rushed course and the hurried departure, things were already beginning to seem glum. And before most of the occupants of the Frigate got their bearings, they were again being roughhoused into even smaller ships.

The groaning engines of Shuttles echoed across the walls of the Hangar as each one passed through the shields separating the interior of the vessel from the bleak void of space beyond. The recruits all stood lined up in rows, segregated by species. With each passing Shuttle, a single Turian would step forward and pick out heads from each particular group. Kvar 'Noskov noted that even they seemed to be segregated in some form or another, perhaps by experience. Each one wore a different cuirass and helmet, boasting different colours. The ones in blue took fewer numbers that were usually composed of lesser-armed individuals, whereas red-decorated Turians took on more troopers who toted better firearms. Then they'd move up to the docked Shuttle, arranging themselves inside and waiting for it to take off once more.

It took a few Shuttles to pass before Kvar himself was chosen for a particular Turian's group. He was the sole Raloi, amid a duo of little guys and a single Human with a large, rounded shield mounted on their left arm. Kvar ‘Noskov felt as though he didn't particularly envy him since he wouldn't have liked the idea of dragging around an obstructive shield. Although on a second guess, he figured that the protection would have been worth it. His only means of staying alive were both his wits and his ability to stay mobile. Or, that's what he figured he'd put to the test. The other Raloi had to of had a way to survive, but they didn't share it to the masses for some reason. He, with the rest of his group, were marched up the ramp towards the open bays flanking the Shuttle’s hull.  A single cursory nod from the Turian leading his group to the two guards posted in the front of the docking platform indicated that he was ready, and he stepped forward in order to board the ship. His meagre squad fell in behind him, walking in toe.

He glanced to the side, a hand held up to one of the many handrails lining the ceiling of the Shuttle - gripping tightly so he wasn't shunted off of his feet when it started moving. Kvar focused on the side doors of the vehicle as they came to close, enveloping the interior in a peculiar darkness until a number of dim lights slowly began to strobe, casting their light across the occupied space. There were only five of them inside of the vehicle, yet a palpable tension filled the stale air. The Raloi himself felt a deep-pitted fear when he looked at the Turian, stemming from the stories that his parents had imparted on him. He continued to look them up and down, noting no particular marks or accolades denoting experience or rank. The only clues were the unremarkable armor they wore, and the cobalt colouration it displayed under the lights along the roof. His keen observation was cut short when he realized that the Turian was staring back, the brow of its helmet hiding any discernible expression. But that alone was more than enough to deter the Raloi, since he forcibly averted his eyes to an emptier part of the ship.

"Look while you can. You'll need to remember me so you don't get lost when we are on the ground." it spoke with a harsh and ominous voice. "You've just got to follow me and do what I say. What follows will be easy if you can accomplish that much."

Simple words with a strong meaning. The Raloi pulled back his tongue into the recesses of his mouth so as to stay himself from speaking. He fell in line, mimicking the silence that the Human had been displaying. The two little individuals with backpacks, the likes of which he learned to be known as Volus from merely listening, chatted away quietly to themselves, their raspy voices eroding the patience of the Raloi, who quickly found himself despising that particular noise. Even a cursory glance around the ship to gauge the expression of the others yielded thinly-veiled expressions. The Raloi wagered that the Turian was simply none-too-pleased with having to lead a particularly unremarkable team, whereas the Human just looked plain glum - regardless of the Volus and their bickering.

Unremarkable though it was, the journey began to drag on for a long time. The Volus were quick to cease their chatting after the first few minutes of departure, before complaining about their aching legs after a particularly long half an hour. They sat down ten minutes after that, and started sleeping five minutes following. Following that however, the ice between the remaining three of the trio began to slowly melt away, starting with the Human asking a question which had likewise been a burning thought in the mind of the Raloi. At first they hesitated following opening their jaw, before speaking quietly; primarily not to wake the resting Volus. "What is it that we are doing? We were never told anything beyond shooting our weapons. If that."

The Human concluded its quip with an anxious shrug, although the Turian returned with a bemused huff - much to the surprise of the two who were awake. "Our mission is simple, to say the least. Surveillance of a remote area for a period of time." it spoke intermittently, before opting to shake its head. "Trivial. But every job is imperative if we are to undergo this campaign, so I will not see you slacking off. I hope that’s clear."

"And what about those two?" Kvar ‘Noskov asked in a hushed tone, nodding his head towards both of the Volus. The notion spurned the other two to likewise follow the Raloi’s gaze, if only to validate that they hadn't been disturbed to the point where they'd wake up and inevitably start screaming now that the group was starting to communicate. The Turian spoke up, his response blunt - but carrying a surprisingly charitable tone. "There's no need to make it hard for ourselves, though."

More time would yet pass, and the Shuttle would have eventually touched down on the surface of a foreign planet in a relatively sparse clearing. Cicadas chirped endlessly as a cool breeze swept across a vast expanse. The fields seemed to span for a very, very long distance. Vibrant grass swayed in long waves with each gust. It had been a number of hours since the Shuttle had touched down and departed without so much as a trace. A quiet insertion, and what followed was a short trek until the small group had come to rest at the foot of a hill. The region was devoid of civilians, and only some relatively peaceful looking fauna flocked. Bird-like in nature, they invoked quiet but throaty chuckles from the Turian leading the group. It indicated that they found some sense of similarity between it and the Raloi that followed him around, a notion that wasn't exactly without credit. Even Kvar’ Noskov was somewhat amused at the fact that it was rather similar. He, however, was the only one who held thoughts of pursuing and eating it to himself in a rather conceited manner. But for the time being, he refrained from doing anything that might have been rash on his part. His initiative was that of the Turian's will.

Two lunar bodies hung in the sky above, casting reflected light down onto the forested area splayed out ahead of the group. One was an immense object surrounded by a ring, close enough that the Raloi could actually perceive slight details along the surface. The other was a much smaller object which sat in front of the other moon, obscuring its view ever so slightly. Kvar 'Noskov had, for the most part, gotten the shock of being on another planet out of his system. He was tired from being pushed and herded around on the Cruiser, before being corralled onto the Frigate in a similar fashion. He was never more thankful to get out of the confines of a ship and set foot on soil. Better yet was the fact that he could actually breathe the air filtered through his suit without a problem – it wasn’t hostile enough to warrant an external tank. It was tranquil, and were it not for the fact that he felt somewhat exhilarated, he held no doubt about the notion that he'd easily be able to rest in these conditions. Even a cursory glance to the other Human and the Turian saw the two wearing weary-eyed looks. Then he found his gaze hover over to the Volus, who were still resting still.

They were yet sleeping soundly. They were tucked into themselves, resting without as much as a sound. They were getting away with what the others were wanting to do, but Kvar ‘Noskov supposed it was for the best at the time. The fact that they weren't yammering on to one-another and distracting him just ensured that he'd of been able to do his job better. The Raloi almost felt like it was perhaps a stroke of fortune that he was assigned to a relatively low-skill job. Perhaps it was for lack of the experience he actually had? No combat for those who don't know how to fight. It almost didn't add up to what his parents taught him, but he decided against delving into the semantics of his job - and as he pulled himself back from his thoughts, he found his gaze drifting across the surrounding area. Turvess, despite being filled to the brim with Piracy and whatnot, was still somewhat impressive. Grand rock formations dotted its surface, creating vast landmarks which caught the eye. But from merely being on another colony for more than a couple of hours, he had already decided that this foreign world was better looking than anything he'd seen.

He peered up, staring past the overhanging canopy of a treeline so he could perceive the night's sky. Pitch black, but among the darkness stood blinking stars in what seemed to be the tens of thousands. With no lights to hide them, each one was radiant. It spanned all the way down to the horizon, where the glinting lights just managed to crest the far-flung hills in the distance, resting beyond the immense grass plane stretching before him. The mere environment once more almost made him lose himself, but he was wrought back to attention as he drew a breath through his nose. The filtered air was relatively cool and reasonably humid, a refreshing change in comparison to the stale air that circulated around within the Cruiser and the Frigates. But what stood out was a particular metallic tang, barely noticeable.

He drew in air through his nose again, and again. The smell still lingered, and as he glanced around the immediate area, it came to his attention when he noticed that it seemed to be originating from the two Volus who were yet sleeping. At first, the Raloi shuddered at the thought of what he'd been inhaling, never mind the fact that it penetrated his filters – but it wasn’t long before he began to feel a slight concern creep upon him. From where he was stood, he never noticed the glinting specks along the grass the Volus were sat down on. He found his hand reaching towards his hip in order to draw the sidearm that he had been issued from the magnetic point on the harness as he slowly walked along towards the duo. His eyeridges furrowed as he focused on them, noting that the metallic scent was quickly beginning to become overpowering to anything else in the air. Soon, with every drawn breath taken on his part, that was all he could detect, and as he slowly crept up in front of them, he was able to perceive something that immediately flashed red warning lights.

A deep incision marked both of their suits. Each cut wept a sludge, dribbling onto the ground ever so slowly – the loss of pressure resulting in the Volus’ demise. What covered the ground was the remains which had spewed out as a result. The Raloi froze in place, gripped by a concoction of both shock and fear. Something'd eluded their watch in order to do this, and they were yet to find out what it was. Kvar ‘Noskov pulled himself from his locked gaze in order to spin around and call out to his leader. He couldn't have anticipated his call for help to set a series of events in motion. As the Turian reared its head to try and perceive what was happening, it had inadvertently moved itself in such a way so as to expose itself to a third party. This came to be exploited as a streaking object punctured through its shielding - causing them to flare and rupture with an almighty explosion. To add to the cacophony was a gut-wrenching sound of metal contorting and bending, before bone and skin simply burst apart in a sudden motion. In the passing blink of an eye, the small entry wound on the neck had given way to an incalculable mess on the other side. What would have been the exit wound was now nothing more than a bloody pulp, as bits of the Turian's cobalt helmet and face were thrown across the grass surrounding them in the knoll. Its immense form just peeled over and fell to the ground with a hefty thump, a distant crack reverberating and finally meeting Kvar's ears moments after his leader had fallen. The Human simply screamed in terror, whilst the Raloi found himself mute - he was robbed of his words, his throat gripped by an uneasy dread.

His mind sent swathes of mixed signals. He had no idea which order he could make out from his mind as it screamed obscenities at him. Yet, as he peered beyond the expanse of the deceased Turian, he got a glimpse of the Human as they likewise fell from an all-too-familiar shot, creating a similar result. Then came the same crack following the ordeal of watching the only other remaining group member fall over onto the ground, joining the rest of the deceased. It quietly began to dawn on the Raloi that he would have been next if he didn't do something, but he had no clue how he should of fought an invisible threat. He could hear the sound, but there was no way to see what it was that was killing off his only comrades. He didn't want to resign himself to such an unfair fate however, and he simply tried to back up further into the treeline arranged around the knoll. If he at least hid himself, he would have been safe for the time being. He did not, however, anticipate others to be hiding there.

Kvar 'Noskov's backpedalling was halted as a clothed forearm wrapped around his neck from behind, forcefully shifting him back and taking him off balance until he was almost falling over. Instead, he leaned into their foe - largely helpless as he felt another arm intertwine around his own arm. Before he could get to grips with what'd happened, both arms suddenly contracted, applying tension to both his throat and his right arm, pressing through his suit - forcing him to drop his pistol as he hissed in pain. His off-hand simply reached for the arm grasping his throat, trying in a futile manner to try and pull it off, but whatever strength he possessed was nowhere to be found. He was far too embroiled within his own panic to try and coherently fight off the aggressor. The forearm pressing into his throat only allowed him to draw raspy breaths, detracting from his focus as he struggled to breathe - but he yet found himself hearing his captor call out from behind him – his translator immediately failing to pick up on what was being said. "Ez az utolsó!"

After such, from the clearing emerged individuals who were clad in odd looking colours, both shades of green, tan and black. It allowed them to blend in seamlessly, coupled with the bits of stray foliage on their equipment. They were clothed from head to toe, each one wearing peculiar apparel with no apparent insignia. They didn't even seem to be wearing any form of armour. They bore no scent, wearing the must of both wet soil and grass in order to mask their own. These things became clear the moment that they were upright and beginning to converge on the lone Raloi. Each and every individual he saw carried a gun that he recognized as being vaguely familiar, and a slight moment of recollection allowed him to recall; the trophies he had collected in his Workshop, and the objects that older Veterans carried back as spoils of war from their mercenary crusades. They were identical. "Rendben, nyugodj meg embereket. Lássuk, mit megvan." one individual called out, the black mask over their face flexing with each and every foreign word. Kvar ‘Noskov watched as he brought up a weapon to bare, pointed towards the Raloi. An underslung flashlight blinked on, casting a dazing light into the Raloi’s eyes as he simply croaked a hoarse hiss of resistance

"Ez az, amit mi után? Hah, megcsináltuk. Elmegyünk most." he continued, beginning to pace forward. "Csináld."

Before the Raloi could even try to interject, he felt his right arm lifted above his head and locked in place by the opponent's arm as he was dragged backwards aggressively. He tried in vain to struggle free, but it was quickly halted since the tension on his right arm threatened to cause injury if he tried. Yet, as the forearm around his throat began to squeeze into further and further, he found his breathing to quickly become restricted. Soon, he couldn't even muster a single breath - and as seconds passed, all he could do to resist was try to pull the forearm choking him away using his free arm. Inevitably however, he failed in liberating himself from his aggressor. He began to slip from consciousness - not even his panicked state could keep him awake, for each passing second was a moment of torment for his gradually failing form until he simply lapsed as a whole. His resistance stopped, and he fell limp in the arms of the aggressor - who in turn began to ease off the tension around the Raloi's throat.

The Raloi was torn away from that particular Colony and made a captive of a local Insurrectionist group on the planet. A smallish cell which hid among Civilians and Farmers, although they were considerably armed and had a plethora of equipment at their disposal. They were even able to use a large transport craft in order to hide most of their people and gear as they evacuated the planet under the guise of an atypical Alliance craft. Only they would instead plot a course correction once they had managed to slip away from the Alliance-guided convoy. Thanks to a cunning Pilot and some precise timing on the part of the Insurrectionists, progressing to the next Colony world which housed their centre of operations was hardly a challenge to speak of. Two days passed within the brig aboard the vessel, but it was in the middle of the third day that the ship finally came to a halt. After an immense sinking feeling settling in as the ship broke through atmosphere in order to plot a heading for one of the many docking bays lining the vast military settlements.

This Insurrectionist Colony was untouched by the Mercenaries or the Alliance, it stood as a bastion to those who proclaimed themselves the 'Freedom Fighters' for the Human Race, wishing to resist the influence of the Council and most foreign aggressors. They were independents. Although the world itself likewise acted as a refuge for those who had to flee from their worlds before they were besieged by Mercenary Forces. Some were from the remnants of an old space station that was concealed within an asteroid belt. Survivors of its usurpation, both the Aliens who worked alongside the Humans, and the Insurrectionists themselves. Primarily those who were 'away' from the site upon its liberation by a group called Cerberus. There was still an air of tension between a number of the Aliens and Humanity since a war on Cerberus was still being fought. It was more of a fragile balance, and this Insurrectionist Colony was the ideal place to play host to this seeing as it was a Human-dominated fortress that contained a spectacular amount of equipment. Most of it was black-market procured, but some was likewise liberated from the hands of the Alliance. It even contained traces of Mercenary equipment – implying that these Insurrectionists had tangled with such groups prior, although the Humans seldom used them - reserving them more as a status symbol for the time being.

Although he was confined to the brig for the entire journey, Kvar ‘Noskov wasn't entirely ostracized by those who owned the vessel. When he had awoke days earlier, he was tested with basic supplements and water, the former of which he refused throughout. A lot had happened in such a short span of time, and the shock of comprehending that was the difficult part. He was too nervous to try anything, for he was left in the dark. He didn't know where the ship was going, or why they were keeping him. He was aware of the fact that his throat and right arm ached profusely after being so maliciously attacked, although he could barely recall what had happened. He was initially disillusioned to the ordeal, trying to make sense of small patches of memories - the likes of which he didn't know if they were false, or if they actually happened. He may have tried to put two and two together, but it was utterly hopeless in the end. He acknowledged that much after some time, but he wasn't comfortable with the fact. Kvar simply understood that he didn't really have the opportunity to dwell on the past after being captured. He likely had problems ahead of him, and figured that for the time being, his focus should have been on that instead.

His arrival on the Colony was documented, and he was promptly put in along with the rest of the Raloi that they had managed to capture in a segregated area. Much to his surprise, they'd already warmed up to company, and actually received him well. The abode he was assigned to was a shared one between two other Ralois, making him the third. They were individuals who were in a similar boat - being captured whilst among the ranks of the Mercenary, although their cuirasses boasted more vibrant colours than Kvar's atypical grey suit. It spoke for them in saying that they were a lot more experienced than he ever could have been, but the difference was the fact that they'd been there for a long, long while. Defectors; they told him that he was most likely brought back in order to help work on the various bits of Mercenary weaponry that the Insurrectionists had salvaged. Within their room were scribbled notes in a familiar script, jotted down on paper. Memoirs on constructing, refurbishing and recharging select bits of Mercenary technology based on the various documents illicitly gained from various military hardware manufacturing plants. Simple observations, but they worked in practice. It was that practice that gave them a place to stay on the Colony, although they were always looking for new bodies to help in a similar role. Kvar ‘Noskov exclaimed that he didn't know much himself, but it was assured that it'd come to him in time.

Over the course of months, news from outside of the system drove any thought of fleeing, or trying to escape, away from the Raloi. The Mercenary group was suffering and the war was quickly turning around. The engagement upon the Colony he came from itself saw many of his own kind killed with whatever remnants that were left all slinking back to Turvess in order to lick their wounds. Even at this point, he knew that returning to life as a Fence would never be the same because of the diminished numbers. Working on this Insurrectionist Colony at least got him a home, the likes of which he could call his own. He knew his own kind, and eventually even began the audacious process of picking up on new skills which he couldn’t have learned on his Homeworld. His initial work was performed on some of the more basic firearms, utilizing the notes that the other Raloi had created in order to aid his progress. Simple means of taking apart weapons, putting them together and troubleshooting for problems. Maintaining, cleaning and even using them (under watchful conditions). He picked up on the English language from the maintenance manuals for various Human firearms after getting to grips with the sheer basics of the alphabet. He felt a slight air of disappointment as he started since he was veering away from what his parents wanted him to do, but such an outlook was quick to dissipate once he realized that he was more at home dealing with firearms than he ever could of been simply peddling goods that were shirked on him by both Pirate and Thieves. It was a much more honest trade - one that could be used more or less anywhere.

The mark of a new year passed. It was now Twenty One Eighty Six (2186), and Kvar ‘Noskov had saw himself integrate with the Insurrectionist Colony much like the other Raloi had done before him. With the advent of the Reaper outbreak, tensions began to slowly wind down between the primary occupants, whilst the tension drawn from the threat of being besieged by this new threat becoming more prominent. Distant Insurrectionist colonies had started to accept other species that were vying for a place to call their own after the Mercenary group’s mainstay force was brutally shattered, less than willing to continue their old lifestyle in lieu of the threat to the galaxy. Even the Colony Kvar ‘Noskov was on started to get new faces appearing, consisting of an entire array of species. This influx soon enough saw the older labourers moved onto the new weapons that were being shipped in, including Kvar ‘Noskov. An opportunity to work on Human Technology, or their firearms and explosives in particular. He’d also picked up the notion of piloting smaller vessels and shuttles in order to transport goods across various points, although actual starships were still out of their league. They'd be working along the Human Gunsmiths and Armorers who regularly maintained most of the equipment that was shipped in and shipped out to Insurrectionist Cells all across the expanse. At this point in time, his cuirass was repainted to a rustic red in order to match the colours flown by the Insurrectionists stationed on the Colony. His steady work had earned him an amount of respect from his peers, enough-so to be considered a regular on the Colony. He had a few possessions to his name, mostly bits of equipment given by his peers to aid the process of his work. The most prominent bits were a Technological Manual for reference, an old Cassette player and a Helmet with a singular camera-based optic. Simple tools, but ones that were nearly indispensable in the process of allowing his time working to pass by all the easier.

Though for all his time spent at the Insurrectionist Colony working for the same people, thoughts of Turvess did surface every now and then. More specifically, thoughts of going back in order to help get society back on its feet through some means in order to try and repel the Reaper threat. He wasn't sure what a Gunsmith without any money could accomplish in that respect, but he was pretty determined to think that he could at least make a contribution if he himself was a little wealthy. The problem stemmed from the fact that his current position on the Colony didn't give out any pay. A sort of indentured servitude, he was given accommodation and looked after in return for his work. He couldn't simply walk out however, so he very much knew that it'd take more than that. The first thought he had was to consult with his peers, urging them that he wanted to return to Turvess in order to assist there - giving no indication about the notion he'd otherwise strive to make some money using his new knowledge first.

They followed through though. Under their advice, Kvar ‘Noskov filed for a transfer to a much more remote Insurrectionist Colony, a process which utilized a route that included a Shipyard somewhere along the way in order to refuel. The Insurrectionists used civilian craft in order to transport their goods around from point A to point B usually, and the Raloi figured that disembarking at the outpost and boarding another ship would more or less render him free from the Insurrectionists who occupied it. He knew he could return if things didn't turn out for the best, but he wasn't anticipating that to happen. This was a good lead to escape, and he would be sure to use it to the best of his ability. The Raloi who told him to do this anticipated him to go to Turvess, but he had other plans.

The plan ultimately went off without as much as a hitch. More than a couple ships came and passed, refuelling and ignoring or refusing the Raloi whom confronted each ship's captain in order to offer their abilities in exchange for travelling. Some either didn't need them, whereas others were still wary of the Raloi. Despite this however, the Raloi was pressganged into the service of an industrial ship that had docked with the refuelling platform, more of a forcible draft since the Captain didn't leave much of a decision for the Raloi. They needed someone who could otherwise look into problems pertaining to a heavy loading platform, a cause for desperation on an industrial barge. Kvar ‘Noskov himself felt very wary of the situation, but he wasn't exactly in a position to say 'No'. Staying in a Fuel Depot wasn't ideal, and it cost money that he didn't exactly have for actual worthwhile accommodation. He'd been spending his nights in a flight lounge after convincing people that he was a mechanic. The stigma of being a Raloi would have typically incited scepticism, but stains of oil and dirt betrayed this notion - adding to his story. Perhaps it even helped convince the Captain.

Living on the barge itself wasn't particularly difficult. Most of his days were spent maintaining the heavy loading unit that the Captain wanted him to see too. The vehicle was still within its service life, but the root cause pertained to a lack of maintenance as far as the hydraulic systems went. The pumps were not working correctly, which meant that the majority of the vehicle was otherwise inoperable. The owner of the ship hadn't anticipated that getting a vehicle such as that particular loader required someone who could maintain it on board. There were plenty of crew, but most were dedicated to their posts, and the only crew with experience in maintaining hydraulic equipment were a handful of engine room crew. They couldn't spare any of their heads to look at the machine, however. It gave Kvar ‘Noskov something to do over the course of the short voyage.

This trend'd continue for a long while. Moving from place to place and hopping along the various ships in order to do work. Months rolled by, but he was only earning a pittance in comparison to what he had hoped he'd of had by that particular point in time. Most of his work was paid by means of travel, with the more generous Captains usually including a couple hundred credits at the very least. The Raloi consolidated opening a Private Company for a while, but ultimately came to decide against it before it could come to fruition. He needed a place where he could work to his strengths and get paid at the same time, and the passing months were making the radical option look more and more tempting. There was still the Council, which was moving to a more 'co-operative' light if that whole notion could have been believed. The Council still headed a number of massive armies that fielded a plethora of equipment, the majority of which he could maintain or fix with the right equipment.

It was a contrast to his old position in the Insurrection, but he figured that the Colony was relatively secluded. His past may of well have been buried for the time-being, enough to raise no questions at the very least – but the skills he’d acquired could of very spell spoke for themselves. He largely hoped he'd of been signed on as a skilled asset, although there was no way to be sure of what the outcome'd be in the long run. His final stop, as far as jumping from ship to ship went, dropped him off at one of the Inner Council Space worlds. He was quick to try and find a general recruitment station - eager to see what he could find for means to occupy himself in the effort against the Repeat threat. He had nothing else for it since Turvess had isolated itself from the rest of the galaxy by that point. He could not have returned to his Homeworld, even if he had wanted to. And the looming threat belayed any idea of returning to the Colony due to the nature of how travel became more tedious.

He was an isolated instance, something odd in a place devoid of his kind – where they were too far and few to be reliably seen due to their isolation. Even after life in the Galaxy would find itself triumphant, Turvess would have remained in the dark. Such would remain its state for the indefinite future. Kvar ‘Noskov, on the other hand, would have found himself relocated to one of the lesser known armies under the Council’s power. A task force that was specifically composed of numerous species, where he would be assigned as the designated Quartermaster/Navy Armorer.

Last edited by TheMightyDRGN on Fri Apr 22, 2016 11:24 am; edited 4 times in total

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Post by Revenant on Wed Apr 20, 2016 5:43 pm

I didn't get baked for this shit.

Fucking what the hell Dragon can roleplay anything, probably tell him to play a fucking cheese platter and he could probably do it well.

I'm officially ending my life right here.

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Post by Pianotugboat on Thu Apr 21, 2016 6:45 am


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