Rank: Commodore
Name: Classified
Callsign: NukeIt

Weapon of choice: Custom-made sword, styled like a Waikizashi, with a pulse-rifle nestled flush against the back edge. One power cell holds about 50-75 shots. Blade has been treated so that it is black in color, and does not reflect light, and the gunbarrel is fitted with a built-in silencer.

Ship of choice: Liberty Patriot. What were you expecting? Ship is coated with RAM (that's Radar Absorbent Material) and modified with a low-emission, high-output drive. Mounted with a Ripper mine launcher and several high-powered precision laser weapons, in addition to the standard cruise disrupter.

Duty status: Classified (likely affiliated with the Order)

Looks: About 5'6", pale in complexion with blue-grey eyes, short brown hair and a thin moustache. Black pilot's jumpsuit, black soft-sole boots (for walking quietly, y'know), black gloves. Doesn't bother with a spacesuit; wouldn't eject anyway. He operates alone and death is preferable to capture.

He slips silently into the bar, edging through the crowd to sit down in a corner booth, back against the wall, facing the door. When a waiter appears to take his order, he simply waves them away. As soon as the waiter is gone, he taps something into the PDA on his wrist, and a small holographic image is projected into his hand (cupped to conceal it from the other patrons). After a moment, the hologram disappears. Motioning the waiter to come back, he orders a glass of water- no ice. He sits there silently sipping his drink, watching the patrons seated at the bar. (end turn)

Name: Sqdr. Commander 'Ace' Azzamean.

Ranged: High calibre ancient sniper rifle
Close: Pair of concealed wrist-mounted daggers
Melee: The Big Stick (tm)

Ship of Choice: Outcast Dagger, modified for even more speed and manuverability. Two cruise disruptor mounts and a pair of quick firing lasers which are almost never used, me preferring to run rather than fight.

Duty Status: Gunrunner for hire. You need some classified, sensitive or otherwise vital cargo transported or disposed of, I'm your man.

Looks: 6'1", fairly lanky with mussed dark hair. Usually found in a battered flight helmet that was probably first made durin the Coalition-Alliance war. Patchwork flightsuit, predominately in dark colours as to avoid cleaning. Carries a hipflask at all times filled with strong liquor and/or engine cleaner as needed.


Sitting up by the bar, quietly working his way through a bottle of some godawful spirit that the bartender claimed was "The finest in Liberty". A bleep comes from one of his many pockets alerting him that a perimiter alarm has been triggered on his ship. Downing the remainder of the bottle, and wincing as it burns down into his gut, he staggers somewhat unsteadily towards the docking bay.

*end turn*

Name: Fleet Admiral Finalday

Weapons of choice:
Ship: Phasers
Ground range: Crossbow
Ground close: Quarter Staff


Ship of choice: Maquies Raider aka Perigrin

Duty Status: Active duty

Looks Like: 6'1" Prefers to wear black, jeans, boots, and shirt and a black cowboy hat. Has long beard. Primary concern, information retreval and undercover work. Known for sitting in the shadows observing others.


My "Usual" drink, Decaf Green tea triple sweet. Sitiing in back corner booth watching the locals as the come and go. I record data of all that I observe, while sipping my tea.

*end turn*

Edited by - Finalday on 3/3/2006 6:19:57 PM

As Shroud surveyed the newcomers he noticed the admiral come in and snapped into attention while simultaneosly executing a smart salute. "Good day sir, how're the "talks" with Sol going?" he asked, intending to start some friendly banter.

edit: dang spelling

Edited by - The Shroud on 3/3/2006 7:09:44 PM

Rank: Lieutenant Colonel
Callsign: Griffon two-six

Weapon of choice: M41A1 pulse rifle
Close range: Concealable riot stun prod

Ship of choice: Cobra MK. III

Duty Status: Retired from the military. Says he is looking for work as a mercenary or for a private security force.

Appearence: 6", average build, dark olive skin, black hair, brown eyes. Right eye and socket missing, in its place is a mechanical "eye", its metallic parts wrapping around to the right ear.

Griffon enter's the bar, and is jostled by Aceaz as he staggers out the door. He walks towards Lt. Colonel Shroud as if he intends to confront him, but stops short as he notices Shroud is talking to the Fleet Admiral. Diverts path and sits down at a table where he is just near enough to overhear their conversation.

Langford

OOC: Who's the DM here? Is this supposed to be a DnD variant? I'll treat it like it is

Name: Robert "Evil Thing" Langford
Class: Royal Marine (Bretonia)
Rank: Sergeant OOC: We have far too many senior officers as it is
Duty Status: Active, serving with a platoon on a Royal (Bretonian) Navy carrier.
Light weapon of choice: Dual wielded blaster pistols -2/-4 hit penalty
Heavy weapon of choice: SPASR-7 1d12 damage, -2 damage per range increment
Melee weapon of choice: SPASR-7 butt 1d4 damage, bludgeoning
Ship of choice: Personel transport, any type


Langford hated babysitting. This time, he was to ensure that a certain officer's son arrived safely on the surface. He could see no reason why he should have to be given such a long string of these assignments. He had a unit to lead, now more than ever: he had heard rumors that Command was planning an assault on an Outcast station. He should be there, not stuck in this shuttle ensuring that 'Colonel' Jacobs had a pleasant trip.

He would land and see how his men were faring. They shouldn't be seeing any action without him, but he wanted to be sure.

End turn

As Finalday is here to gather info, he returns the salute of The Shroud and dismisses him quickly. He signals the bar man for a refil of his tea and give orders to lower the lighting in his area. The barman quickly complies and returns to his duties behind the bar.

End Turn

Taking care not to draw much attention, the shadowy man known only by his callsign "NukeIt" gets up, leaving a 5-credit note on the table to pay for his drink. He works his way through the crowd to the opposite side of the bar, where a man in suit and tie sits calmly sipping a glass of wine- the same man, incidentally, that he had viewed in holographic form a few minutes before. Without saying a word, NukeIt draws his gunblade, levels it at the seated man, and runs him through with it. He wipes the bloodied weapon off on the now-dead man's jacket sleeve, sheathes it, and heads for the hangar bay as if nothing had happened at all. The noise level in the bar prevents anyone from nocticing a customer's untimely demise until NukeIt is safely in his stealthy ship and launched into space. Activating the comms system for only a brief moment, he types the following into a keypad on the arm of the pilot's seat: "Target located. Mission accomplished."

By this time, a crowd has gathered around the corpse. Griffon removes himself from his chair, and jostles through the crowd to reach the dead man. He makes a gesture as if to check the man's heart, and in doing so furtively removes an object from the man's clothing and puts it in his pocket. He look's towards the exit, but on an impulse returns to his table, throwing a glance towards the darkened area where Finalday is sitting.

end turn

standing at the center of the crime scene Shroud glances at the bar attendees

"ALRIGHT PEOPLE, LISTEN UP" he roars "THIS IS A CRIME SCENE AND NOBODY LEAVES UNTIL I SAY SO"

murmurs spread through the crowd as he calls the local police. glancing around he makes note of several men moving away from the body and orders them over into a corner to be questioned personally(that includes you griffin). End Turn

Edit: I'm the DM so keep your shorts on


Edited by - The Shroud on 3/4/2006 5:32:23 PM

Deep in the Badlands, a jet black Patriot fighter lies in concealment grappled to a crystalline asteroid. In its powered-down state, it is next to invisible to any form of detection- with the dense particle cloud around it, utterly impossible to find. In the cockpit, the vessel's pilot reclines and calls up the system news.

*news report* The Battleship Missouri has been placed on security lockdown this afternoon after an apparent murder on board. The victim, prominent Liberty defense contractor Harold Stevens, was killed in the ship's public bar while awaiting a meeting with the ship's commanding officer. No civilian ships are being allowed to land on or leave the vessel while investigation is underway. The LSF, which has taken charge of the case, has no suspects- if you or anyone you know has any information, contact....*(transmission cut off)

Reanimating his tiny fighter, NukeIt eases away from the asteroid and lays in a course for the old Magellan jump gate.

(end turn)

Outside the Missouri, a large cruiser de cloaks. It's all black, as if radiating darkness, but with a iridescent red name splashed across the saucer section, BlackFire. The command officers aboard the Missouri order it off, but the response is, "Negative, we have orders from Fleet Admiral Finalday to transport him out of the area."

Finalday, finishes his tea and rises from his darken booth. As he walks by the detectives studying the crime scenes, he whispers something to the lead detective who snaps his head up in surprise. The admiral then heads for the hanger deck and his fighter craft. After climbing in, he lightly touches the controls of his sleek ship and hovers over the deck as the bay doors retract.

Drifting as it were, he maneuvered to the large cruiser and into its shuttle deck. as the hanger door closes, the ship recloaks and moves off rapidly.

*End Turn*

Edited by - Finalday on 3/5/2006 5:19:18 AM

Langford

His trail of thought was broken as he noticed that the co-pilot was speaking to him.

"-been ordered to change course. All space around the Missouri has been locked down. Apparantely, they're looking for a murderer. You can guess that command wants us far away from any trouble."

"Will it impact our flight plan?"

"Hardly, we'll be only twenty minutes behind schedule."

Perfect.

End Turn

Shroud told the investigators to keep the men he had sequestered in the holding cells while he looked through the ships docking computers for any suspicous activity. selecting three he drifted to his quarters pondering the possible motives. Revenge, influence, money, none of them were worth risking something like that on a military battleship. something bigger was going on and the admirals presence was too convenient to ignore. This might take a while

End Turn

Edit - One sig per thread please.

Edited by - Finalday on 3/6/2006 2:32:27 AM