Sentient Bowtie
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Posts posted by Sentient Bowtie
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”I may look cocky and abrasive, but this is just a placeholder mug for now. I would actually love to talk to all of you if I am accepted!”
Respecting Women Beam: ACTIVATE
SpoilerName: Dulcibella Mauro
Class: Scout > Bow Knight > Ranger
Character Skill: Trailblazer
Astrological Rune: Rune of Ending
Personal Flaw - Naïveté: Some would say that the quality of believing the best in every person, no matter their past deeds, is a great virtue. All, however, agree that it is best to dispense with this particular virtue on the battlefield. [Dulcie takes +2 Damage from enemies the first time she enters combat with them, on either phase.]
Trainee Personal Skill - Exuberance: Full of good cheer and positivity, Diane always seems to be ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. [When at or above 50% HP, Dulcie gains +2 AS.]
First Class Personal Skill - Perseverance: Once she has set herself onto a path, the very gods themselves would be hard pressed to move Dulcie from it, no matter what that path may be. [Dulcie receives +10 Hit and +5 Crit against her target during subsequent combat after making an attack against them during her phase. This bonus lasts until that enemy is defeated and cannot be removed or switched to another target prematurely.]
Promotion Personal Skill - Defiance: Not even the terror of a brush with death can bring Dulcie down for long. She’ll find a way to get right back onto her feet and keep going, every time, until the very end. [Upon the first time Dulcie would be reduced to 0 HP and downed during a battle, she is instead left with 1 HP and can act normally. Ailments such as poison or a burn, or damage from a map effect, can trigger Defiance prematurely or cause Dulcie to be downed after it has already triggered. An enemy that could attack Dulcie twice but only needs one hit to knock her to 0 HP will be granted that second attack if the first connects and would have downed Dulcie without Defiance triggering.]
Preferred Stats: Skill, Defense
Weapon Proficiency: Bows (E) > Recurve (C), Bows (D) > Recurve (A), Bow (C) / Crush (A), Sword (C)
Level: 1
Total Level: 1Progression Spent: 330/330%
Stats:
HP: 16 ( 55% ) [+1]
STR: 4 ( 50%)
MAG: 1
SKL: 5 ( 65% )
LCK: 2 ( 20% )
DEF: 3 ( 50% )
RES: 1 ( 40% ) [+1]
SPD: 4 ( 50% )
MOV: 4
CON: 4 [+2]
AID: 3 [+2 from CON] -
"I see. I wouldn't want to pry if that is the case. Apologies."
"...I feel like I may have been occupying you for longer than is necessary. I should take my leave, Morgan."
Blake stands to leave, dusting off his pants and cloak as he does.
"Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of your company."
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”Well, I had assumed. Was it something troubling?”
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yaaaaay and also congraaaats
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Currently without a face, but what can you do?
SpoilerName: Julia Quinton
Class: Journeyman -> Fighter -> Dread Fighter
Character Skill: Imbue
Affinity: ???
Personal Flaw: Criseyde: When within 3 spaces of 3 or more male characters (ally or enemy), -2 AS.
Personal Skill: Alcibiades: Remaining at or above 50% HP grants +10 Crit.
/Personal Skill: Cunobelin: Attacks made while standing on a Forest tile gain +10 Hit.
/ /Personal Skill: Andronike: Attacks initiated on the Player Phase that kill an enemy grant +1 STR/MAG until the start of the next Player Phase.
Preferred Stats: Strength, HPWeapon Proficiency: Axe (E)
Level/Tier: 1/Trainee
Total Level: 1
Progression Spent: (330/330%)
Base Stats:
HP: 20 (60%) [+1]
STR: 6 (45%)
MAG: 0 (50%) [+2]
SKL: 2 (45%)
LCK: 1 (10%)
DEF: 3 (50%) [+1]
RES: 0 (30%)
SPD: 2 (40%)
CON: 6
AID: 5
MOV: 4
Current Stats:
HP: 22
STR: 6
MAG: 2
SKL: 2
LCK: 1
DEF: 4
RES: 0
SPD: 2
Backstory: The first and only Quinton born this generation, Julia is a curious young woman raised in the humdrum port town of Aica by a formidable former warrior and her husband. She is a carbon copy of her mother down nearly to an inch, but Julia possesses an errant beauty mark that mother lacks, as well as one light blue eye from her father and one bright red from her mother. To say she is a strange girl would be... putting it lightly. As a child she was interested in not eating dirt or playing with toys but in picking every kind of flower in the garden and detailing in excessive notes how exactly they were all different from each other. In her teens, it turned to strength testing of rocks with mother's old axe; none of them ever won, but she kept going.
The only shred of normal strangeness Julia could claim to possess was discovered one year after she passed the cusp of adulthood, when she concentrated so hard on a particularly difficult passage in a book of philosophy older than her great-three-times grandfather that it exploded. Her parents, overjoyed that their daughter had discovered a talent with more than a smidgen of practicality, paid for an express trip away to the neighboring isle of Emries. It was here Julia honed her talent for magic at what one could call a low-caliber academy. Other students were polite enough that she avoided too many strange looks during her stay of several years.
Until very recently Julia has made little headway in honing her magical ability - and even then progress is incredibly minor - but she refuses to give up. She finds the arts stolen from the Black Dragon most appealing, especially a certain branch of tomes that cause detrimental effects to the target beyond injury of the flesh, and has stuck with it for most of her attempts to master the most basic of basics. This time of year the students are allowed a short break, so Julia has returned home to visit her family as she did the year before, and the one before that. Her mother even brought out the old armor for Julia to try as she had it made for herself at the same age, and it fits like a charm. Two weeks later Julia has finished enjoying her relaxing vacation, complete with strength-testing more rocks using an axe she'd bought just for this purpose (none of them won, but she wanted to keep going), and is waiting on a ship bound eventually for her academy once more.
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"True, but that still doesn't mean I am a butler."
"...Is something the matter?"
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"Perhaps they do, but I am no butler. Housekeeping is but a small section of my duties for Lord Coel. A more appropriate term for my station would be... an attendant." Blake picks the word out a little too carefully.
"I am certain Lenny would be able to answer your question, if you choose to ask him." He points to the bow-bearing boy over yonder. "His bark, while fearsome, is ever worse than his bite."
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Willard is absolutely ready to dive right in for their new plan, until he hears that last part - about drawing away the Cross’ interceptors.
...What? Seriously? They were seriously asking him to make a suicide run after telling him almost every mission not to do that exact thing please for god’s sake Willard you’re going to get yourself killed one of these days? Willard can’t even begin to articulate to himself exactly how ironics and annoyingly hypocritical that was, so he opts to instead broadcast a curt “Sure thing,” followed by unconvincingly hidden grumbling as he prepares his Striker to move.
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Morgan's companion doesn't seem to mind it, and continues working.
".....All right, I'm finished. Here you are." Blake suddenly says after some time, and hands Morgan's cloak back to them. All of the blood has gone, replaced by the powder (which is now pinkish) that covers most of where the stain was. It looks a little mushy.
"As I said, wash it in cold water to remove the rest of the powder. Let us hope you do not get any more blood on it before you have the opportunity to do so." -
”She seems so. It’s good to have a sibling you can rely on if you need them.”
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"You might have, in passing. I must have missed it."
Still kneading the powder into Morgan's cloak, Blake continues:
"I couldn't help but notice there is someone else in our group who looks remarkably like you. I assume she is your sister."
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Blake accepts the garment and begins working on it; he withdraws a stoppered bottle of some powder from one of his pockets, opens it, and pours a generous amount onto the stain. He begins to rub the powder into the wet fabric, and it soaks up the blood quickly.
"This should remove most of the blood, but your cloak will be a little... unclean until the next time you wash it. Be sure to use cold water. Warm water will cause any remaining blood to set into the fabric and become much harder to remove."
He looks over Morgan's armor and a small smile crosses his face.
"A suit of armor? I would never have guessed you were wearing any. Very clever keeping it underneath this cloak. Our enemies will never be able to tell you possess it until their weapons fail to injure you - by which point, naturally, it is too late to rectify their mistake."
"...Oh, how rude of me. I realize I haven't even given you my name yet." He puts forth a hand, one relatively unsullied by the mysterious blood-removing powder. "I am Blake Oswell, retainer to Lord Coel. A pleasure to formally meet you, friend."
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”That is a good point,” he says, as if he wasn’t already able to tell that himself somehow.
”If you want my help with it, I’ll need your cloak, as you might have expected.” Blake holds out his hand for the garment.
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"Ah, I see. I hope the two of them are all right. Hannibal especially."
He ponders for a second.
"Hmm... Has the blood had enough time to dry yet? It's more difficult to remove from clothing when it's dry, but I would be able to help you in either case."
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...Don't worry yourself about what that thing said. Not one person here has any idea, and they never will. You just have to keep it that way.
But gods, does it get tiring.
Momentarily distracted by his own thoughts, Blake's attention wanders from his lord - he seemed fine at the moment, anyway, and they had been together since leaving their home behind - and onto Morgan. Alone again? One would think the heart-stopping action of combat would have given them a bit more confidence to stand with the others.
Blake stands, voices a quiet "I will be back shortly" to Lord Coel, and makes his way over to Morgan, who he takes a seat next to.
"It wouldn't hurt to try and get a little closer to some of the others, you know."
"Both figuratively and literally."
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Blake, at his master’s side the entire journey, is quiet. His thoughts are focused on asking the same questions everyone had already been asking themselves, so they weren’t of any use to him whatsoever. Nor were the... other ones. About what that creature had said to him.
He shoves them away, locks them in a very deep part of his mind, and focuses himself on helping Lord Coel against the tree, at which point he takes his own seat next to the old man.
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Willard starts the first syllable of a response, but stops himself. No, he did not have a plan, and no, he was not going to be able to come up with one any time soon. Strategizing wasn’t really his forte - following strategies, maybe, if he was in the right frame of mind. He sighs into the comms, before replying, “Roger that. I’m returning to the Eclipse.”
Damned Rhees. Always knew just what to say to get him off his rush.
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At first, Willard didn't believe it. The Resanti had captured the Southern Cross, intact? Impossible. It just wasn't something they could do; the Cross was too heavily armed to make that happen. They'd have to destroy it, or at least heavily damage it.
And then Rhees confirmed it, a third time. Her words barely registered in his mind, because it was racing a thousand miles ahead of him. The rustbuckets had their hands on the Southern Cross now. Just what in the hell were these things capable of? How was it even possible? Biological weapons, or some sort of advanced, uncounterable tactics? Something new, something the Assembly couldn't counter. Willard refused to believe it was taken down in straight combat; nothing could have taken an Assembly ship of that size without any fanfare. It just wasn't feasible.
...Though, considering what he was seeing right in front of him, maybe it was.
"Let's just... If they have the Cross, let's just blow the damn thing up. We're right here, we can do it. It's a necessary sacrifice." he broadcasts. His usual suggestion when things got hairy, but this time there was less enthusiasm for the idea. A moment later, he adds "The fucking Cross. Oh god." in very un-Willard-like fashion.
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[H, 2].
Resist inner urge to shove Gavan out of the way. -
Willard smiles inwardly. His usual question never received a proper answer, but at this point it was almost obligatory. Wasn’t really meeting if he didn’t ask, anyway.
He listens to the others take their turns, but after Irene speaks up, the pilot chimes in again. “That’s a good question. If things go bad for them, what are we supposed to do? Go in guns blazing?”
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After hearing Rhees' explanation on the situation, Willard is almost able to stop himself from asking his usual question - the one he inevitably mentions before nearly every mission.
...Almost.
"So when do we start?" The specifics of the mission don't concern him too much (and they never have); cover the Eclipse if things go well, cover the boarding party's shuttle if they don't, and if they were lucky, nothing would have to be done at all. If anything else to worry about came up during the mission, odds were Rhees would have them informed immediately as usual. Simple and easy. Willard doesn't even care about going in blind, since it was usually code for "please don't let Willard go first" anyway. And he usually didn't. Most of the time.
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Pilot
SpoilerName: Willard E(gbert). Halstein. Strictly speaking he’s a Lieutenant, but he prefers not to reference his station unless necessary.
Age: 55
Personality: In the cockpit of Gunguneel, Willard is a highly skilled and confident pilot. He follows tactics to the letter as ordered, though if the situation grows dire he may opt to follow instinct in the heat of the moment. As he has yet to die horribly, this trait seems to serve him adequately well. The nature of his Striker requires him to have a certain disregard for his own safety and years of piloting it have given him quite the reckless attitude in battle.
When not inside his Striker, Willard is a friendly, outgoing person. He enjoys talking with others and has a habit of offering advice on piloting during, even if you don't exactly ask (or want) him to. Most conversations one has with Willard involve piloting, Strikers, other ships, tactics, strategy, or other such things - he can't seem to talk about anything else, nor does he appear to have many pastimes.
Appearance: Willard E. Halstein is not a young man. Such is clear the moment you see the lines in his forehead or around his eyes, the salt-and-pepper nature of his hair around his sideburns, and his deep voice. He possesses shoulder-length, slicked-back dark hair as well as a full beard across his chin and jawline. Willard also possesses a mustache. His skin is a cool brown. Physically, he is tall - over six feet - and muscularly built, with large hands and sharp features. His eyes are deep-set and dark brown, almost black.
Background: Willard E. Halstein's first time inside a Striker came after he joined a Drasian military at the age of 22, and sparked within him a passion for the thrill of space combat that would burn for the rest of his life. His first unit was nothing special; it brought him experience, money, and a sense of real purpose. He would not come into possession of the Gunguneel or its devastating Rex Hasta system until he was 29. His ship at the time, the Gurgurant, happened upon a passing ship being attacked by pirates. Willard and company gladly came to their aid, and were rewarded with the Gunguneel Striker by the grateful experimenters who had built it. Not one pilot was willing to take the Gunguneel for their own use... except the extremely impressed Willard. And Willard would go on putting it to excellent use for the next thirty five years of his life, rising to unofficial notice as the most skilled Striker pilot out of any on the Gurgurant - a title he would humbly deny ownership of every time.
Now in his mid-50's, however, Willard began to wonder if piloting the Gunguneel was really all life had in store for him. The battles that once fueled his inner flame just seemed monotonous, now. Like a particularly boring chore. His passionate flame had withered to a sputtering ember. Swiftly deciding to turn things around for himself, the pilot left his place on the Gurgurant with little fanfare, bought a home on a nearby colony world, and started seeing what else he could do with himself.
Not even a month later did Willard realize that this was utterly, truly, undeniably the worst mistake of his entire life. Abandoning his truest friends to "settle down" and "get a change of pace", who was he kidding? He knew he was meant to be in the cockpit of the Gunguneel, dodging Interceptor fire, knocking holes through enemy ships like tissue paper. Perhaps the self-induced retirement was just the kick in the pants he'd needed to reignite his flame, or perhaps he simply realized what a damn fool he'd been to try and quit. Whatever the case, he needed to find another ship to call home, and fast. The Gurgurant was systems away at this point, much too far for him to travel on his own. He was at a loss.
Until he heard about the Eclipse. One of the only Drasian ships left anywhere following the destruction of their homeworld, full of skilled Striker and Interceptor pilots who seemed to be on a personal mission from some higher being to destroy as much of the Resanti as physically possible. And it was approaching his system in what seemed like just a few days... Willard would miss the people he had spent over half of his life amongst back on the Gurgurant, but the jobs they took on were small-time compared to the exploits he'd heard of the Eclipse. As soon as it was close enough, Willard put his things together and set the Gunguneel on course for the carrier ship. What happens after that remains to be seen.
Striker
SpoilerStriker Name: 'Gunguneel' Experimental Railgun Chassis Mk. 1
Appearance: The Gunguneel Striker is a large, bulky thing, even compared to the average of its kind. It features a very pronounced, conical "breast" area with a circular hatch in the center, hiding the barrel of the Rex Hasta system when not in use. Situated above that is top half of the cockpit, designed to be as squat as possible and minimize the pilot's exposure to enemy fire. Its arms and legs are relatively short for its height but large to match the chest piece, giving it somewhat of an unwieldy appearance. The mech's main color is royal purple with gold accents around the joints, thruster, shield, and along the Rex Hasta system's barrel.
Weapon Slot/Variable Slots 1+2: 'Rex Hasta' Intergrated Railgun System - An extremely powerful weapon, the Rex Hasta system was an experimental design that turned out to be an amazing success. Its entire concept is, simply put, "What would happen if we built a Striker chassis around a ship-mounted railgun?" The answer to that question is devastation. While its size and barrel length gives it attack power unmatched by more conventional Strikers or Interceptors, it does take longer to charge up than traditional weapons of its type, and shares its smaller brethren's drawback of requiring close proximity to the target in order to hit effectively. However, rest assured than any target the Rex Hasta system lands a blow on will be critically damaged, if not destroyed outright. Due to the unwieldiness of its extended barrel, the Rex Hasta stays contracted until it reaches full charge, at which point it automatically telescopes to its full length until fired.
Armor Slot: ‘Aegis’ Arm-Mounted Projectile Barrier - A small particle barrier mounted to the Gunguneel's left arm. When activated, it projects a shield that extends up and down slightly more than the Gunguneel's height, absorbing plasma- and laser-based attacks but leaving ballistic ones unchecked. The shield completely covers Gunguneel from the front, but is highly susceptible to flanking and attacks from the rear, as the shield's placement requires the Striker to completely turn around in order to defend itself from enemies it isn't facing head-on.Mobility Slot: 'Galeforce' Ion Propulsion Engine - The Gunguneel's primary and only means of spacial propulsion, the Galeforce engine is essentially a large ion thruster, placed on the Gunguneel's back. It possesses excellent thrust and high gimballing capability, allowing the Gunguneel adequate turning ability while under acceleration, and is paired with internally mounted reaction wheels to compensate for the Striker's otherwise lack of means to rotate itself in motion.
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Posting now to remember to post a sheet later.
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Regret not being able to heft Coel like a barbell, hightail it to [H, 3].
[OOC] Eldritch Girls Occult
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posting to be confused but intrigued